The Lunch Lady

Many, MANY, moons ago, when I was a young teacher working in a public school in rural Delaware, I was taking my turn at lunchroom duty. Standing beside one of my colleagues, eagle eyes trained for the potential of flying red-dye Jello or patties of mystery meat, I noticed the opening in the wall where the students deposited their trays of dirty dishes. Beyond was a rosy cheeked lunch lady wearing yellow rubber gloves, a starched white apron, and the obligatory hair net.

As I watched, she scrapped off each plate, loaded them onto a large rack, sprayed them off with a hose that hung from somewhere above, and sent them through a giant industrial dishwasher. Then she moved to the other side, removed the clean dishes, stacked them in small piles, and placed them in a portable plate dispenser to be used the next day.

Ahh, the simplicity of it all! A task that could be completed each day with no lingering obligations when one left to go home. I was in awe and nudged my colleague in the ribs.

“Look Bea,” I said, motioning over at the lunch lady. “Look at what she’s doing. Isn’t that wonderful? I’d give my right arm to have that job!”

Bea looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“You don’t want that job,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “Besides, you wouldn’t last long.”

She was right, of course. My curious mind and restless temperament would not have allowed me to stand there doing dishes for more than a few days. I didn’t enjoy doing my own at home (and still don’t). But at that moment, it looked like this side of nirvana.

The dishes were not going to interrupt the lunch lady’s dinner with a telephone call complaining that she hadn’t stacked them correctly. No angry calls from upset parents. The lunch lady wouldn’t lose sleep at night worrying if those dishes were going to miss school, fail an exam, come in sick, or with bruises from being abused at home. None of those dishes were seventh grade girls who discovered they were pregnant and now abandoned by their families. She didn’t have to worry where those dishes would find their next meal. All she had to do was rack ‘em up, rinse them off, send them through, stack them at the end, and put them away.

I was extremely envious.

Decades later, I became the Executive Director of an Assisted Living Facility where I was responsible for the lives of 200 vulnerable senior citizens, many suffering with Dementia, and 40 staff members. A 60-hour work week was normal, as were calls in the middle of the night, 7 days a week.

One day, I wandered into the kitchen at the facility and found stacks of dirty dishes waiting to be washed by staff, currently on lunch break. Remembering the lunch lady of years ago, I rolled up my sleeves and began to stack and rinse, the stresses of the morning melting away. I was in The Zone.

When the kitchen staff returned to find me doing dishes, they were horrified. I had obviously forgotten my exalted position in the hierarchy of the organization. Having their boss washing dishes was not to be tolerated and I was politely led out of the kitchen and back up to my office on the second floor, my escape to nirvana abruptly ended.

Now, 45 plus years later, I’m retired. I have no real regrets at taking on some very difficult jobs. I hope I have made things a little better for a few folks. However, with the stress of seeing what is happening in our world these days, it’s hard not to feel as though one is trying to string beads through a rope with no knot at the end. There is daily upheaval. Uncertainty and anxiety around us. It’s hard not to feel deflated. It’s difficult to find that moment of peace. I’m older and weary. But what of my obligations to my fellow humans? And will I be able to find the energy to fulfill them?

Sometimes, I think back and remember that lunch lady in her rubber gloves, white apron, and hair net…and sigh.