kith at Singapore Grand Prix

It’s fast, it’s furious, it’s as if our lives were on eternal hold.

But we survived. Albeit a little hung-over, survived. There’s probably nothing in the world we can’t handle right now. Okay, exaggeration. But please pardon us. We’ve been, after all, running on adrenalin and perhaps a few cartons of red bulls. A little indulgence in a post-event self-high won’t hurt, right? 😛

The motley crew on the first day of work.

Motley crew on the first day of work.

kith cafe to kith factory

6,000 cookies, 4,000 pastas, 4,000 pizzas, 12,000 stickers… The thousands never end. Practically everyone – from kitchen boys to service crew to office staff – were, at some point, involved in some sort of hypnotic production trance. Sift, knead, bake. Stir, cook, drain. Lift, stick, stack. Pack and pack and pack and pack.

Spaces were rejigged to become massive storage areas; humans re-deployed to meet new demands from the resulting factory. And the stronger of the pack? Perfect coolies and mini-van drivers. Talk about alternative careers. This one warrants a reality TV show.

kith factory to kith fast food

“You all must be very fast ar. Every 20 seconds close one sale.”
A mantra no one on shift should be unfamiliar with, our ops manager’s #qotd for three consecutive days.

“Yes Liz, got it. Let’s roll.”

Engines start – replenish, rest.
Engines stop – service, cook, service.
Engines start – replenish, rest.
Engines stop – service, cook, service.

Like perfectly conditioned lab rats waltzing to the rhythm of roaring engines, like maniacal minions overly focused on each of their extremely specialized tasks, like automated gears fueling an intricate system of human clockwork – these are the days of our lives as a Grand Prix stallholder. And no, contrary to popular belief, we did not catch a single glimpse of the flashy F1 cars.

kith fast food to kith cafe

Fast forward, couple of weeks later, now. Strength recouped, cheeks coloured, physio sessions completed (we are a bunch of old young bones, really). As daily humdrums take over, we really can’t help but reminisce.

Jane, drained.

Jane, drain.

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