I’m late! It’s 4:10p.m. and my shift started at 4:00p.m. My strides are getting longer as I put a little hop in my step. For every minute I’m late my piggy bank shrivels with hunger. The bricks seem to be gliding under my feet now as I find myself running across campus losing bobby-pins and my sanity along the way. My destination, the dining hall, is only four minutes away from my last class of the day, but there await 400 hungry students and one strict boss.
Lucky for me, my boss and I worked out the fact that I am a student and I have a greater responsibility to my future than up-keeping a salad bar. Although I may take care of the salad bar one night, me and the eight other night shift employees are assigned a new post every day. I can work “the grill” serving up freshly frozen burgers. I can work “pizza” by rhythmically putting some cheesy dough in the oven and pushing one greasy button that sets me free for nine minutes as the pizza cooks. Instead of having free time, I can be stuck working display, which features one of the chef’s creations for the night and requires me to prepare the food one plate at a time for those sometimes picky eaters.
If I want to find myself being busy the entire night I can take charge of the salad bar where all I do is a little dance, sticking a thermometer in each salad dressing to make sure it doesn’t exceed 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and if one should I have to throw it away. After that I have to restock the food that was neglected while I was taking temperatures. Being assigned to “the dining room” calls for me trudging around in my clunky sneakers doing a janitorial job cleaning up after students when their parents should have taught their kids to clean up a little bit better before they even learned how to use a fork. The only other option is “cards” where I sit at the front desk on the same stool for three hours collecting cards, and the microscopic bacteria living on these student ID cards that students pull out of the grip of their teeth, their shoes – or worse.
Despite the fact that I get to wear rubber gloves all night and have to strangle my delicately done hair style with a hair net, I can’t complain about the benefits that the job offers – like working with my student schedule. The hectic hours at work are 5:00p.m. to 7:30p.m., as workers rush around the kitchen getting food for restocking, and trying to not slip on the soaking wet tiles. One of the supervisors and I began doing the waltz in front of a table covered with pieces of meat. We gave up trying to get around each other and the puddles of water when we just kept heading in the same direction, basically butting heads, and realized we needed a relaxing break. A cook, started humming, “da da da da dum, dum dum, dum dum,” as the supervisor and I floated through the kitchen in unison.
As the work day comes to a close, the floor must be mopped, the counters wiped down, trash bags emptied and dishes washed. This routine can be compared to any situation in life that must come to an end. When you need to get something sticky off the floor, simply grab a mop, but don’t slip on the water on the way to the closet. Don’t sweat it. Anyone can wipe the slate clean and start anew tomorrow. Even though a pan of pizza may be dropped on the floor one night, an entire container of tea spilled the next, and some fingers are burnt trying to help someone in need, just throw away the pieces, mop up the mess, and slap a band-aid on to forget about the hard day’s night.