Anyone who works in a restaurant probably has the same feelings that I do about restocking the ice bin. It is a huge pain in the ass. Why is ice so fucking heavy, anyway? The ice bin is a big slimy wet dank metal cube that is forever needing my attention and I am sick of dealing with it. I want to move to Europe where they all like everything without the ice so I can ignore the evil that is frozen water cubes.
If I ever own or design a restaurant I want to make sure the ice machine is close to the ice bin. On second thought, if I ever own or design a restaurant, someone please either wake me up from the nightmare I’m having or shoot me in the back of the head. In every place I have ever worked, the ice machine is about twenty blocks away from where the ice needs to be used. As I stocked the ice last time at my job I began to contemplate how completely inconvenient the location of the ice maker is. First off, you have to fill this giant one-handled bucket with ice three times in order to get enough ice to last the evening. The ice maker is in this teeny tiny narrow closet. After bucket number one is filled, I have to back up to get out of the room and shimmy through the door because it won’t stay open on its on. I then have to lug the bucket around a crowded corner where there are glass racks stored and then go through a swinging door. A swinging door like in an old timey western saloon kind of place. You know what I mean? Then I have to get through another doorway and then go upstairs to the bar. This must be done three times. What the fuck? Yeah, don’t put the ice machine someplace where it is convenient or anything, it’s no problem. Fuckers.
At my last job, (VYNL Second Avenue in NYC. The owner is a prick.) the ice machine was also downstairs. Really steep metal stairs that I fell down once and busted my skinny ass on. There, we had to fill up a total of four buckets and make two trips up the stairs of death with a bucket in each hand, risking life and limb just so those Upper East Side bitches could have ice in their diet Cokes with lemon. Again, why not put the fucking ice machine nearby? At the job before that (Marriott, Brooklyn. Holla!) the ice machine was literally in a different part of the hotel. Like it was so far away we had to roll a trolley there and load it up with ice and then roll it back to the restaurant. Like it was so fucking far away you had to get a goddamn bus transfer to get back. Once more, in-fucking-convenient.
My solution? First, I propose that we make a big sign to hang on the door of the restaurant that says “Ice is Out of Order.” If that is unacceptable, then why not just put the ice maker directly over the ice bin at the bar so that as the ice is made, it can just tumble directly into the desired location? It would be like
Manna from Heaven or the Nectar of the Gods. Except it would just be ice. That I don’t have to carry.