Well, since my attempt to join the Army ended in a beauraucratic nightmare I have managed to volunteer for a job where I wake up obscenely early, take orders, move heavy objects, stack ammunition, sweat, bleed, suffer and kill for the cause. No, I didn't join a home grown terrorist cell or the French Foreign Legion. I'm talking about the dirty trenches of a professional kitchen.

To those of you who are ignorant, kitchen work is nothing like Emeril Legasse or Nigella Lawson present on good ol' TV. To those of you who watch Hell's Kitchen, you're looking at the regular workings in the front lines of a high volume restaurant. The screaming, the heat, the cuts and burns. People quitting in the middle of a shift, fucking everyone. High stress, flaring tempers, rampant alcoholism and drug abuse as well as a healthy dose of vulgarity and dark humour are what lurk behind the curtains of your favorite dining establishment. It's quite a different world from factories, call centers and even fast food establishments.

One of the interesting benefits of working in a kitchen, especially prep work, is the added muscle that starts to pop up on your frame. Hefting 60 lb. hot cauldrons of potatoes, 50 lb. bags of flower and sugar and holding up an 80+ lb. tray of prime rib on a regular basis does wonders for your upper body strength, not to mention the 10+ hours of being on your feet with nary a break and carrying this shit. It's quite the experience and even... fun.