Chaos Theory

''You're not talking to your fish,'' the chef moans. I hear the moan from the other side of the kitchen.

There is mayhem all around. A nonstop circus of people appear and disappear through swinging doors. The expediter yells: ''Ordering: two hamachi, three skate, a bass and a halibut à la carte. Ordering: one crab salad -- make that two -- two crab salads, two sardines and a finnan haddie on the fly.''

Cooks are everywhere, spinning, dodging and stretching their way across vast distances to reach plates, spoons and garnishes. Chef's whites suddenly blur into a mountain of vanilla ice cream. I'm rushing now, fumbling for pans.

But the expediter, who calls out the orders, will not stop: ''Waiters, pick up Table 7. Hello? Waiters. Here we go, waiters!'' He screams in a tattoo of insistence that cuts through the kitchen's screech and hurry. ''One snapper, two veal, three is a duck -- I'm holding a duck. Where's my goddamn duck? Ladies and gentlemen, the duck. Now. Please.''

SO This Is my Job What do you do

Author's Note

This is the best description of my job that I could Come up with