Order up...

For those of you who have never worked in a restaurant, it may surprise you to learn they are one of the most sexually charged work environments on earth. It's no wonder, really. Restaurants are fast-paced, stressful and hot. You are working in very close proximity to a lot of people in a cramped space (kitchens are usually not very large or open). You are constantly bumping into and rubbing up against people. Typically, we work long, odd hours and tend to get off work when the only places still open are bars. The amount of alcohol consumed by a restaurant staff after a shift makes the 5:00 happy hour/cubicle crowd look like a bunch of Sunday school kids. Restaurants are also one of the only places where blatant sexual harassment is not only tolerated, but encouraged for the sake of everyone's sanity. I can't tell you how many times a night I get my ass slapped (usually by the other girls) or how often references are made to "special sauce" and the "pounding of meat", as well as the basic apron un-tying, ice-down-the-shirt flirting and constant sexual innuendo (in your endo.) So, it comes as no surprise to me how many people end up hooking up with co-workers. I am no stranger to this phenomenon myself. It's become evident over the years that I am powerless when it comes to a man in chef pants. I don't know what it is about them...maybe the black and white checkered pattern hypnotizes me. All I know is, if you put an already attractive guy in a pair of chef pants and a chef coat, I am pretty much toast. This obsession began for me at the ripe young age of 16, when I started my first ever waitressing job in a small, family diner in the town where I grew up. The night cook, "Bruce", was a complete red-neck and a bit of an asshole, yet every night after we closed, he would remove his shirt (health codes be damned) and begin cleaning the grill wearing nothing but his dirty chef pants. You could see every muscle in his back and arms constricting as he leaned far over the grill, scrubbing, back and forth, back and forth...sigh. I spent a lot of time in the freezer there, trying not to burst into flames--it was almost too much for my raging, 16 year old hormones to take. Then there was "Rob" at my next job. He was quiet and shy and had those dark, liquid coal eyes that seemed to look directly inside of me and reduce me to a puddle of my former self. He made such an impression, that he and his chef pants landed a starring role in the yet-to-be-submitted Penthouse forum letter I'd scripted called "Slow Night". I wonder what ever happened to him...?? I'm interested to know if offices/factories etc. have this sort of dynamic, since I've never worked in one long enough to see. Is there any serious "supply closet dry humping" happening? School me, people! And the next time you're sitting in a restaurant, take a look around and know that there's a good chance your server is tired, hungover and regretting having slept with the bartender the previous night...