By Marie Beachdale

Sunday, Dec. 18, 2011, Surfside Beach - Back of house restaurant employees, including line cooks and dishwashers, are typically a unique breed of individuals capable of working under immense stress to prepare great food, but many of them are also fond of partaking in questionable and often illegal activities.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are plenty of upstanding citizens who find work in restaurant kitchens; I just haven’t met them yet. As much as I love the “kitchen boys” I work with, they have opened my naive little eyes to a world of drugs, sex and music that I never before experienced in a work environment.

I don’t think there has been a male cook hired, married or single, who hasn’t attempted to sleep with me or half of the other girls I work with. During the summer, the restaurant is like a juicy episode of “The Real World.” Before the start of a shift, there is always chatter of which cook has been seen out with a server and whose spouse has found out.

I developed a thick skin quickly-- the guys in the kitchen pass the time by cracking crude jokes.  I can be pretty rude myself, so instead of finding their wisecracks offensive, I give the crap right back to them.  

Stooping to their level has actually been to my advantage-- not only have I learned what a “Dirty Sanchez” is, I am also respected enough by the kitchen boys to never have a problem with my food, which I don’t think is something many of the other servers can say.  Respect is definitely earned from the back of house staff.  

Two years ago, there were three members of a local heavy metal band who worked in the kitchen, and a fourth who was their loyal groupie. These boys ruled the kitchen for the summer, that is, as long as their gigs didn’t get in the way.  

They saw themselves as total rock stars, recruiting the prettiest employees and young hostesses to come to their shows. The typical rock music played at night in the back line was too soft for these guys. Firm believers in the saying “if it’s too loud, you’re too old” they blasted their CDs and taped live performances at volumes that made the customers cringe.

They also believed in the rock star party lifestyle-- at the company’s expense. During one summer of employment, the band members and their groupie developed a system of hiding beer in garbage cans and taking it home with them at the end of the night. By the time this was discovered, they had already managed to take almost $1,800 worth of beer from the restaurant.  

They were terminated immediately, but continue to tour around the Grand Strand-- find them at a venue or in a kitchen near you.  

The most predominant characteristic of a back line employee is rampant drug use. Whether it’s a little weed, pills, or something more extreme, it can probably be obtained in a kitchen.  

The restaurant where I work doesn’t require a preliminary drug screening or perform random drug tests. We often joke that if that were to change, everyone would be out of a job. Sure, that’s a stretch, but for the kitchen staff it’s probably true.  

For two years there was a resident burnout working in the kitchen named Mr. P. He was a former Deadhead, and it was evident during my first conversation with him that he had dropped a little too much acid in his day, and had moved on to much more extreme forms of drug use.  

Every night Mr. P would walk in the door for the start of his shift, eyes half closed, grinning like he won the lottery. He didn’t say much, and there were quite a few times I would watch him cook with my breath held, hoping he wouldn’t nod off and fall into the fryer.  

Mr. P carried around a backpack full of God knows what, and when he would arrive at work the rest of the kitchen staff would light up like it was Christmas morning… there was something for everyone in his bag of tricks.  

It took a while, but the police finally became privy to what Mr. P was up to. One evening, in the middle of dinner rush, two Horry County Police officers walked in the door. I offered them a table, but they made a beeline to the kitchen.  

Mr. P was in handcuffs by the time I made it to the back to see what was going on.  Still grinning, but cursing under his breath, they loaded him in the cruiser and off he went.  
We didn’t see Mr. P at work for a couple months after that, and I assumed we never would again, considering he was arrested on the job. Lo and behold though, I walked in one night to see him back in the kitchen with his usual glassy-eyed charm.

He didn’t last long after that. He was found smoking a joint in the employee bathroom, and when confronted, decided the job was no longer for him.

I used to think the behavior of the kitchen staff where I work was unusual. I wondered what it was about the restaurant that attracted so many crazy people, but after talking to friends realized it’s not all that uncommon. As I tell my friends wild tales out of the kitchen, instead of reacting with shock they actually relate to what I’m saying.   

I don’t think it would matter if I found a job at any other restaurant, because there will always be a little crazy in restaurant kitchens. Certainly enough to keep work interesting!  

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