Yep... Pretty Fucking Humiliated.

I've been through a bit of shit in my life. I mean, fuck, everybody has yeah? The kind of miserable days when you feel like you're walking ankle deep through shitty mud in socks with some 'imaginary friend' with a grey beard looking down on you from the clouds with an expression like those 4 year olds that do the moose ears with their hands going 'nieh ne ne nieh ne'.

You get the point. A really bad fucking day.

I mean I've stood tall for a lot of it, from having dickweed bosses throw limes at me from across the pass to copping the verbal abuse day in, day out, those days kind of suck monkey balls. I figure the chefs did it because they had tiny penises and needed a false ego in order to make up for it so that they wouldn't be found huddled over a bottle of José and a Gourmet Traveller by age 27 wondering what 'could have been'.

But I don't really cry much. At least I haven't for the last ten years. Sure I've had chefs break me, at one point I didn't ever want to step foot in a kitchen again. Thankfully I had the one good chef out of the bunch who pulled me out of the rubble, kicked an oven door in and yelled at me to pull my head in and go back to work.

So I did.

It takes a fair bit to break the tear sockets on me though. My mother tells me I have the interior of melted gold but the exterior of a stone lion. Although I am one of those people that once I start the sobs, you probably should grab a ShamWow and a cup of coffee, 'cos you're gonna be there a while.

The blessing of the kitchen is that I have two escapes. The coolroom, which is a small enclosed refrigerated area with a split design: 50% fridge, 50% individual or group therapy room. You cannot pay any psychiatrist any amount of moolah to get the same release as giving a box of lemons the old steel cap boot busting.

And the other is chopping onions. You can cry your little heart out while mandolining a shallot and nobody's the wiser. Until you cut yourself of course. The mandolin is a chef's best friend and worst enemy.

"Oooh look at the perfectly sliced zucchini sexily garnished with what was a moment ago, the top 7mm of my thumb. Cheers cunt."

But even though I've lost best mates to accidents, illnesses or just grown apart, I've still always thought crying wasn't the option. I really believed that crying in front of your head chef is probably the most defacing act in the world, ever. This morning I discovered how wrong I was.

This morning I said goodbye to my best friend who is going overseas. It started off with a goodbye hug in the car and a few dropping tears. Not sobbing, just a gentle stream, like what you get when you've had a couple of wines and decide to chuck on I Am Sam or The Lion King ("NOOOOO MUFASA NO!). But as I reached the train station to head off to work, it actually dawned on me that I will not see that happy sparkling smile for a very long time.

Safe to say I had a little bit of a breakdown. I didn't sob, I didn't make a noise, I just sat on one of those uncomfortable seats that have clearly been designed for a giraffe and let the salty drops of emotion pool into my lap. They just kept coming like a depressed Sylvia Plath version of a raging orgasm. One after the other of endless tears.

I was comforted however, by a young kid, maybe 17 or 18, who handed me a tissue and sat down next to me and essentially... Let me blast out the whole story.

What a fucking champion. I mean of course I don't think I've been this genuinely humiliated since Bobby Macfarlane kissed me in second grade in front of my teacher and parents, or maybe at Portsea when I got dumped by a mammoth wave resulting in the complete loss of bikini top much to the lifeguards delight...

But who does that? What sk8rboi kid (yes I'm using that spelling for it's comedic and visual effect) just sits down next to a random girl and says "Hey, let it all out, I've got pretty good ears."

So here's to that kid. Who gave me a tissue, a shoulder and nine minutes of his time until the next City Loop express whilst I blurted out how much I'm going to miss my best friend.

Thanks kid, as far as life is concerned, you're doing it right.