Painfully Elevatorless in Orlando

Murphy’s Law insists that if something can go wrong, it will go wrong.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I woke up early, went to school, rocked out a killer cheesecake and some crème brulees alongside a batch of chocolate mousse and headed home for a quick lunch and a workout before work.

(Baking and Pastry class is not a low-fat class, and of course we have to taste everything. There is no option. When the chef tells you, “Taste this crème brulee! Memorize it! This is how yours should be!” you have to just buckle down and take one for the team.)

Anyway, my workout was painful because I was massively, monstrously sore from the prior day’s workout, which left my legs feeling like jelly. So by the time I got out of the car in the cast parking lot, I was having a hard time wobbling from the parking lot to the bus.

Now, for those of you who haven’t brushed up on obscure Disney facts, Columbia Harbour House (my work-sweet-home) is a two-story restaurant.

Bear with me as I attempt to draw back the mysterious curtains of the CHH kitchen. Or, at any rate, crack open the Shipmates Only door. (Hey, fancy that. I’m a Shipmate.)

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For those of us Culinary Cast behind the scenes who make delicious magic happen, our kitchen is split in two sections. The bottom half contains the salmon grill and ‘back prep’ where we handle the chowder, mac’n’cheese, chili and assemble literally everything else on the menu. The top half of the kitchen is considered ‘upstairs prep’ where we start from scratch to create the building blocks that ‘back prep’ uses to assemble your meal.

(Yes, Columbia Harbour House is awesome. We make your food from scratch. *virtual high five for quality*)

To get food from upstairs prep to back prep, we use lots of rolling carts (I always end up with the crooked-wheeled cart, prompting everyone to tell me what a terrible driver I am) and an elevator.

This elevator sometimes breaks down. I have never been inside when it happens, but we’ll see if that ever changes. Getting stuck in an elevator (temporarily) is on my bucket list. I’ve seen it in the movies.

Anyway.

Yesterday, the elevator broke down and stayed that way. And I, back prep chica of the day, needed a lot of upstairs items.

So guess who had to buckle down and breathe through the pain? This girl. The whole day I wondered to myself, “Why did I decide yesterday would be a good day for legs?” I mumbled my mantra, no pain no gain! as I lugged fifteen pounds worth of lobster mix down the steps.

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Anyway, the day just got progressively more and more disastrous. Some calamity had befallen our cobblers in the oven, setting the entire kitchen behind. I was forced not only to walk up the stairs, but run–or at least walk as fast as possible–to get everything done on time.

I collapsed into my car at the end of the night. I had to lift my legs one at a time to get my poor stiff self out of my vehicle.

Now, I do not tell you this story to complain (okay, well, maybe a little) but to leave you instead with some valuable insight.

Always carry ibuprofen!

Or, better yet, never take elevators for granted. Humans did not always get by with whizmos and gizmos that carried us place to place. If you’re faced with a decision today involving escalators or stairs, take the stairs and race the slowpokes on the escalators. Feel the burn (and be grateful you don’t have to carry twenty pounds of cobbler batter on your way!)

Either way, as painful as the day was, it ended up being a win-win, I got a great workout at work and it didn’t cost me any extra money or time. I’m just glad I have today to recover.

Also, I’m thankful for the maintenance man that fixed the elevator. He rocks.

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