i hate doing parmesan

maresa's wierd but tasty pasta salad with grapes & herbs, some later night ice cream, water

I'm at the restaurant, except the kitchen is this rather giant, bright white room, a veritable expanse of prep tables and machinery, more reminiscent of a large hotel kitchen. It's several minutes past shift change and I'm waiting to be checked & let out, but I also have to block parmesan before I go, so I'd like to see this stuff get started. But in the meantime, people for the next shift haven't even started arriving yet, maybe one person, so I can't get going on my parmesan. I'm frustrated. Someone, a person that is there for the next shift, I think it's Matt or Issaq, asks me what's up & I go all ranty-n-ravey about people never showing up on time. As I go on about it, a see a young woman-- i guess a new staff member-- coming in. She hears me going on & gives me a sidelong glare. Half sarcastically and half as a means to turn off my crazy I ask, "Hey, how ya doin'?" She scowls and says that she heard me talking, so what the fuck do I care how she is?

FInally people are there, but then it turns out that parmesan is going to be a training moment today. Meg gathers all manner of people around, I just want to get it done and go. I have a giant box grater and I'm actually grating the cheese. But it's wierd and soft, like warm (cheap) colby-jack. I can almost tear it, like blanco. It's not grating very well for this reason, and I'm getting angry. Meg starts talking about how she doesn't care what happens to the cheese wheels, because she can just write it off inventory as damaged and so we can do anything we want. The implication is that instead of cutting it down methocially, she would just as soon see us throwing it against hard surfaces to break it up into hunks. I'm moving thick, sticky handfulls of shredded cheese into a large container. I feel like i could wring it and water would come out. None of this seems right.