Stefan Bowers

I saw a band the other night. They were a queer NYC EDM band that played percussive instruments.

I was incredibly intoxicated. I’m going through a lot right now and needed to blow off some steam.

I walked in on this band blind, having never heard of them.
I left feeling whole.

I do this a lot. I give a band I’ve never heard of around 3 songs. If I’m not pulled in, I’m out. It’s cigarette time.

I won’t be able to speak for everyone here. I’ll miss a lot on this post—I’ll certainly be wrong—I don’t know everyone’s situation. But this blog is my restaurant, and you can leave any time if you like. No tab. No hard feelings.

I wish more restaurant industry workers would do this—leave.

This doesn’t mean you have to be a chef. The best cooks I worked with were in San Diego and Houston. They didn’t want to be chefs, they wanted to earn and provide. But they certainly wanted to be good. And they were great.

They took their work and themselves seriously.

And were perfectly happy making their money and going home.

And this brings me to the title of this blog. If you’re in the restaurant industry for more than a year and you don’t take yourself seriously, then seriously, get the fuck out. You won’t make it.

You’ll be forever miserable. Infecting everyone around you with your misery.

That means, if you can’t be professional, or get to work relatively on time consistently, or push yourself to be a little better each day, or my favorite one—love anticipating guests’ expectations and finally, finish the day with the same intensity you came into it with—leave.

Don’t waste people’s time. Don’t waste your time.

Drugs and alcohol are fine. They actually help. I’m not preaching to not do that shit. It’s a whole other topic.

Look, everyone working in restaurants today is a wage slave. What with today’s cost of living.

So what fucking options do you have left?

To rot? I hope not.

Today’s diminished returns make even more of a case to be violently focused on your goal in order to survive and more so, thrive, in your line of work if you ever experienced a passion for it.

In zen speak, don’t be the loose shingle, be the fucking roof.

I’m competitive and always wanted to be better than the cook next to me. I knew it wasn’t possible. But one benefit I had when at this stage was that I didn’t have to compare myself with every goddamn reel that I scrolled through. It narrowed my focus, shrinking my goals down within my field of vision. That was a good thing.

I’m a much shittier cook now than I was when I was younger. Not technically, rather-volume-and discipline wise. I’m not nearly as fast, old, and don’t really care about trend or being the first at discovering a new idea any longer.

I’m far more patient though.

I think my approach has a lot more wisdom, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say here that I knew it was time for me to get the fuck out.

So I did. And primarily became someone that runs a burger restaurant, rather than cooking at a “serious” one.

And what I’m learning is that I should take my own advice. Because I’m terrible at running a restaurant. Ha!

I guess I always have been.

I’ve carried people with me for far longer than I should have. I never write people up or fire them. I see the humanity in them first and their flaws second.

But over the years I’ve trained myself not to look too close.

Things have changed. They’re far more complicated and punishing today than before. You can’t get away with shit nowadays. Everything is recorded. So maybe work is where we actually go to seek shelter from a world that you never stop watching and that never stops watching you.

This is why I blog. To slice through my mind like a geode, discovering what’s on the inside of my rocky thoughts.

And no, I’m not going to end on that little dramatic line above.

But just know, you should take a risk on yourself and your work at least once in your life. Especially service industry workers, since they’re so flawed, so fucked up. Like I was, and am. We owe it to ourselves.

I used to like to fight when I was young. Not anymore, but when I walk from my car to work I always envision what it’s like for a boxer walking towards the ring. That you should be ready to kill and die, once you step into the ring or your work.

Especially when you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

But that’s just me. And this is my fight.