Dishwasher's Creed

Amazingly enough, for doing what most people assume is a "low-grade" or even "lowbrow" job this summer, I have learned an amazing amount of trivial and not so trivial things during my experience as a dishwasher.

I picked it up as a summer job, of course. Having worked many many hours on campus at one of the dining halls, doing everything that no one else wants to do (laying underneath a stir fry pan like a mechanic under a jacked-up car scraping mystery goop off the bottom with a razor, having it fall onto me as I work, or getting a great forearm workout from scrubbing the death out of sausage gravy residue left from breakfast out of a kettle bigger than me, etc.), the transition was relatively easy. Strangely enough, of all the things I have done at the dining hall, from vacuuming and mopping floors to the disgusting protocol mentioned above, dishwashing is the one job I never did.

Being a dishwasher is NOT an easy job. I didn't think it would be. I just wasn't exactly sure what to expect. I was worried that they wouldn't even hire me because I'm a girl, and "girls don't like to do nasty things."

Trust me, it is nasty. My hands right now look like a bull mastiff got a hold of my fingers and worried them like a chew toy all over the yard. They're cut up and shredded (my pinky has four different chronological layers of skin on it at the moment), my arms wearing knife scars from accidental nicks, and I have countless other scars. I come home smelling like a dumpster every night (usually because the garbage bag breaks, and Italian wedding soup leaks on me as I try to heave 80 pounds of trash into the compactor). The first week I worked, I came with dermatitis all over my hands and arms from either a latex allergy, or a general irritation from water, since my skin is so sensitive. (I earned nicknames based on different superheroes, correlating with what color gloves I brought to wear. Turquoise = The Green Lantern, Yellow = Aquaman, etc.)

The scars are, naturally, part in due to my clumsiness, but more so a testament to just how hard I work. I've only worked at this restaurant for under a month, and every single shift I have not left without getting a major compliment, including my first day on the job, when one of the wizened chefs told me it "it seems like I've done this before."

What is it with my generation not knowing how to work? Why do we feel that we are entitled to a paycheck, as opposed to doing our jobs to earn it? So many times at the dining hall, I saw girls gabbing to each other instead of putting their best foot first to get the fryer cleaned in a few minutes under their "record time," or guys checking their phones constantly for texts (despite this being against work policy) while clocked in. Can't we disassociate for a few hours? I don't get it.

I do manage, though, to have an absolutely fun time at work, even if my feet are on fire from constant trips running back and forth to bus bins and out to the main dining hall to restock cups and plates. All of us banter playfully, make fun of each other, and bitch about customers behind the walls they can't see if they deserve it. I absolutely love this. I feel at home at work. I definitely don't mind the camaraderie I've gained with the waitstaff and cooks. They're hilarious, nice, and all generally hard-working, too.

Because of this, this job has merely fortified my definition of what it means to truly work. Managers and other dishwashers have, quote, called me a "machine," "kick-ass," yesterday's comment from one of the servers, "The Best Damn Dishwasher in the World," "haulin' butt," and "The Incredible Hulk" (because I can lift one of the tables you have to move at the end of every shift which apparently none of the other dishwashers, all male, can do without help).

I didn't think taking cleaned silverware out to the servers to save them a trip back in the kitchen, or refilling cups/plates when that's really the busser's job, or even taking out garbage/cleaning walls and sinks when I have downtime was considered "working hard." I've always considered that more "common courtesy." Going above and beyond my job description isn't me being "extra nice" or "a suck-up for a raise." It's, to me, and my parents' generation, what you should do. I don't always take compliments well, so getting them at work everyday makes me kind of skittish. Praise is nice, but it's kind of sad when I'm the only one getting it for doing a job how other dishwashers should.

Aside from how to accept praise and how to work hard, this job has truly reinforced my disdain for my generation. They're not there working beside me. I wonder if the workforce, as in "when I truly enter it in my chosen field" in a few years, will befall the same expectations of laziness or apathy. It breaks my heart that I'm automatically pigeonholed when I walk into an interview because I was born in 1990. At least I feel that way.

Could be my general misanthropic and pessimistic worldview, but oh well.

Being a dishwasher has taught me...
Actions speak louder than words.
If you're standing still, you're doing something wrong.
Never decline an offer for free tortellini.
Working hard does pay off.
Mind the squeaky shelf, or the pots will fall on your head.
Pre-emptive action saves time and makes everyone in the kitchen happy.
Think for your group, not just for yourself.
Economize and manage your time (a.k.a. cram as many different shaped things into the dishwashing rack as possible, in the shortest amount of time possible).
Don't forget to have fun, but remember why you are here.

I am a dishwasher, and have learned to be proud of it.