Lunch Lady Land

Saturday I got a new tattoo on my foot by my ankle. I really wanted to keep from wearing anything but flip-flops until it healed. If you're a tattoo virgin you should know that the healing period of a tattoo can make or break it forever. Rubbing on it is bad as the scab can come off prematurely and leave a spot of missing color. Therefore, I was hoping that I wouldn't get called in to work and have to wear socks anytime soon. Monday there was no school because Sunday night we had a huge storm knocking out everyone's power. Yippee for not having to work. Booo for having the kids home to misbehave all day and push my every button, even the big red one labeled, "do not touch!" 

Tuesday don't I get called in to work. Damn it. I wore rubbery crock-like shoes without socks to try my best to baby the tat. I had a great day at work if you call doing dishes for countless hours great. Wednesday I get called in and later asked if I can possibly work all week. Super. I said yes because I am so new and I need to kiss ass. Today I was instructed to call in and ask if I would be needed. Of course I was. More dishes. Tomorrow I have to call in again. Give me a break. The last two days they've had a trainee to do extra work. They didn't need me and I felt in the way. Please cross all your digits that they say they don't need me tomorrow. I go to breakfast with my friends on Fridays and I need a break. Groceries here are nonexistent and laundry is piling up.

Well, I have officially been inducted into Lunch Lady Land, it seems. I burnt my hand really badly yesterday. It blistered on contact when I hit it against a 450 degree oven rack trying to fish out a pizza that someone stuck in too far. The blister was impressive and lasted until this afternoon. Then, for my final hazing I was kind of yelled at today. I take that kind of thing way too personally, so I am probably making more out of it than it was. 

I was in specifically to do dishes, lucky me. People, one girl in particular, kept nudging me aside and taking over even though I was on pace just fine. I was pissed because between tray drop offs I was standing there bored. I looked forward to the trays and dishes just to keep busy. One girl, in particular who's never been too nice to me took the sprayer from me three times in succession. I said, "I can do this, really." I was just being conscientious, I thought. I said it nicely and smirked. Well, she let loose on me. "I just want you to know (read with snotty voice) that here we all pitch in to help each other out," she says. I assured her that I understand and was cool with that but I was being left to stand there doing nothing, which upset me. She didn't take well to that. Seems she was trying to look busy by taking my job thus making me look like a slacker. Grr. Women are too hard to work with. Lunch men would be so much better although I can't see a man in a hair net.

I have always been a huge over achiever in every one of my shitty jobs. It's always bitten me in the ass in one way or another. Usually, though, it causes me to be given more work beyond my job description since I can handle it. Not here. "Well," she says, "We don't let people get backed up here, we all help each other out, that's how we're different than the other schools." Backed up? WTF? I was absolutely not backed up and I took offense to that comment. So, only my 4th day at this location and I've already had someone get snotty with me. Super. I wanna take the bitch out back and make her understand in one way or another that I'll do my own damn job and she can find something else to do with herself. The people here are never going to let me learn by doing either. They just do everything and make me watch, which I hate. I only got to serve lunch the one day I trained there. The other 5 days I've worked I've been doing dishes, sometimes while making fries or cooking pizzas at frantic pace to keep the lines from running out. Sigh. I kept up on it all, though, and those days went by faster.

Lunch Lady Land officially sucks. Don't try it. If you're a stay-at-home-mom, stay that way. You've got it made, trust me. I've worked nights at Dunkin' Donuts, Wegmans, and Suburban Propane. Working nights and watching kids during the days is impossible unless you like being miserable. I've worked in-home babysitting during the days. That was bad in a few ways. Other people's kids suck, I found. The parents took advantage of me. The hours were long and I was tied to my house every single day, unable to make appointments. Then, I worked at the Y watching kids. Imagine a room containing 100 or so kids ranging in age from 18 mo. to 5 or 6. That's if I was lucky and not stuck in the infant room where they range from 6 wks. to 18 mo. Again, other people's kids. Although they were cuter and more likable in the baby room, the ratio of workers to babies was 1 to 4. No one person can care for 4 babies at one time. My boss was a psycho-bitch there and I hated that job in particular. I disliked most of my co-workers. Turns out, I am not too fond of women in general. The last job I liked was working for and with men.  I just find it to be the worst of late because it was my last job and it's fresh in my memory. I was sure Lunch Lady Land would be the key. It's a foot in the door. Wait. A foot in what door? In the door of full-time lunch ladiness! Ack! On the bright side, I am home to put my kids on and take them off the bus. I don't work on their half days or off-days. I won't work all summer. Why can't I just like this job? I don't know. I know one thing: work is a 4 letter word and if it didn't suck they would call it fun.

You Can Take the Village Out of the Girl...

We lived in the village of East Syracuse until a few months ago. It was really going downhill from pretty far down to start. Crime had picked up, gangs were forming, my kids' friends were dirtbags. Said dirtbags showed up at all hours without supervision (young kids) asking if they could eat with us. These kids were visibly dirty, mind you. We'd had enough and it was time for bigger and better things.

So, we moved to a better area and better school for the sake of all of us. Alex (my daughter) came home the first day of school boasting of having a new best friend. Her last best friend was the daughter of friends of mine, classy folk for the village- nice house. They're getting ready to move out of the village, also. I imagined I'd meet the new best friend soon, and soon I did. 

Friday I had Georgianna, the friend, come here on the bus from school. The night before I talked to her mom on the phone. I immediately deduced the mom to be a smoker from her voice. I got a little concerned when she told me I'd have to take her daughter home because their only vehicle needed a new starter and an assortment of acquaintances were trying to fix it, not a garage. Then she proceeded to tell me how to find their dwelling. I was told it was a trailer with two green garages out front a dog tied up and bikes outside. I immediately started stereotyping, which I felt guilty for. I was sure it would be nice, although something told me otherwise and to prepare myself. The mom was dim at best on the phone. She was hard to converse with because she didn't 'get' anything I was saying. I tried to tell her all I needed was a street and number and my GPS should find it. She acted like she'd never heard of that. She struggled to give me the color of the trailer. It was an odd conversation at best.

So, the bus came and they ran in with my son in tow. Georgianna is a big girl. She said she weighs 190 lbs. She might weigh either 100 or 90. They're in 4th grade. I weighed 96 when I got married at 21. She had stringy hair and her shirt and pants clashed. Her shirt said, "Play with Coke" no cola, just coke. She showed off her shirt to me. I started asking her about her family a little, like any siblings, etc. She proudly professed to have a baby sister of 4 mo. A sister of 16 who has moved out and has a tattoo portrait of her boyfriend. I have 13 tattoos. I was 18, which is the legal age, when I got my first and it certainly wasn't a portrait of my then boyfriend. That would be awkward now since we're still friends. She told me of her two mothers and two fathers, of a step-sister of 24 and a step-brother who committed suicide at 16 behind her Grandfather's house. I was waiving the red flag by then.

Georgianna was miffed by our house. She loved it. That was nice considering it's full of unpacked boxes and was a mess. I got further concerned. I had initially told Alex there was no way anyone could come here with the house this way. I gave in finally. Georgianna was also shocked that Alex has a door on her room. They use sheets for lack of doors, she said. 

After snack it was homework time. Alex had none. Georgianna had some. She didn't finish some in-class work, it seemed. Alex had said she has problems doing her work on time when I asked her earlier if she was a smart kid. Alex is a damn genius and she rubs it in my high IQ face constantly by knowing more than I do. I was hoping her friends would be smart. I looked at the work that Georgianna had just exactly started. Her name was huge and sloppy as hell on the top. The rest was illegible with no spaces between the misspelled words. I decided to call off homework time so she wasn't sitting there struggling all afternoon while Alex waited, probably impatiently. I was hoping her mom could help her later.

So on our visit went until dinner. I made an easy dinner because we had a birthday party to attend soon and I had to take Georgianna home first. We had spaghetti with balls and sauce and veggies. I didn't even remember the cheesy garlic bread I was gonna make. My kids don't like much of anything food-wise. They insisted on no sauce. Alex choked down the meatball I made her eat and neither of my kids would eat the veggies. Georgianna ate two heaping helpings with four balls and plenty of sauce. She ate all her veggies and then ice cream. I was stunned and amazed. This was after an afternoon snack of a can of Pringles and a half a bag of Hot Fries.

It was time to take her home after dinner. We found her street immediately even though we live in the middle of nowhere and she lives even more in the country. Georgianna clued us in when we blew past her invisible driveway, in a forest of trees. When we pulled in I thought she must be horribly mistaken. Surely no one could really live here. Wrong I was. Her mom was outside smoking. I told you so! I can't even begin to describe her trailer. The siding was falling off. It was dirty, no obvious color. Now I know why her mom didn't know what color to tell me it was. It was a single wide. It had no skirt on the bottom of it that I remember. It looked like it had been long since abandoned and they were squatters. If the school could see this, they'd have the state take her away, I'm sure of it. The two green shacks out front were rotten. The driveway was completely under inches of mud water. The poor black dog that was chained to a nasty dog house, that itself should be condemned, looked like hell. He didn't bark. He looked too damn depressed.

Her mom was a whole other can of worms. She had on dirty clothes. She smiled to reveal a few blackish-brown teeth. I mean solid brown/black, not tinted but dead or rotten. We each, my terrified husband and I, shook her lifeless dirty hand and tried to be cordial. I was just beside myself. My feet were soaking up the mud. I didn't want to stay and didn't imagine I could flee fast enough. I was so grateful that she met us outside and didn't invite us in where she said the other dog was. I wasn't concerned about, but for the dog. How do they afford two dogs when we don't think we could fully support one, I wondered. Georgianna was quick to ask if they could have a sleep-over soon. I hope she meant sleep at our house. There's no way in hell I could allow Alex to cross their rotten threshold. I wouldn't myself. I imagined what it must smell like and what it must be infested with. I assured Georgianna that she could sleep over soon, wondering if she would infest our house by proxy. I half wanted to adopt her to save her from her situation for good.

Finally we were able to leave. I was a little worried about backing out that I'd hit one of the probably twenty abandoned tires in piles at the sides of the driveway. I managed not to. We drove in silence except for Nate, my son, who commented that the house was scary. The party got our minds off the squalor for a while. Once home with the kids in bed my husband and I discussed the need to somehow warn Alex about this whole situation. How do you tell your kid, without mincing words, that her new best friend is in a scary situation that you don't want her to be a part of? My daughter is brutally honest and would surely repeat anything we said to her. I quickly passed off the discussion to my more tactful husband before falling asleep afraid that I'd relive that experience in my dreams all night.

Save me from myself- or him from me!

My son is the current topic. He simply cannot carry his weight as a 6 year old. It's typical that the Leggos are spread far and wide. He stashes trash under furniture, including uneaten food. His room is a fight to get cleaned. Often when he does he artfully stashes everything under the bed or dresser or in the corner of the closet. Everything is a fight, for that matter. Dinner is a fight, homework is a fight, bath time is a fight. Toothbrushing is a fight if he even does it. This morning they both forgot, again. The 9 yr. old doesn't even seem to know better!

What's different about today? Why harp on the topic? Well... breakfast got out of hand. I started my day by finding chocolate chips smashed into the floor in two rooms. The carpet in one room was trashed with muffin parts. The chair he sat on was covered as was the large table- every inch of it. The remaining muffin and plate were left there. Good morning to me. I was powerless as it was time for work. Off I went knowing that the moment I got home I'd be greeted by the mess. I had to scrub the floors, vacuum the carpet and wipe down everything else. He can clean up lunch in school. Why is it different here? Hell, he can behave in school. He puts up no fights, doesn't talk back and shows no attitude. I asked him why. Know what he said? He said, "It's because I'm not comfortable in school." Hell, I need to make home less comfy, it seems.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Before I saw the muffin mess I realized I'd lost my wristwatch. Not with my clothes, today's or yesterday's. Not on the nightstand or dresser. Not under the bed or on the floor. Not near the computer, on any countertop nor couch. Neither kid had seen it. You gotta be kidding me. My watch quit and moved south? I guess so. Damn it! 

Tomorrow morning had better be great. The kids will behave and take care of all of their responsibilities without prodding. I'll sleep until near bus time, only waking to check their progress getting ready. I'll go back to sleep after the bus comes. I'll go to breakfast with my friends and life will be swell. Watch me get called into work. I'll have to say no if I do. I'll be home tomorrow without a car. That's how I know I'll be called in. My first day out of training and I have no way to get to work. They'll call for sure. Eek. They'd better not!

Ode to Parchment Paper

Roses are red

violets are blue

parchment paper

is good for you

Squares have points

circles are spherical

parchment paper is

a goddamned miracle

Why am I so emotionally attached to parchment paper? I'll tell you: on my first day training for lunch ladiness I had to wash dishes, lots of dishes. Many of them were metal baking trays. The lunch was covered with mozzarella cheese. The trays were not lined with parchment paper. Do the math. Every tray had to be painstakingly scraped with a metal scraper. Then they had to be scrubbed with a green or metal scrubby or both. That's before the dishwasher. If they didn't need a second run, I was lucky.

I thought of asking the cook, or anyone there why they didn't use parchment paper on the trays. I decided against it. At the second school I worked at I noticed parchment paper on everything. It was pizza day, so that was a good thing. I mentioned how the last school had not done that. I mentioned how I'd decided not to suggest it. I was assured that my decision to keep my mouth shut was a good one. That if I had spoken up I'd have likely been evaluated as having a bad attitude or being unable to follow directions. Yeesh! The last school I worked for used the parchment paper, too. I just have to hope to hell that when I am called into that first school it's not a messy lunch day. I know, good luck, right?

Dishwashing Nightmares

So my nightmare has changed from a teetering pile of potatoes to peel to towering stacks of dishes to wash. Today neither happened, thank dog! What did I do you might be asking yourself? I was at the middle school today. The cook was appalled that I'd spent my last shift doing not much more than dishes. She promised to have me run most of the kitchen. Run most of the kitchen I did. I kept plenty busy. They warned me that they were short staffed because someone called in sick and someone else was out indefinitely. I helped make probably 30 trays of pizza, which looked good. I set up hundreds of cookies, which looked good. I served pizza and pasta salad, which looked good, or sandwiches or salad to the kids for many different lunch sessions. I lost count of how many sessions there were. Again, I ate nothing thanks to my fear of being caught not busting my ass every second. Everyone else ate. Some ate plenty.

Serving was the best, well, maybe a tie with making pizza. Some of the kids had funny tee shirts. Some just grunted. Others were very animated. One kid, a future comedian or sex offender, said he had a survey question for me. He asked me if I'd seen the movie Peter Pan. Then when I assured him I had he asked me if it made me feel all warm inside. WTF? I told hm it did not. Then I caught him off guard by asking if it made him feel all warm inside. He said no. That's probably good. That kid is already warped. What will his future hold? 

I might just remember most or all of the names of the people I worked with today. That's a huge trick for me. I am missing that part of my brain. The rest is there, I promise you. I have already forgotten the names of most of the whopping 4 people I met Monday. Doh! Then there's the problem of remembering people by what they're wearing. Once they change their clothes, I'm screwed. 

Tomorrow's my shot at the high school lunch room. I was given an "Uh oh" look by the cook from the middle school when I told her I was off to the high school next. I hope she was just trying to scare me. She was pretty sarcastic/funny. Well, she seemed like she could turn mean at any moment. She liked me. That's all that matters, I guess.  :)

What will my nightmare topic be tonight? Only time will tell. Tragically, I am tired already and it's not even my kids' bed time yet. Maybe I should go peel them off each other and chuck them into the shower before they kill each other. Calgon, take them away!

No Hair Net Required...

So I am officially a substitute lunch lady. Or is it lunch person? I had to train today. As a SAHM when I hear the word "train" I think of potty training. Potty training is equally exciting as food service training. Don't get me wrong. Exciting I wasn't banking on. I was just hoping at best to not be looking at the time constantly like I did in my last (*) loser job. *I am not saying lunch people are losers, I am one, after all. I am saying the job I HAD was a loser job. Get it? Good! Watch the time I did not.

I found the obscure school with my GPS despite the one lane bridge and the middle-of-nowhere locale. Thank you, Tom Tom! (It has gotten us terribly lost before, trust me.) This is my kids' school district, but we're new to the area. I never had cause to explore these parts before, for obvious reasons. I was 15 minutes early but decided to go in nonetheless, to show my anxiousness to be the best damn lunch lady ever. I found the cafeteria and the cook, clocked in and sealed my fate for the next 4 hrs.

I actually lost sleep thinking I'd not be able to do this job. I saw piles upon piles of potatoes to peel at breakneck speed. I don't peel potatoes. I draw the line there. I buy them pre-mashed in the refrigerated section. If you could buy REAL potatoes already mashed, why the hell wouldn't you?!

No potatoes today. Wanna hear what I did? I filled trays with bananas. I filled trays with yogurt. I scooped peanut butter into small cups and filled trays with that. I filled in the snack rack and the ice cream cooler. I made salad dressing. Why they do that is beyond me when it's better bought pre-made. I never got to touch a knife or the oven. They must've heard about me.

Then it was break time. A break after 2 hours, paid. You heard me right. This is in addition to everyone but me eating breakfast when they arrived. I declined the offer feeling guilty at the thought of sitting and eating instead of working. Yes, I am an overachiever. It obviously got me far in life. I took a flavored water for break and left the godforsaken thing there when I left. Aww, man! I'm thirsty just thinking about it.

After roughly 15 min. I was back to work. There were 5 of us if you include the cook. I was an extra to train. I guess that meant I got all of the work that nobody else wanted. I was busy for the next two hours straight. I don't know what they all did, but I am scared that when I actually fill in for someone there'll be more work than time to do it. I guess time will tell.

What did I do for two hours? I'll tell you. If you're still reading this you are obviously interested and deserve every bloody word. I ... washed ... dishes. Yup. They were the worst dishes I have ever washed, by far. Let me preface that by telling you, in case you hadn't heard rumor, that I DO NOT do dishes. Ever. I have a dishwasher for that. It's a really good one. It cleans anything but wood, which it would ruin, I am told. Therefore, when we use something wooden I make Todd(ler), my loyal hubby, wash it. So, gnarly these dishes were. Today's lunch was a hot dog roll buttered with garlic butter and covered in shredded mozzarella, baked and served with meat sauce to dip. That translates, if you don't speak lunch lady, into baked on, imbedded cheese. Every huge baking tray was covered. No parchment paper to protect the trays and save on work. That would've been too easy. I had to use a metal scraper and then a green scrubby. You're likely wondering if the school has a dishwasher. Yes, in fact, they do. It was me. The automatic dishwasher that just served to heat the room and make noise did nothing more. I was told, and it was true, that the dishes had to go in clean to come out clean.

There I was, scraping off the imbedded cheese and the nasty meat sauce from the baking implements. Then doesn't one of the real lunch ladies come by with a look of horror on her face. Turns out the serving trays, that the kids were dutifully piling up in front of me as they sneered on their way by my toil, were due in the front any moment for the second run of kids. Nobody felt the need to share that info with me. Super. So the two of us proceeded to rush the dirty trays through the dish wetter (we'll call it that since it doesn't actually wash). From then on I washed every tray as it got set down by the sloppy elementary schoolers.

Then, I looked at my watch for the first time. I was due to leave in 15 minutes! I had that dishwashing area all done and cleaned perfectly before my time was up. I was beaming with pride. Then I was offered lunch before I left, but again I passed. 

I have my work physical tomorrow. I guess that entails giving me a TB test and making sure I am fit to lift 40 lb. trays. Wednesday I work at the middle school and Thursday the high school. I can hardly wait. Now my nightmares will be of tower upon teetering tower of filthy dishes. 

Best part: no hair net required. Nope! I got to wear a hat. That was a load off my mind. :)

So that was my intro to lunch ladiness. Don't fall getting to the phone to see if your school needs one. Use your walking feet, please.