Share DETAILS—possibly in bullet-point form—five things-you-know about a particular type of workplace. One, at least, should be surprising! More description of this in the July 1 newsletter.
1970's kitchen at a Methodist summer camp (Worked there two summers)
- Washing pots and pans in industrial sink with a high window that allowed me to watch people's feet as they walked past the basement kitchen and dining hall.
- Assistant cook sang hymns while she worked, and when we served chicken, she collected all the chicken fat to take home. She told us she used it instead of shortening in her baking.
- Evelyn and I made pancakes on a griddle placed over the gas burners once a week, and every week Evelyn went home with welts on her stomach where her girdle melted while working at the stove.
- Flirting with the food delivery driver who sometimes pretended to lock me in the walk-in freezer.
- The menu never changed, week to week. Wednesday dinner - breaded and baked chicken, Friday dinner - fish sticks.
That watching of people’s feet is almost a story right there.
Do you recall the titles of any of the hymns?
When I worked at a restaurant, fetching something from the walk-in freezer always made me slightly nervous.
In college, the cook had a stained and battered copy of a book called “Food for Fifty.” It was a little scary to think that her meals came out of that book.
For one, I'm assuming the campers change every week, so for them there's only one of each day. And it makes the work easier, stream-lined. Gives some shape to the week.
And for me, as always for every reader, there's some personal association (that writers can rarely know of or assume).
I used to work across the hallway from an ageing seamstress; she'd been jilted--night before her wedding. And she allowed it to affect every aspect of her days for the rest of her life. She's the only person I've known to eat the same things, or types of things, each particular day of the week; she shopped on Friday--the only time she wore slacks. She did her gardening at particular times. She only ever worked late on Thursdays, when I would join her and learn a lot about sewing. She had utter control of her life. I loved her and she terrified me.
A typewriter and tethered phone on every desk. Cigarettes and whisky in almost every drawer. The noise of the phones, the clacking of typewriter keystrokes on multiple machines, the tinkle of bells at the end of a line of type. The smell of mostly male bodies, cigarettes, pencils, and paper; the heady feeling we were doing something important.
My typewriter was special: large bullet type — maybe 30 point font, before anyone ever talked about fonts— a now ancient machine used for intros and extros that fed the paper (joined by tape) into the teleprompter. When I was angry or stressed pounding the keys hard, was soothing. Joy was the introduction of an electric, Selectric that could correct almost a whole prior sentence and made Whiteout almost obsolete.
Jul 2, 2023·edited Jul 2, 2023Liked by Alison Acheson
Cleaning resort cabins
-Hoping all the guests check out early-maybe even the night before- so that you can get as many cabins as possible turned over before the heat of the summer day peaks in the afternoon.
-Having a conversation with your boss while your head is literally in a toilet bowl (as you scrub it.)
-Impromptu ice cream sandwich breaks when the guests forgot to empty the freezer before leaving.
-Many smokers can clean all day without a lunch break, but regular smoke breaks are non-negotiable.
-The satisfaction of leaving a cabin not only clean, but “pretty.” (Blanket artistically draped over the back of the couch, measuring spoons arranged according to size in the kitchen drawer, the loose end of the toilet paper roll folded into a little point, etc.) Wondering whether the next guests will even notice these things.
Erin, I'm working on the next piece, looking at the "why" of all this, as per Georgia's comment and question on the "work stories" piece posted on June 25th.
This last bit here is so good--the wondering. And the why of that. Why do we go that last bit? Do we go home and do the same? are we exhausted once home, and don't? Does something happen to change this at some point--and what would that look like?
Leaves me with many good questions! Thank you!
(And you answer the question I've long had about the fridge--especially the freezer compartment!)
Haha happy to satisfy your fridge curiosity! Ice cream was the best find (it’s obviously not spoiled if it’s still frozen, and safe if it’s individually wrapped!) but one of my coworkers did carry home two raw eggs once…
The “why” is such a good question. Why we do, why we don’t, why we care. I hope your questions lead you down fruitful paths!
Steel Mill
- Baghouse
- Melt shop
- Nail mill
- Salt tablets
- Anchor Flange steel toe boots
The two-word descriptors--each makes me pause. Would love to see Baghouse and Melt shop.
The specs of the boots, yes.
- knives
- fire
- boiling water
- hot oil
- singing
A day that took a corner, here!
1970's kitchen at a Methodist summer camp (Worked there two summers)
- Washing pots and pans in industrial sink with a high window that allowed me to watch people's feet as they walked past the basement kitchen and dining hall.
- Assistant cook sang hymns while she worked, and when we served chicken, she collected all the chicken fat to take home. She told us she used it instead of shortening in her baking.
- Evelyn and I made pancakes on a griddle placed over the gas burners once a week, and every week Evelyn went home with welts on her stomach where her girdle melted while working at the stove.
- Flirting with the food delivery driver who sometimes pretended to lock me in the walk-in freezer.
- The menu never changed, week to week. Wednesday dinner - breaded and baked chicken, Friday dinner - fish sticks.
That watching of people’s feet is almost a story right there.
Do you recall the titles of any of the hymns?
When I worked at a restaurant, fetching something from the walk-in freezer always made me slightly nervous.
In college, the cook had a stained and battered copy of a book called “Food for Fifty.” It was a little scary to think that her meals came out of that book.
"girdle melted" - whoa. There it is. And so much more here...
“The menu never changed”… did you find that routine reassuring or monotonous?
Both and more.
For one, I'm assuming the campers change every week, so for them there's only one of each day. And it makes the work easier, stream-lined. Gives some shape to the week.
And for me, as always for every reader, there's some personal association (that writers can rarely know of or assume).
I used to work across the hallway from an ageing seamstress; she'd been jilted--night before her wedding. And she allowed it to affect every aspect of her days for the rest of her life. She's the only person I've known to eat the same things, or types of things, each particular day of the week; she shopped on Friday--the only time she wore slacks. She did her gardening at particular times. She only ever worked late on Thursdays, when I would join her and learn a lot about sewing. She had utter control of her life. I loved her and she terrified me.
She is what came to mind when I read that line.
Creative
Worktables
Messy
Happy
Pie
Yes, between the five words here is a joy!
Pie. How is it possible that my family does not prefer pie? lol
A typewriter and tethered phone on every desk. Cigarettes and whisky in almost every drawer. The noise of the phones, the clacking of typewriter keystrokes on multiple machines, the tinkle of bells at the end of a line of type. The smell of mostly male bodies, cigarettes, pencils, and paper; the heady feeling we were doing something important.
My typewriter was special: large bullet type — maybe 30 point font, before anyone ever talked about fonts— a now ancient machine used for intros and extros that fed the paper (joined by tape) into the teleprompter. When I was angry or stressed pounding the keys hard, was soothing. Joy was the introduction of an electric, Selectric that could correct almost a whole prior sentence and made Whiteout almost obsolete.
I do miss the pounding.
Tethered phones.
Autopilot
Computer
Nuts
Unheard gossip, heard
Emergency, not an emergency
These last two lines have so many stories on them...
Oh yes 😁
Cleaning resort cabins
-Hoping all the guests check out early-maybe even the night before- so that you can get as many cabins as possible turned over before the heat of the summer day peaks in the afternoon.
-Having a conversation with your boss while your head is literally in a toilet bowl (as you scrub it.)
-Impromptu ice cream sandwich breaks when the guests forgot to empty the freezer before leaving.
-Many smokers can clean all day without a lunch break, but regular smoke breaks are non-negotiable.
-The satisfaction of leaving a cabin not only clean, but “pretty.” (Blanket artistically draped over the back of the couch, measuring spoons arranged according to size in the kitchen drawer, the loose end of the toilet paper roll folded into a little point, etc.) Wondering whether the next guests will even notice these things.
Erin, I'm working on the next piece, looking at the "why" of all this, as per Georgia's comment and question on the "work stories" piece posted on June 25th.
This last bit here is so good--the wondering. And the why of that. Why do we go that last bit? Do we go home and do the same? are we exhausted once home, and don't? Does something happen to change this at some point--and what would that look like?
Leaves me with many good questions! Thank you!
(And you answer the question I've long had about the fridge--especially the freezer compartment!)
Haha happy to satisfy your fridge curiosity! Ice cream was the best find (it’s obviously not spoiled if it’s still frozen, and safe if it’s individually wrapped!) but one of my coworkers did carry home two raw eggs once…
The “why” is such a good question. Why we do, why we don’t, why we care. I hope your questions lead you down fruitful paths!
Local chapter of a national non-profit
* Four women
* Meaningful work, poor pay
* Electric typewriters
* Push-button phones, with shoulder pillows
* New Yorker cartoons
* Alcohol in the director's Solo cup
* A secretary who thought I was too young to wear black
And the secretary offered you her opinion... I remember one of these. Sisters?
Shoulder pillows!