Evan’s Inferno
“Do not be afraid; our fate
Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”
― Dante Alighieri, Inferno
My first instagram post - Oct 2014
As the summer of 2020 was winding down, as well as my college plans, I was plummeting into the realization that I would need to find something more permanent for the long winter ahead of me. My seasonal part-time job at the kayak shop was on its last legs, so I went hunting for a better opportunity. Truthfully, there aren't many places to go in my small town, let alone work. My options were limited to the big fast food chain companies Sonic, Taco Bell, and McDonalds. I don't want to demean or dismiss fast food workers, but I was stuck between two rocks and a hard place. Out of the three, Sonic paid the most by about 25 cents, and their slushes are pretty good, so I figured,
“What the Hell?”
The application was easy enough, "Can you legally work?” Yes. “Have you committed a felony?” Maybe. You know, the basics. When I clicked submit, I immediately got a call from their manager: "Hey Evan, I saw your application, looks great. Can you come in tonight for an interview?". You could see this as a red flag a mile away, flailing furiously in the wind, featuring a skull and crossbones. So my naive and inexperienced self said sheepishly but gratefully, "Yes, of course, what time?" I arrived at 3 o'clock, in a blue button-up with khaki pants and a tie. I talked with the manager for 5 mins. She asked when I could work and what times. I said I can start right away and work whenever needed. She says she needed me right then. In my head, I knew I should've spoken up and postponed just a day, even a few hours, but I didn't. I eagerly accepted the position and went to work. I was on the burger station, and as I walked back to the kitchen, my life flashed before my eyes.
First of all, it was hot. Standing in the middle of the tiny kitchen, you received heat from 5 separate sources at once. It was like surround sound but with sweltering heat. Keep in mind I'm wearing a tie and khakis. They hand me a hair net and stand me before the grill. It's easy enough; anything you had to do had a timer. Put a burger down, press the button, and one minute later, it beeps, you flip, and one more minute, it's done. It's not hard to get a hang of. For a while, it was fine. I was asking questions, making orders as quickly as possible, getting to know everyone, and having an average first day on the job. Then it happened. The last light of the sun crept under the distant mesas. Like flies to a corpse, hoards of people plagued our store, and they were hungry. The ticket board was packed instantly, the beeping was non-stop, it was chaos. I couldn't tell left from right. I was so disoriented and turned around that I couldn't move. The rush lasted 4 hours before we simply had to turn people away. I left defeated, soaked in sweat, oil, and grease. The smell of burgers and fries was engrained into my soul. "What the hell was that?"
Needless to say, I never returned. I said that I had found another job and couldn't balance them both, and honestly, they didn't expect anything more from me. I still duck my head when I drive by any Sonic, nervous that they'll recognize me and I'll be publically shamed and shunned for all time, but more on my crippling anxiety later. I was on the job market again, and the prospects were even slimmer than before. Walmart was my preferred, more realistic choice. Still, I sent a Hail Mary application to this 5-star ultra-luxury hotel near my town. I received a message from Walmart that told me to kick rocks, something about "no experience," so I honestly thought I was destined to return to Sonic's endless pit of despair. But then, on a dog day afternoon, I got a call.
“Hello, is this Evan Cambridge?”
I paced around the room as I answered to the mysterious voice on the other end of the line. He introduced himself as the Executive chef of Amangiri. My heart flew, my voice shook, and my knees grew weak as I asked what I could do for him. He says he saw my application and asked if I had much experience in a kitchen before. I explained that I did two years of culinary class in high school and can make a mean grilled cheese when I'm in the mood.
"Perfect, you seem like a great fit for the job," he says
"That's great. What exactly is the job again?"
"A steward, the job asks you to keep the kitchen tidy and the cutlery and dishware clean."
"So I'll be washing dishes?"
"Yes."
"So I'll be a dishwasher?"
"Yes."
…
"When can I start?"
