Check on

Dear Drinker
On a few occasions during the week i work in the pub kitchen as the 'chef'. When i say chef i mean i'm more like a walking car crash involving large sharp knives, hot oil and a lot of salad. I have one order up and the kitchen literally looks like a bomb site.
The lunch shifts are starting to get busier as the sun is starting to come out more. When this happens the pub seems to be swarmed by day trippers, tourists and little old ladies who love a glass of sherry or two. Don't get me wrong i like the fact the pub is getting busier and i'm not stuck the kitchen twiddling my knives. But, why is that when these customers come to the bar to order food do they insist on causing havoc and generally ordering food which does not even appear on the menu in the first place. Do they bring their own menu from home and order off that? I really have no idea.
So, an order comes up. I have a look and start to decide how i can make this food without harming myself and anyone who dares enters the kitchen. The check reads: Ham, Egg and Chips. Not a bad order, i can cope. Just as i start, the barman comes upstairs sheepishly. "There's more to the order than that" he says. Turns out the person who has ordered it (what a suprise, one of those little old ladies who has definately had at least two large sherrys) wants the ham cut no more than a millimetre thick (just one slice mind) as she is concerned she won't be able to get her dentures into it, the eggs are to be nice and runny with no burnt bits round the edges and as for the chips ..... no more than a small handful which are golden and not too salty. The barman then legs it from the kitchen before i even have chance to start demanding this woman comes upstairs and meets me. Bloody ridiculous. I set about making this food in the correct way her ladyship wants. Suddenly another ticket comes up. Then another. All in all 17 checks come up at once. I start to really panic and go into meltdown. Luckily i get the first order out pretty quick (without dropping knives in the deep fat fryer or getting salad stuck to the ceiling). Right, i look at the next order. I can do this. I then the familier sound of the barman's feet on the stairs. I turn round to see him with the plate of food i have just done. "She doesn't like iceburg lettece. She would prefer little gem lettece if you have it." He says. "No, we don't fucking have it" I said. "We only have one type of lettece here." Just as he is leaving to give the old dear her food back and to tell her to put up with it (in a polite way i hope), the other barmaid comes up. "Right" she says. "Theres more to all these orders". What does that mean? Where do these people get these food ideas from? Why can they not just order quietly and politely at the bar with the correct menu and then go and sit down with their little old mates, have a nice glass of sherry and talk about the olden days? I try and breath. I slowly put the knife down i am clutching and turn to her slowly. "Would you please go and tell those lovely people downstairs that there may be a slight wait on food and that i will do their food how i damn well wish as this is not Claridges or the Ritz but a little old pub where they should be grateful they are getting any food at all." I said. I manage to get the food out, not on time, as I have to make sure the tomatoes are nice and shiny for one customer, the cheese is finely grated for another, and the bacon extra crispy for one day tripper (it's not good bacon unless it's nice and burnt apparently). Once done, i look at the kitchen. A complete mess. It takes me an hour and a half to tidy up. Good news is i didn't manage to cut, burn or spill fat on me today. Im getting better, but i wish the people ordering the food would do the same and get better at it and not stress me out.
Today i was an angry chef.
Love the Barmaid xx