Scars, Burns, and Cuts

The swift slice of the kitchen knife hardly made an impression for the first five seconds at contact with her index finger. At first, she assumed it was nothing more than a slight nick that not even an infant would concern itself with. It wasn't until she took a moment for herself to closely examine the half sliced pig shoulder to notice her own finger practically gushing an arc over the raw meat. In a quiet panic she dropped the knife on the plastic cutting board and rushed to the nearest sink and practically ripped off her gloves before unnecessarily drowning both of her hands in the coldest water that could escape the faucet.

Crap! No one can see I'm freaking out!

While examining her finger, she nearly gasped aloud when she saw a small flap of skin hang loose as the excess blood continued to spill out of her body at an alarming amount.

For five months now, she had been working in the same kitchen surrounded by those with far more experience, talent, and worth in one hand than Hannah's entire being when it comes to the restaurant world. Technically, she was not even a prep cook. She was just a entry-level dishwasher. But considering she knew how to remove the spine of a raw chicken on her first day (her best improvisation yet!), they trusted her to assist with the occasional prepping if needed.

Until this incident, she has never once cut herself so drastically. All the kitchen staff showed their surprise when watching Hannah learn her way around the knives, meat scissors, graters, and hot pots and pans. Sure, Hannah had a few minor cuts and the occasional burn, but nothing she hadn't acquired in her own home.

One day, she wants to be skilled enough to become a real cook. So she learns the ways of her fellow employees and even bosses. Hannah does her best not to show fatigue (even when she doesn't leave the kitchen until midnight because of the extreme overload of the dirty dishes) or complain about being soaked in dishwater till closing time while simultaneously digging burnt chicken out of her fingernails or God forbid have the smell of collected carnal oil from the grease trap soaking in her specific black Shoes for Crews.

She has to witness the kitchen staff (majority of them being male) cursing every five seconds after a sudden burn or cut, though she knows those outbursts are more out of habit rather than actually enduring pain. Her boss, a respected man with professional training, has the hands of a Middle Ages blacksmith with all of the gathered scars, burns, and fresh cuts. Without actually having to feel his hands, she can only imagine the similarities between his palm and a worn out baseball mitt.

Most of the prep-cooks have similar versions on their hands, arms, and other miscellaneous areas of their body.

Except for Hannah.

This was the first time she really cut herself badly and all of her old cuts and burns would surely heal themselves to banishment. Her body in general was very good at recovering itself from falls, broken bones, and other fun adventures.

As Hannah dared herself to once again look at her cut, however, she was scared to imagine that seriously cut herself. After that gushing, she was sure she had cut a nerve or blood vessel. Something important not meant for a good slicing.

Eventually, her finger ceased to look like a bad eighties slasher special effect which got her to once again run away from sight and towards the first aid kit kept above the ice machine.

She needed the first aid kit once before when she grabbed an unknowingly hot handle of a large soup pot. Having it be in the sink and ready to wash, she assumed it had cooled down. Needless to say, she assumed wrong. Thankfully, the main prep-cook saw her writhing in pain after grabbing the handle and rushed her to the back. After experiencing enough burns in his life time, he made sure to have enough burn cream and gauze bandages.

Hannah had to tolerate that burn for a good week until she regained her normal rhythm without having to grit her teeth or pause to place her hand in ice water for that temporary release.

Now that she knew exactly where the kit was, she searched for that perfect gauze with an ambition.

Thankfully, there was one more perfectly sized band-aid for her cut but for a moment she felt guilty that she was taking the last one, knowing someone else might need it. But when she saw her finger bleeding again, her guilt poured away along with it.

After a rapid, but careful wrap of her finger, she was able to expertly contain her injury. Hannah was just happy the small flaps of skin weren't visible anymore. That disturbed her more than the blood.

Just as she was about to leave, she heard a small chuckle behind her.

Hannah turned around and saw the head prep-cook sitting on one of the rickety old chairs they all use for their breaks. He was drinking a chilled bottle of Mexican Cola that almost made Hannah want to lick her lips after realizing she hadn't really taken a break for five hours.

Realizing her just saw her run around trying to hide her injury away from the big boss, she just shook her head and chuckled along.

He asked her to walk towards him and she obeyed. Once she was close enough, he took her hand and took a quick look at her now bandaged finger. After nodding approvingly, he released her and asked one question: "Did you get any blood on the meat?"

Hannah shook her head, remembering the blood actually managed to aim away from the meat by a stroke of luck. "Not a drop."

He gave her a sideways grin and said, "You're learning" right before taking another swig of the Cola.

Hannah smiled a brief but sheepish smile before heading back to her station and went back to cutting the pork shoulder.

As she was putting on the gloves, she began noticing a few marks on her hand. Multiple nicks and burns along her palms, wrists, fingers, and knuckles that she hadn't really taken a notice to until that moment. Truthfully, she was only sure of one injury but only because it was nicely wrapped in a fresh band-aid.

Her big boss told her that would happen once she started really getting in the grove of the kitchen. Her body will only warn her of real concerns.

Suddenly, she realized she was actually improving. For a while, she was worrying about appearing stagnant because she was still a dishwasher and not being moved up to being a prep-cook. Yet there she was, already knowing how to correctly cut the pork shoulder, de-spine a crate full of ready-to-cook chickens, deep fry chips and fries, and even prepare a few signature sauces for an assortment of meals. Technically, none of those things were in her job description. But on a busy night when they desperately need clean dishes, utensils, and cookware, they also trust her to make sure they have certain supplies of food ready for the night or have a new batch ready when the kitchen suddenly runs out of the hands-on supply nearby.

On her first day, she couldn't imagine herself not feeling nervous around the restaurants food supply let alone feel comfortable having them cooked. Yet there she was, and the few nicks and burns she had on her hands proved it.

Now, her untouched skin has to house a brand new scar.