I feel like it is my obligation to give you the inside scoop, the lithe truth, the ucky details and completely ridiculous behind-the-scenes of my workplace: Behrend's one and only cafeteria-style fine dining -- Dobbins.
I've worked here now since Freshman year. I've held numerous titles in the place -- dish room attendant, line server, Chef's help, salad prep, grille cook, checker, and my latest, Pasta Girl. I can flip onions and peppers and garlic to students' hearts' content. I can toss the Alfredo in the air and land it smack back in the pan without splattering it all over myself. I can eavesdrop (my favorite past time, by the way) on so many interesting conversations so that I will never run out of stories to write about.
Perhaps I should introduce you to my co-workers on Wednesday nights? Maybe you can get a feel for an average Pasta Girl night? I will be as uncensored and politically incorrect as possible, rest assured. Can you handle the truth?
Let's begin with Pasta Boy, my sidekick, my Alfredo partner in crime. He is actually kind of beautiful, and I'm sure he knows it. He has this untameable brown hair and thick black glasses, similar to my own. The guy never fails at making me crack up, and I don't think I ever fail at putting a smile on those handsome, dimpled cheeks. So we whistle and throw pasta into the air and talk about everything. He's going to tune my Bouzouki for me next week. And then there's his girlfriend (of course there's a girlfriend. What kind of nice guy would I meet without a girlfriend?)...
Dessert Girl..who is gorgeous, of course. She wears pearls to work every night. They glimmer around her neck every time she bends down to show a little cleavage to Pasta Boy. I really can't dislike her because she always saves me a piece of cake, or a sliver of brownie that she stores under her counter. I eat my fair share of yummy goodness over at her station.
Then there's Line Server Dude who is forever winking at me and making these crude gestures with his hands while I am sipping my chocolate milk during breaks. He's always touching me on the arm, lacing his fingers through mine when I'm not looking, calling me sweetie and baby, rubbing my shoulders. See, he's this black guy who's absolutely hilarious, which is why his gestures are not sexual harassment. I like the guy. He makes me laugh. And he brings me whatever is on the line to snack on throughout the night...
which leads me to introduce you to Tattooed Supervisor and Mohawk Supervisor. They are something else, and if I can even begin to describe them accurately, I think I deserve a nice pat on the back (which Line Server Dude will probably have covered next week). Tattooed Supervisor constantly lifts up his shirt for me to admire the brilliant ink scribbled all over his back and shoulders. We do this out of eye shot by the sink. I'm sure it's not very becoming of him (who sports a RED shirt, while the rest of us sport the dull blue ones), but he's great. He has this drawl that makes me smile. Then Mohawk Supervisor enjoys whipping other workers with wet towels. I try to stay out of his line of fire. It's amusing to watch, however, and there are constant wars between the guys at Dobbins to see who can leave the nastiest welts in the most private of places. Pasta Boy was trying to enlighten me on the techniques of "wrist snapping" tonight, but it was a major fail.
Now there's Bus Boy who never fails to stare awkwardly at me whenever he's passing by with various carts of dishes. Bus Boy is funny in a dry, awkward kind of way, and although he waits every night to walk me back to my apartment, I feel the need to tell him very soon that nothing is going to happen between us. Ever. Not even in the Dairy Freezer, where people go to feel each other up during breaks.
I'm half tempted to call the Dairy Freezer the Rape Closet because every time I go back there I feel like very bad things could happen. It's this vibe, you know. The heavy metal door slams behind me as I grab some more Parmesan cheese, and WHAM...you just never know.
There's also the Stoner Pizza Maker, who is strung out on lethal things every time he comes into work. He's always throwing pepperoni at me and trying to 'scare' me by jumping out of hidden corners into my face. He talks with this slow, drawn out voice and is never really 'with it', if you know what I mean. He told Dessert Girl tonight that she should try some Meth with him sometime. Her pearls glimmered as she shook her curls at him in a "what the hell?" kind of way.
And I really can't forget about Check Mate, the checker girl who is boisterous, obnoxious, and ready to fight you. I'm sure she could take anyone who talked back to her, and she tries to pick a fight every night with one of the supervisors. Her numerous mouth piercings give her a lisp, and she's a pretty hefty black girl with this boulder on her shoulder. It's hilarious. I like to provoke her, just to see what she'll say to me, which is not much. I took her to the beach last year, so we have an understanding.
I really don't even want to go into the Managers...who are all sadistic and utterly ridiculous. So I won't. But you get the idea.
This is where I spend my Wednesday nights...and I love every minute of it. Sure, I complain about how I hate Dobbins and how I can't stand swiping my card to sign onto my shift, but I'm lying. Once I'm there, I don't stop smiling. I love to people-watch, and stare at Pasta Boy's dimples, and make a fool of myself while singing into the mop as I clean up, pretending to be Cinderella. I enjoy the people I work with a little too much, I think, and I wouldn't trade them for the world. Which is why I felt the need to share this little tid-bit of my life with you.
I mean, there's also my tutoring job that consumes more of my time than Dobbins does...but we'll save that analysis for another time, another blog, another rant...
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