Here's a draft narrative based on the details you provided about the first week as a dish pig:
Week One in the Bag
The clatter of dishes and shout of “Work fast!” fill the bustling kitchen. Allen, the sage sous chef, pulls me aside in the disposal room. “The boss is okay,” he says, referring to Joe, our head chef. “Just be careful.” I’m always navigating caution here.
Joe reminds me I’ve got one more “probation week.” I thought it was only one, but I swallow my pride - more work is better than no job. It’s Friday, end of my first grueling week washing dishes at The Loft café in the cancer ward.
Joe operates in constant frenetic motion, his patience wearing thin by the week’s end. I think it’s his coping mechanism for the nonstop stress. When I can’t find my time sheet, he snaps, “Just do it Monday!” But he lets me leave 10 minutes early - his version of praise.
Lu Lu is back as one of the chefs. She and Joe work seamlessly together. “Don’t worry, the new guy will clean the storeroom for you,” he tells her. I detect a note of satisfaction; the 5-hour storeroom deep clean impressed him after all. But is it enough job security?
After my first shift, Joe wanted a 4-month commitment. Now he warns that if I don’t fulfill requirements, he’ll find someone “more suitable.” So it’s week to week. I walk a tightrope, documenting life as a dish pig.
Allen wants me to stay. “I want you to work here with me,” he says earnestly. We bond over late nights scrubbing pans. He’s been at The Loft five years, unlike Joe who arrived 2.5 years ago. Allen’s few words hold meaning.
I collapse after each bone-tiring day, walking 3 kilometers to and from work. But the physical grind makes me lean and tough. When Joe asks me to come early Monday since the dicer is broken, I agree to slice mounds of chicken breast. I sense his satisfaction at my progress, though he’s sparing with praise.
After cutting my thumb badly, I wear gloves over the bandage to keep working. Joe has no time or patience to train someone new. I think I’m proving myself indispensable.
Allen even offers his apartment to rent, near work and our blossoming friendship. As week one wraps up, I have a foot in the door. But Joe holds the cards, and the keys to my future here. I walk the tightrope, striving to prove my worth as a dish pig.
Let me know if you would like me to modify or expand this in any way. I'm happy to keep refining it until it captures the essence you want.