I started my internship (as part of my studies) as a cook's assistant where my mother worked, and I deeply regretted it.

Hello everyone, I'll let you know in advance that I'm writing from a translator, as I don't know much English.

My name is John (not my real name), and I'm 15 years old. I started my internship as a cook's assistant (I'm studying to be a chef) where my mother worked (she didn't work in the culinary industry, but she was closely involved).

When I started looking for an internship, my mother suggested I work at her old place. I thought it was a good idea because she knew them, which meant they would treat me well and maybe even pay me (though I wasn't looking for money; the most important thing for me was to gain experience and learn something from them).

Okay, the first day, I showed up in a good mood, hoping they'd teach me something, but they ended up making me clean the whole fucking kitchen.

It's been two weeks since my first day, and I still haven't learned anything. I mean, maybe I've learned a few things, like how to hold a knife properly or how to cut vegetables more easily, but that's the only thing I can think of. For these two weeks, I've just been peeling potatoes, onions, and all that other shit, which doesn't move me forward at all. All my attempts to learn anything ended with me being sent to peel vegetables or scrub the entire kitchen.

In two weeks, I've only mastered two dishes, and I'm not sure I've mastered them well.

Today was the turning point. I came in, helped the to the cooks cut vegetables, and then went to wash my knife. While doing so, I accidentally cut my finger. It's a small cut, nothing unusual, it happens to everyone. Okay, during practice, we became slightly friendly with this guy, and while we were preparing food for the staff, we were talking with the chef. During this, I joked about beating this same guy in a wrestling match. My only friend didn't seem to appreciate the joke, and when we went outside to bring the products into the warehouse, he started harassing me and wrestling. During this, he did something to my back, and I injured it (for reference, he's about 4-5 centimeters taller than me and about 15 kilograms heavier). Just fucking hell, I was physically harmed because of a joke.

Okay, my shift was ending, and when I was ready to leave, the order came. There was a dish I'd mastered well, so I decided to help the cooks. I did everything necessary, and when I was serving, the chef asked me how many servings that was. I said one, because the receipt only said one. In response, he yelled at me something like this: "Fuck, how many times have I told you to lose weight, I'm so fucking sick of it!" Although before I started cooking, I discussed it with one of the cooks, and he confirmed that this was a normal weight, that it should be like this, that you're doing everything right, and all that jazz.

I'm just so fucking stunned, I don't know what to do. Maybe they just see me as an incompetent guy who can't be trusted. But I'm so fucking sick of it too, can you teach me something other than how to clean a kitchen?

In short: I started an internship at the place where my mother worked, but I deeply regretted it because they didn’t teach me anything except how to peel vegetables and scrub the kitchen.