Rules of Professionalism
Working on the Line, September07 September 26th, 2007By Laura Libert, September 2007
In every job there is a set of unspoken rules. Like professional guidelines, they outline what is kosher behavior. I know, the term “professionalism” seems a bit out of place in our arena, especially given the caliber of greasy kitchen shark one can normally envision. In the kitchen, we do have a form of professionalism, it’s just more flexible in some areas than others.
As I’ve reiterated, I work with all guys. They’re all older than me, and they are all my big brothers. They have a crude sense of humor, and often make blatant sexual remarks in my direction. This does not offend me, as it might if it were in a different environment. They know their line and whether they’re crossing it, because they are actually good guys who have respect for me. What is necessary to look out for is sneaky, underhanded behavior. The guy who continually grazes your ass when they walk by, even though said action is completely unnecessary (i.e. you’re not in a congested area). The quiet nature of the action belies its lack of professionalism. Within the rules of professionalism, it’s the exact opposite of an in-your-face vagina joke. In fact, those who would make such a jest would never perform the aforementioned grope. They realize, as I do, the connotation behind it, and if any indiscretion occurs a hastened apology quickly follows.
So, it’s a balance beam really, because the guys who joke aren’t the types to hit on all their female coworkers. They’re adult enough to be friends, and confident enough bypass the hedonistic claim that they could get “any girl (t)here” at a work-affiliated gathering (yes, I’ve worked with one of those types too, and he quickly lost my respect). Despite the fact that I call it a balance beam, if you ask me it’s not that hard to walk. I think the key is respect. If you have it for your coworkers, you’ll know when to push and when to back off. The rules are mostly unspoken, but if there is any question, a person’s body language will rarely lead you astray.
One of the perfect examples of this heretofore unidentified tight rope walker of professionalism is my kitchen manager, H. Carl. If you’ve kept up with the column, you’ll know from my continual references to him that Carl is a crude dude. He knows the dirtiest jokes and has a rowdy past. But he still manages to keep an air of civility between his bits of racy conversation. He knows guys, and he knows girls. He has an uncanny ability to read people. That being said, I’d actually like my last tale of the day to be my inspiration for this particular column, told to me by none other than Carl himself. It is a tale from his cooking school days, and I think an element to his knowledge of what makes a professional cook and what doesn’t (also the source for why he despises baking):
His instructor was a strict pastry chef, and that evening they were making pie shells. She spitefully enjoyed changing the temperature on the oven when students weren’t looking, in order to hone their visuals skills. A lesson in: oven temperature is not dependable. Unfortunately, Carl missed her phantom appearance and he burned his pie shell. The class took a mid-session dinner break. Carl wished to redo the shell upon his return (since his tuition was paying for that meal, and believe me, cooking school ain’t cheap), but this abrasive instructor refused, claiming he must stay and finish the assignment. He denied her request, to her chagrin, and in front of the whole class she grabbed his arm and screamed in his face. She taunted his apparent ‘lack of professionalism’ and said she would never, EVER hire him to work in her restaurant. Carl declared he would never want to work in this chick’s (i.e. raging bitch) restaurant anyway. It was a humiliating situation for him, but later he gleefully discovered of the pastry chef’s demise. She was fired, after being caught having sex with a grimy ex-vet student in a walk-in refrigerator (remember my lesson from last time? Walk-ins are more than just refrigerators, a restaurant’s veritable “chamber of secrets”).
So there you go. I guess it can be surprising to see the contrast between one’s perceived and one’s true level of decorum. Sometimes it’s unnerving, but you learn and you grow. And eventually you know how to detect and handle it. It’s a little exercise in perception, no?
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Rules of Professionalism
Working on the Line, September07 September 26th, 2007By Laura Libert, September 2007
In every job there is a set of unspoken rules. Like professional guidelines, they outline what is kosher behavior. I know, the term “professionalism” seems a bit out of place in our arena, especially given the caliber of greasy kitchen shark one can normally envision. In the kitchen, we do have a form of professionalism, it’s just more flexible in some areas than others.
As I’ve reiterated, I work with all guys. They’re all older than me, and they are all my big brothers. They have a crude sense of humor, and often make blatant sexual remarks in my direction. This does not offend me, as it might if it were in a different environment. They know their line and whether they’re crossing it, because they are actually good guys who have respect for me. What is necessary to look out for is sneaky, underhanded behavior. The guy who continually grazes your ass when they walk by, even though said action is completely unnecessary (i.e. you’re not in a congested area). The quiet nature of the action belies its lack of professionalism. Within the rules of professionalism, it’s the exact opposite of an in-your-face vagina joke. In fact, those who would make such a jest would never perform the aforementioned grope. They realize, as I do, the connotation behind it, and if any indiscretion occurs a hastened apology quickly follows.
So, it’s a balance beam really, because the guys who joke aren’t the types to hit on all their female coworkers. They’re adult enough to be friends, and confident enough bypass the hedonistic claim that they could get “any girl (t)here” at a work-affiliated gathering (yes, I’ve worked with one of those types too, and he quickly lost my respect). Despite the fact that I call it a balance beam, if you ask me it’s not that hard to walk. I think the key is respect. If you have it for your coworkers, you’ll know when to push and when to back off. The rules are mostly unspoken, but if there is any question, a person’s body language will rarely lead you astray.
One of the perfect examples of this heretofore unidentified tight rope walker of professionalism is my kitchen manager, H. Carl. If you’ve kept up with the column, you’ll know from my continual references to him that Carl is a crude dude. He knows the dirtiest jokes and has a rowdy past. But he still manages to keep an air of civility between his bits of racy conversation. He knows guys, and he knows girls. He has an uncanny ability to read people. That being said, I’d actually like my last tale of the day to be my inspiration for this particular column, told to me by none other than Carl himself. It is a tale from his cooking school days, and I think an element to his knowledge of what makes a professional cook and what doesn’t (also the source for why he despises baking):
His instructor was a strict pastry chef, and that evening they were making pie shells. She spitefully enjoyed changing the temperature on the oven when students weren’t looking, in order to hone their visuals skills. A lesson in: oven temperature is not dependable. Unfortunately, Carl missed her phantom appearance and he burned his pie shell. The class took a mid-session dinner break. Carl wished to redo the shell upon his return (since his tuition was paying for that meal, and believe me, cooking school ain’t cheap), but this abrasive instructor refused, claiming he must stay and finish the assignment. He denied her request, to her chagrin, and in front of the whole class she grabbed his arm and screamed in his face. She taunted his apparent ‘lack of professionalism’ and said she would never, EVER hire him to work in her restaurant. Carl declared he would never want to work in this chick’s (i.e. raging bitch) restaurant anyway. It was a humiliating situation for him, but later he gleefully discovered of the pastry chef’s demise. She was fired, after being caught having sex with a grimy ex-vet student in a walk-in refrigerator (remember my lesson from last time? Walk-ins are more than just refrigerators, a restaurant’s veritable “chamber of secrets”).
So there you go. I guess it can be surprising to see the contrast between one’s perceived and one’s true level of decorum. Sometimes it’s unnerving, but you learn and you grow. And eventually you know how to detect and handle it. It’s a little exercise in perception, no?
