My Second "Real" Job

This post was inspired by @beelzebubba's post about his second job. Like his, mine was being a dishwasher at a restaurant.

As a teen, I started out doing babysitting and housecleaning for people in the area where I lived. At age 20 I had my first "real" job, working at a Dairy Queen. (That job warrants another post, for sure.) At age 21, I spent the summer living in another state with my sister, brother-in-law, and their six month old baby girl, and working as a dishwasher at a long-gone restaurant called T.J.'s Pantry. I also helped out my sister with cleaning, dishes, and tending the baby, although I think I was there more for moral support with the baby than actually taking care of her.

The set-up for the dishwashers was similar to the photos in @beelzebubba's post. It was a U-shaped area, with a long stainless steel counter on either side, slanted shelves above the right-hand cupboard, and it seems to me that counter had a hole in it with a trash can positioned underneath. A large sink with a spray nozzle was there somewhere. The waitresses or bus boys carried full trays back and plopped them onto the right-hand counter. It was up to me to separate out the silverware, glasses, mugs, plates, and bowls, place them in the appropriate trays, and shove them into the dishwasher. I don't remember exactly where I took them after they came out; that part has left my memory.

It wasn't a difficult job, really. Sometimes it got hectic during a rush of business, and sometimes it got downright boring during slow times. A list was posted with the dishwasher's responsibilities, which included cleaning the restrooms. I don't remember whether I did that every shift I worked, but I do remember doing it often. One of the waitresses said I was the only dishwasher who did it.

I didn't have to interact with customers, and had limited interaction with other employees. Once, I ended up being an assistant to one of the cooks when she needed help. She taught me to peel carrots from the skinny end to the fat end, because it goes faster.

Another time, when there was absolutely nothing left to do and hardly any customers, I decided to go underneath the counter where the trash cans were and clean the underside of the counter. It was quite messy. One of the managers happened to pass through and was quite impressed to see me doing that. I guess I had the idea instilled in my brain that having a job meant actually working, not just standing around.

A bar was attached to the restaurant, and could be accessed by employees through the kitchen. Consequently, an employee would occasionally get tipsy. I'm not sure what the legal drinking age was, but I remember arriving for one shift and finding the dishwasher from the previous shift quite incapacitated by alcohol. He apologized a bit, and left early.

The one unpleasant thing that happened to me at that job was a back injury. Lifting those full racks of mugs and glasses down from the shelf over the counter was hard on my back. I didn't know it at the time, but I have a form of spondylolisthesis. That wasn't diagnosed until 2009. Physical therapy was extremely helpful. I now know that I mustn't reach for things up over my head, and I have exercises (which I sometimes still remember to do) to help strengthen my lower back.

But back in 1978, my sister simply took me to a chiropractor a few times, and my back gradually got better, and I was able to go back to work. The restaurant seemed reluctant to have me come back, but they finally allowed it.

The stupidest thing I did while working there happened when I was mopping the floor near the dish-washing area. I got too much water on the floor, and I don't remember us having any warning signs to set up, so one of the waitresses came dashing in from the restaurant, slipped, and crashed onto the floor. I don't know whether she sustained any lingering injuries. I felt terrible about it, and was too embarrassed to ask.

I made one good friend there at the restaurant, but she and I lost touch with each other after a few years. One of the young cooks invited me once to his apartment complex to go swimming. (Side note: he spent/wasted a great deal of time sharpening his knives in the kitchen.) My swimsuit was a home-made, rather lumpy garment, so my sister took me shopping for a respectable swimsuit. When I arrived at that apartment complex, the cook and several other young people were in his apartment smoking weed. I was aghast, but I did go to the pool for a little while.

It was a very interesting summer, with plenty of new experiences and adventures. It was good for me to be away from home, yet still with family. My sister and I had some memorable bonding moments, and I went on a few dates with her next-door neighbor. (A pleasant young man, but rather dull.) The dish-washing job was part of the overall process of growing up a little more and getting out into the world.