The Grease Trap
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Tangentially related: I'm in the process of renovating and reopening a small cafe that is situated within a complex of car dealerships. We'll mostly be serving breakfast and lunch plates to the delearship staff, mechanics, valets, and customers waiting on car repairs. It's a swanky little outfit. Mini, Lexus, Audi, BMW, Porsche, Land Rover. Even a damn Maserati dealership. I can sell these folks cheeseburgers, right?
Today as I was elbow-deep cleaning out a deep-fryer, I was struck by a thought: where's the grease trap? I gotta clean that out pronto, because if the last guy left his fryers in this pitiful condition, I'm sure he didn't do the twice-monthly chore of cleaning the grease trap. So I asked.
The site manager sighed. He pointed to a locked door marked IT DEPARTMENT ONLY. I was like, you have got to be kidding me. He shook his head and unlocked the door. And there, sitting on the floor of THE FACILITY'S MAIN SERVER ROOM, is my cafe's grease trap.
Jesus Christ.
And I can't clean the damn thing while they're open, the stench will drive people screaming from the building. I just hope it doesn't back up before I can get to it on Sunday. No idea what they were thinking or how that's even code-compliant. Ugh.
posted by BitterOldPunk at 1:31 PM on January 3 [6 favorites]
There. Quoted without permission. Was that so hard?
Power Shower
