Mr. Hüseyin washes dishes with ritual, reverence, and exacting repetition.
But when a kitchen tyrant threatens the one thing he can control, Mr. Hüseyin cleans up the only way he knows how: carefully, thoroughly, and twice over.
A meditation on labor, pride, and the violence of being unseen.

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The Best Dishwasher in the World

Mr. Hüseyin has been working as a dishwasher at the Italian restaurant in Sheraton Ataköy İstanbul for exactly 20 years. His job is the most important job in the entire hotel, and he’s extremely experienced. Every day, he starts work an hour before the restaurant opens. He washes every plate, glass, fork, and knife by hand—twice in a row—and dries them with special towels. If everything’s already clean, he still washes and dries them again. He never, ever leaves water spots. He sets aside any fork that looks even slightly bent and counts every single one, morning and night. He reports the numbers to the Head Chef. He is particularly meticulous when it comes to steak knives. He always washes the right side first, then the left. He sharpens them after every use. If anything isn’t perfect, he refuses to let it be used. Mr. Hüseyin washes dishes from morning to night. His hands are permanently wrinkled. Without Mr. Hüseyin, Sheraton Ataköy would go bankrupt in less than a month. Mr. Hüseyin is certain of this.

“Hüseyin!” The Head Chef yells. He is yelling again. The Head Chef is a disgusting man. Useless, angry, always shouting at everyone—especially at Mr. Hüseyin. And always calling him just “Hüseyin,” as if he were a servant.

“Hüseyin! Where are the knives?” It’s New Year’s Eve today. 9:30 PM. Guests keep ordering Chateaubriand one after the other. The kitchen is buzzing with chefs. Their noise spills over into the dishwashing room.

Mr. Hüseyin collects the steak knives after every cut of meat, washes each one twice—right side, then left; again right, again left—then dries them. Then he sharpens them. Then washes them again. Time is tight, but Mr. Hüseyin never rushes. Rushing invites the devil. Everyone knows this.

There are three large knives in the sink now, one in Mr. Hüseyin’s hand. Water runs down the right side of the blade. Under the fluorescent lights, the metal gleams. Blood from the steak drips into the drain. Cleaning the knives calms him.

“HÜSEYİN! Hurry up! Give me the knives! The customers are waiting!” The Head Chef barges into the dishwashing room, stomping in his white apron. What a fat man. What a lazy, pathetic man. He stands over Mr. Hüseyin, shouting with spit flying from his mouth. “HÜSEYİN! Give me the knives already, they’re clean! The whole kitchen is stalled because of you, we can’t plate the food!”

Mr. Hüseyin doesn’t take his eyes off the knives. If it weren’t for him, Sheraton Ataköy would go bankrupt within a month. The restaurant would go under. He moves on to the left side of the blade.

“You fucking idiot, give me the knives already!” The Head Chef won’t shut up. The man’s useless. Who even made this man Head Chef? Who does he think he is? Idiot. Utter idiot.

“GIVE ME THE FUCKING KNIVES! What is this, you think you’re doing something important? You’re just a dishwasher! Know your place! I could pull some guy off the street and get better work than this!”

The head chef shoved Mr. Hüseyin’s shoulder.

Mr. Hüseyin lifted his eyes from the sink and faced the Head Chef.

He drove the knife into the center of the Head Chef’s round belly.

Twice.

In

and out.

Mr. Hüseyin does everything twice. He does everything clean, everything calm. If it weren’t for him Sheraton would go bankrupt within a month.

The Head Chef stumbles back two steps and collapses. He is finally quiet. Mr. Hüseyin takes a deep breath and turns back to the sink. Damn. Now he has to start over. He flips the blade to the right side.