My First Day as a Dishwasher
I woke up at six in the morning without an alarm.
The sound of cockroaches crawling across my ears was only part of it.
I had risen at this same hour during my time in the orphanage.
“Ugh…”
I smoothed out the blanket and stretched.
Opening the narrow bathroom door, I turned the faucet that had been left on overnight. Water gushed out in a steady stream.
I washed myself thoroughly with the weak pressure, then slipped into the cheap black T-shirt and black slacks I had pre-packed.
Unlocking the old iron gate, I stepped onto the rooftop apartment.
The time was now half past six.
I had been told to report for work by eight.
I raced down the steep hill.
Going to the subway station in the neighborhood took some time.
Riding the subway, I got off at Yeoksam Station.
I walked a short distance and reached the hotel.
On the way, I saw many office workers dressed in stylish business attire.
“Whew…”
The tall hotel building loomed ahead.
I found myself strangely tense.
But there was no time to hesitate.
I slapped my cheeks once each and entered through the employee entrance.
Hongwon Chinese Restaurant. This was the place I would work from today.
“Good morning…”
The moment I stepped inside, the kitchen came into view.
The sharp scent of onions hit me immediately.
There was no greasy, oil-heavy aroma typical of Chinese restaurants. It meant the place was spotlessly clean and well maintained.
“Dishwashing part-timer?”
Looking around curiously, someone appeared.
A woman with her hair tied tightly, wearing a crisp suit.
Her uniform wasn’t the chef’s; she seemed to work on the front side.
A name tag reading “Lee Yeon-ji” was pinned to her chest.
Her position was Captain.
I didn’t know what Captain meant, but she looked higher than a regular server.
“Yes. Gang Cheon-soo. Nice to meet you!”
“Go to the locker room over there. You’ll find the dishwashing uniform for part-timers. Change, put on your boots, and come back.”
I moved swiftly exactly as Lee Yeon-ji instructed.
Threw my bag into the locker and changed in a flash.
“A-already changed?”
“Yes!”
“Um… you prepared well. The dishwashing spot is over there. Start with the items piled up. Since it’s before opening, we have a little breathing room, but during lunch rush it’ll be busy. Focus on removing the utensils quickly. Any questions?”
“…None.”
“Good. Ah, and today is your first day, so you were called thirty minutes early. From now on, report by 8:30. A few more dishwashing part-timers will arrive then, and you can ask them about it then.”
Lee Yeon-ji turned and left without further explanation.
It was simple.
Just start washing dishes.
Good. After all, what was there to washing dishes but to wash them.
I trusted my stamina.
This very moment in the hotel Chinese restaurant kitchen felt right.
I put on my apron and rubber gloves and began.
“Huff…”
But the moment I saw the stack on the sink, I hesitated.
There was far more than I had imagined.
Even the portions were large, and the unfamiliar giant utensils made the volume seem even bigger.
Probably the cooks had done the vegetable prep and stock work before I arrived.
“Ugh…”
I started right away.
Starting with the biggest basin bigger than my torso.
No slacking just because it was morning.
I heard that part-timers got caught for anything lazy in places like this.
I began washing in a fast, disciplined rhythm.
Soon I was completely lost in the work.
“Hello…”
While I was scrubbing, another part-timer showed up.
It was the same person I had mentioned earlier.
She too wore rubber gloves and joined in with a tired expression.
After that, it was just endless dishwashing.
At nine o’clock, the chefs began the serious opening preparations.
Making sauces, preparing fries, and so on.
The kitchen heat gradually rose.
Yet the pile of dishes kept growing.
Whenever I thought I could rest for a moment, more appeared.
There was no time to look around.
But even so, I kept scanning the surroundings.
How the morning kitchen operated.
The equipment in the hotel kitchen and the chefs’ skillful hands.
Just watching those things filled me with excitement.
“Open!”
And a little later, someone in the hall shouted.
When I checked the clock, it was eleven.
The real business had begun.
But I was still washing dishes.
The moment opening started, orders poured in one after another.
The previously relaxed kitchen exploded into chaos.
Roaring flames.
The clatter of woks and pots colliding.
Frying sounds mixed with the smell of oil.
Shouts exchanged between stations.
“Coming through the back!”
“Order! Call the order!”
“Twelve comes out first!”
“Fire! The fire went out!”
“Knife coming!”
“Drain first! Then fryer!”
In an instant the kitchen became a battlefield.
The chefs moved busily among themselves, passing items back and forth.
Even in the complicated situation, the cooking was flawless.
Through it all, I was in the depths of dishwashing.
The more it got noisy, the more dishes kept piling up.
The speed was completely different from before opening.
Like five times faster.
I had thought I was fast, but I needed to go even faster to keep up.
Even faster!
I increased my pace.
It was at that exact moment a chef shouted.
“Hey wok! You still haven’t washed the wok?”
He was desperately looking for his wok.
Chefs usually asked us part-timers for woks.
Woks were massive iron pans for Chinese cooking. Too big and heavy to wash easily.
“Hey! Wok!”
Another chef yelled.
I saw that the part-timer next to me was falling behind in speed.
I grabbed an extra wok from her share and wiped it down in seconds.
“Here!”
I handed it to the chef exactly as if passing a finished wok.
My arms moved faster than ever.
Another massive heavy wok wiped. Another.
The sound of the scrubbing sponge and iron pot rubbing together rang in my ears.
“Um… excuse me. Have you tried dishwashing before? The wok-washing speed is so…”
The part-timer next to me asked in surprise.
“I’ve tried dishwashing a little, and I’ve done a lot in the orphanage.”
“A-ah…”
The other part-timer answered with a slight start.
I ignored her and sped up again.
Even after that, the battlefield continued.
A little later, the dishes from customers who had finished eating arrived.
The amount of dishes increased again.
But the dishes coming from the hall were relatively easy to wash.
Unlike the cooking utensils that needed immediate attention, these could be lightly soaped and thrown straight into the dishwasher.
One cycle of customers finished rushing out.
Then the next batch kept coming endlessly.
I roughly understood how lunch rush worked.
But there was something strange.
So many customers leaving fried items…?
There were far more leftover fries among the customers’ scraps than expected.
Not every customer left fries.
The early arrivals generally ate well.
But as time passed, more and more fries were left behind.
Some tables left more than half.
Since it’s a hotel Chinese restaurant, maybe they’re here for business meetings instead of just meals? So they left it?
I considered that too.
But the same customer left only the fries while clearing everything else.
I felt something was off.
I secretly tasted one of the leftover General Tso’s chicken.
…The crunch is lacking. The coating has absorbed the oil.
As expected, there was a problem with the fried items.
They had become soggy.
Of course, the customers had eaten them before leaving.
Maybe they just got soggy after time had passed.
But properly made Chinese fried items don’t go soggy in this short a time.
When you pour sauce and stir-fry, the crunch stays intact in good Chinese fried food.
Chinese fried food is quickly fried at high temperature so the outer layer hardens immediately.
This prevents the oil from seeping into the coating.
But what if the temperature is low?
It takes longer for the outer layer to set.
During that time, the coating absorbs oil from inside.
It becomes soggy, and the oil taste lingers in the mouth, making it hard to eat much.
But this wasn’t the case.
There clearly wasn’t enough heat or firepower for the oil.
Should I say something…?
I hesitated.
There was definitely something wrong with the frying side.
If I did nothing, the rest of the fried items would suffer the same fate.
But was it really wrong? In a kitchen running so perfectly?
Wasn’t there anyone complaining in the hall?
If there had been a complaint, it would have been chaos by now.
Anyway, the fact was clear: the kitchen still hadn’t noticed the anomaly in the fried food.
Should I speak up? Won’t I just get scolded for being a meddling part-timer?
I might get yelled at for nothing.
I was only a dishwashing part-timer.
…I’ll say it.
But I steeled myself.
The second cycle of customers began ordering food.
If I stayed silent, the next customers would end up eating soggy fries too.
Even if I got scolded later, the customers would already feel disappointed by then.
So what if I took the blame?
The important thing was that the customers enjoyed their meals.
I braced myself and turned my head.
At that moment, the fry station chef was coming over, about to throw a pile of dishes at me.
“U-um… excuse me!”
“…What?”
When I stopped him, the fry chef frowned.
I said what I had been thinking.
“Um… the fry oil temperature seems off right now…!”
“…What? You’re a dishwashing part-timer, right?”
The chef looked at me with disbelief.
I didn’t stop.
“The customers left so much fried food, and when I tasted it, it was soggy.”
“…Huh?”
The chef looked at me in disbelief.
Then he pointed at the temperature gauge hanging above the fryer.
The number showed 190.
The proper temperature.
“You see it’s still at 190? Go wash dishes if you’re just a part-timer! Don’t go picking up the leftovers customers left!”
“S-sorry.”
“Damn, what does dishwashing know…”
The fry station chef left in a huff, muttering.
He had only gotten scolded.
And now the additional stigma of stealing scraps.
But the fact that the fries were soggy was undeniable.
If the oil temperature was normal, then why…
“-Hey.”
At that moment, a heavy voice echoed through the kitchen.
The kitchen fell silent.
Looking back, a man was glaring at the fry station.
A name tag on his chest read “S Chef.”
The S Chef glanced at me once, then spoke to the fry station.
“Change the temperature gauge on the second fryer. Check the oil temperature again right now.”
“…Yes?”