[Life] In 1989, fired three times.Author: JEFFI CHAO HUI WU Time: 2025-7-08 Tuesday, 8:52 AM ········································ [Life] In 1989, fired three times. As soon as I arrived in Melbourne, I knew that in order to survive, I had to find a job as soon as possible. After all, the life of an international student is not as glamorous as outsiders imagine, and the financial pressure forced me to take action quickly. Finally, I found a Greek restaurant in Brunswick run by a couple who agreed to hire me as a kitchen helper. Although the hourly wage was only 2 Australian dollars and it was just for a few hours, at least I could earn some money for food and rent. For me, who had just arrived in Australia, this was already one of the best opportunities. At that time, there were many international students working, but few could find suitable jobs. The boss told me that the work was very simple, just washing and cutting vegetables in the kitchen, and occasionally helping to clean up the kitchen. I gladly accepted, after all, survival is more important than anything else. The Difficulty of Survival Every day after class, I would arrive at the restaurant on time, tie on my apron, and enter the kitchen to start my day's work. Three hours a day, three afternoons a week, my total income was 18 AUD. This amount was completely insufficient to cover all living expenses; at that time, the rent was 45 AUD per week, and to save money, I only shopped once a week, mostly for cheap canned food, keeping my expenses strictly under 20 AUD. The restaurant is not close to where I live, and I need to take the bus back and forth every day. If I get busy and work late, and the buses have stopped running, I can only grit my teeth and walk back. The winter nights in Melbourne are bone-chillingly cold, and the streets are silent. Occasionally, the shadows cast by the streetlights give me a sense of "being a lonely traveler in a foreign land." Walking on unfamiliar streets, I keep asking myself, "Is this the place where my dream began?" The first time being "fired" In this way, I persisted for three weeks. Although the income was meager, it at least allowed me to continue surviving in Melbourne. However, reality is always harsher than imagination. One day, I arrived at the restaurant on time as usual. Just as I put on my apron, the boss called me aside and said with a helpless expression, "Business is bad, we might not make it, we have to lay off some staff, I'm very sorry." My heart sank instantly; this meant I had lost my only source of income. Looking at the helpless expressions on the faces of the boss and his wife, I knew this was not personal but rather that their business was indeed facing problems. In that moment, I truly experienced what it felt like to be "fired"; it turned out it was not just a scene from a movie, but a part of real life. I quietly took off my apron,整理了一下背包, thanked the boss and his wife, and then walked out of the restaurant's door. The cold wind blew against me, and I took a deep breath, telling myself, "This is just the first hurdle in life; if I get through it, there will be new opportunities." Lost, but not giving up After returning to my place, I sat in the room for a long time, staring blankly at the few cans of cheap food on the table. This has just begun; how many more challenges like this will there be in the future? But I know this is not the end, but another form of growth. That night, I didn't write a letter home. I didn't want to worry my mom, nor did I want them back in my home country to know that I had just experienced my first time being "fired." I knew this was just the beginning; the road ahead was still long, and I had to rely on myself to get through it. Second Time Being "Fired": The Kitchen Battlefield of an Italian Restaurant After experiencing the "firing" at the Greek restaurant, I quickly adjusted my mindset and began to look for new job opportunities. Having worked at Brunswick before, I knew there were many restaurants in that area, so I decided to ask one by one. At this point, I was no longer as shy as when I first arrived in Melbourne; I had developed a thicker skin. Although my spoken English was still poor, I could at least express my intentions. "Do you need a chicken hand?" "Can I work in the chicken?" I initially couldn't tell the difference between chicken feet and the kitchen in English. "Chicken hand?" the boss asked, puzzled. I explained everything again with gestures and words. The boss finally understands! "You mean kitchen hand?" Hahaha, all the bosses laughed until they cried. Every time I walk into a restaurant, I try to express myself in the simplest English possible, hoping to secure an interview opportunity. Some restaurants directly refuse, while others politely say they don't need staff at the moment, but I haven't given up and continue to persevere. Finally, hard work pays off. Perhaps it’s because I already have "local work experience." Less than a week after my first unemployment, I got a job as a kitchen helper at an Italian restaurant. Compared to my previous job, the待遇 here is simply worlds apart: Treat to a dinner Hourly wage of 9 AUD (more than four times the previous rate) Work 8 hours a day (from 3 PM to 11 PM), 5 days a week. According to the living standards at that time, this was already a considerable income! With this job, I could finally alleviate my financial pressure temporarily and no longer worry about rent and food. Kitchen Battlefield: Busy and High Pressure The Italian restaurant is doing extremely well, almost always full every day, and the pace in the kitchen is so fast that it feels almost suffocating. The kitchen is filled with a mixed aroma of butter, cheese, and sugar, which initially seems delicious, but over time, this smell actually starts to make me feel a bit nauseous. My daily task is to clean various kitchen utensils, and the kitchenware here is far more challenging than that in Greek restaurants. The cooking methods of Italian cuisine are unique, requiring all pots and pans to be heated and stirred with large amounts of cheese, butter, and sugar, which melt at high temperatures and solidify like cement when cooled. The pots in the restaurant are very large, available in large, medium, and small sizes, with each pot weighing between 2 to 6 kilograms. Cleaning these pots is a big project. The number of pots is limited, and the chefs must wash them immediately after use; otherwise, they cannot continue to use them in the next round. But the problem is that the cooled cheese and sugar stick to the bottom of the pots like rocks, making them impossible to scrub easily; they must be chipped away piece by piece with a dinner knife. Hot water? No time to soak! Cleaner? Useless! Whenever the pots and pans pile up like a mountain, the kitchen supervisor will stand by your ear, urging you incessantly, shouting: “Hurry up! Faster! Keep up with the orders!” In this high-pressure environment, the daily working hours seem to be compressed to the limit, leaving no chance to catch a breath. Dinner time is only 15 minutes; after wolfing down the food, I have to immediately jump back into the fray. The heat of the kitchen, the frantic pace, the heavy pots and pans, and the supervisor's urging make me feel like a high-speed machine, with my nerves constantly on edge. Finally, one day, after a period of continuous high-intensity work, I couldn't hold it any longer. When the manager urged me once again, I instinctively replied: “I haven’t stopped at all!” As soon as the words came out, the chief steward's expression changed immediately. He stared at me for a few seconds without saying anything more, but at that moment, I already had a vague feeling of unease in my heart. On the day of the salary settlement, the supervisor suddenly said to me, "Don't come in tomorrow." I was taken aback for a moment and asked, "When is the next shift scheduled?" The supervisor replied coldly, "Wait for the notice." I realized something was wrong, and a week later I called to inquire. The supervisor's tone was already very dismissive: "Oh, we have someone to replace you now." At that moment, I finally understood—I had been "fired" again! Reflection: A Place That Does Not Belong to Me After hanging up the phone, I didn't feel much anger, but rather a bitter smile. This was the second time I had been fired, but this time I felt more at ease than the last. This job does bring in a decent income, but the high-pressure environment every day makes me feel like a constantly spinning screw, with no chance to catch my breath. I know that this kind of work is not what I want, nor is it the direction I want to take in the future. This unemployment has made me clearer about one thing: if it were just for the money, I could completely endure continuing on; but I came to Australia not to be a dishwasher or kitchen helper for a lifetime, but to seek a future that truly belongs to me. The second time I was "fired," it made me even more determined about one thing—I must break free from all of this and find a direction that aligns better with my goals and values! The Third Time Being Fired: The Last Lesson of the Jewish Restaurant The experiences of being "fired" twice have made me accustomed to it, and even deepened my understanding of the catering industry. However, I still need a job and to continue living, so I set out on the job search again. This time, I found a kitchen helper job at a Jewish restaurant in Melbourne. The owner of this restaurant is a genuine Jew, and almost all the employees in the kitchen are also Jewish. I am the only Chinese person here, which makes me feel a bit isolated, but I have long been accustomed to adapting to my environment alone. Compared to the previous Greek and Italian restaurants, the working mode here is different; the combinations of ingredients, cooking methods, and eating habits are completely distinct. The preparation of Jewish food has strict requirements, and there are many special regulations in the kitchen, such as certain ingredients that cannot be mixed and certain utensils that must be used separately. I strive to adapt, but I still feel somewhat out of place. Every day, I still start with the most basic cleaning and preparation tasks. The salary is slightly higher than before, the working hours are relatively fixed, and the environment is somewhat less stressful compared to the high-pressure kitchens of Italian restaurants. However, it didn't take long for me to notice the underlying issues here: there is an invisible hierarchy in the kitchen, and as the only Chinese person, I naturally find myself at the bottom. Dismissed without reason I have always worked diligently, never arriving late or leaving early, and I never complain about extra tasks. I believe that as long as I do my job well, I can at least last a little longer in this store. However, reality is not like that. One day, the boss suddenly called me aside and simply said, "After this week, you don't need to come anymore." I was stunned. This time, there are no excuses? My previous two experiences of being "fired" at least gave me a reason—at the Greek restaurant it was "poor business," and at the Italian restaurant it was "disrespecting the supervisor." But this time, I have no idea what I did wrong. I tried to ask for the reason, but the boss just coldly said, "This is not your problem; it's just that our kitchen no longer needs extra help." But I know very well that my position has been taken by another Jew, and that newcomer can't even handle a knife, standing in the kitchen at a loss. I understand now that this job never belonged to me from the very beginning. Three Times Fired: I Learned the Rules of Reality This is the third time I've been fired, and I finally understand that in many places, working hard and being diligent does not mean you can stay. In the workplace, especially in an environment completely dominated by a different culture, sometimes relationships between people are more important than your abilities. I did not show any emotions and silently accepted this outcome. I knew that resisting was useless, and arguing was even more futile. Instead of wasting energy complaining, it was better to find a way to change my direction. Being fired three times made me see a few realities clearly: Identity determines many things — even if you try your hardest, you may not be truly accepted in a circle that doesn't belong to you. Relying solely on physical labor for a living is the most unstable way — as long as you can be easily replaced, you are destined not to survive for long. True security comes from irreplaceable abilities — if I continue to work in the restaurant, there will be a fourth and fifth time I get fired, but if I possess greater competitiveness, I will have the right to decide my own fate. That night, I walked alone on the way back to my place. The streetlights were dim, and the cold wind swept through the alleys. I knew I could no longer rely on odd jobs to survive; I had to find a new direction, a path that belonged to me. I don't want to be easily replaced anymore; I want to be the person who cannot be replaced. Source: https://www.australianwinner.com/AuWinner/viewtopic.php?t=696742 |