Lemons Lining the Wall

I had a random memory today and I am determined not to forget it again. When I attend College of the Ozarks, I worked in the school cafeteria. It was extremely demanding work and in no way pleasant. I worked every weeknight from 4:00 to 8:30 (sometimes later) keeping the dining area clean. I also had to work a nine-hour shift every other Saturday morning. On Saturdays, though, I had to work in the dish room. I'm sure you have been in a cafeteria before and left your tray on one of those little conveyor belt things. In the room that the conveyor belt leads to is a series of washers: one who dumps the cup and flips it, another who throws away trash and extra food, one who washes of the plates, and another who loads everything into the machines. At the other end of the machine are a couple of people who stack the dishes and return them to the serving area.

It's absolutely disgusting work. They give you a plastic smock and plastic gloves, but you usually end up with food particles up and down your arms and on your face. And then your shoes and bottom part of your pants end up soaked from dishwater that has flooded over onto the floor. Also, the dish room reeks of rotting food in unknown locations. You learn to hate people who waste their food or leave messy trays. I worked the morning shift on Saturdays, so I had to be at work before 5:00 a.m. Because it was Saturday mornings, very few people actually went to the caf, so I was the only one they scheduled to be there until 11:00 a.m. Those six hours were painful. I was tired, because no one on God's green earth should have to wake up that early. And I was alone. A tray might come through every thirty minutes. I would quickly go through each process and then wait in exhausted silence until another tray came through. It was quite natural that I searched for ways to amuse myself. That's where the lemons came in.

Beside the drink machine (is there an actual title for that machine?) there was a bowl of lemons, sliced fresh every day to add to your drink. Most people would toss them into their drink and let it sit there until they set their tray on the dish line. As I dumped the drink into the dish line, there would be chunks of clear ice and a bright little slice of yellow. I had told people that lemons made me happy, but one day I decided that sending them down the garbage disposal immediately was a bad idea. So, I began lining them up on the edge of the dish line against the wall. My best friend was one of the two dish room employees to come in at 11:00 a.m. for lunch and every time she came in, we'd count the lemons from the morning. Of course, we'd continue to collect them during lunch until they completely lined the dish wall. It was great, too, because we had to clean the dish room after lunch, and so we'd clean everything but the lemons first. Then, we'd toss the lemons into the garbage disposal and so the stink of the food that had been washed down was replaced by the scent of lemons. It was happy to watch while we were washing and it left a pleasant smell for the people who came in for the dinner shift.

I remember talking to my manager at the end of the semester, and he thanked me for being so committed to my work. He said that the person who worked the opposite Saturday showed up late, never actually did the work, and then complained about having to do it. My manager was so appreciative that I not only did the work, but I chose to be happy doing it. Of course, for me, this gave me an intense sense of pride.

I promised myself I'd try to remember that, but it has faded with time. I think I remembered it because I'm trying to get a job at a restaurant and it made me thinking of my last position in food service. I am determined not to forget it again. It's a really fantastic lesson, I think. You've been waiting for the line, I'm sure: If life gives you lemons, line them up on the dish wall.