Gainful Employment?
Some people love their job.
They wake with a giddy sense of anticipation humming about their body, they jiggle and dance as they go about preparing for the daily treasure that is their employment. Cheer is as much a reward as any paycheck to these lucky souls and every day is a reminder, a validation, they've contributed to the world in some meaningful way.
My job isn't like that.
I work in food service.
In prison.
Now don't get me wrong. There are many things I appreciate about this job. I have great supervisors (mostly), I've more control over my shift's hours, my days off, and admittedly, I get to eat better and more than my fair share of everything. None of this disputable.
It's also entirely self-centered.
The job itself is an inflexible slog through a four week, Groundhog's Day of a menu. Things only ever change when something goes wrong. Wrong like forgetting to order oatmeal for 1500 people and subbing it out with whatever rice and pasta we could scrounge up. Wrong like discovering that isn't pepper on today's breakfast sandwiches... It's mouse poop.
So much mouse poop.
Nothing ever feels rewarding when everything is obligatory, scripted and endlessly recycled. There's no originality, no leeway, no optioning. Mr. Reznor said it best- Every Day Is Exactly The Same.
Even my position is misleading. My title is 'Cook'. This is not what I do at all. I mean, in the most vulgar sense I am a cook. I apply heat to things in order to make them somewhat more edible. I am, on rare occasion, required to make rue for gravy, but really my title should be 'Warmer' or perhaps 'Oven Porter'. Maybe even 'Boiler' or 'Opener of Bags and Boxes'... 'Putter of Things on Trays'... As a human, and not a robot, it's mildly depressing.
Still, I *am* thankful and even though I earn in a month what most earn in a day and a half at minimum wage, I'm fortunate to have a job at all. I've met some very memorable people, developed an abiding friendship or two, and learned from not just my own mistakes, but from the daily flow of tiny and not so tiny errors intrinsic to a workplace with an improbable turn over rate.
Seriously, our roster of approximately 100 employees suffers about a 50% change every few weeks. Constantly training noobs that come stamped with evident expiration dates is another source of 'Sigh... FML...'
Why submit myself to all of this? It's actually not as bad as it seems (it's totally as bad as it seems *_*), having a routine is a great way to order the day, it's a means to buy soap in order to wash away the, erm, *persistent* odor of 'kitchen' at the end of the day (if you're curious what this particular aroma is like, I invite you to ask my poor friends and family who have been wrongfully subjected to its miasma before. A thousand pardons and more) and allows me to purchase other wants and needs. Chocolate and phone time belonging in the latter category, of course.
No, some people love their job and I admire that. I hope one day I can join them in their land of eternal sunshine. Until then, I'll maintain my daily doldrum and continue slogging through the marches of endless, preformed units of sustenance with my tacked on, deflective force-field of a smile. I'll continue enduring the slow motion assault upon the ever weakening fortress walls of my patience. I will *continue* because truly, I must.
I am a 'Cook', 'Potato Placer', and 'Assembler of Various Food Items, Both Round and Square'.
What I do has purpose.
It just isn't mine. *_*
