Days Officially Unemployed: 70
Hours Worked: 2
Wastefulness is one of my least favorite aspects of restaurant work. Garbage cans full of uneaten food (including filet mignon), stacks of unused and non-reusable napkins, glasses of unconsumed sodas and beer dumped out, all seem to be an extra part of human consumption in restaurants. Things are no different at the San Diego homeless shelter, even though the people eating this morning are all residents and not from the public homeless population.
Emptied tables are strewn with unused napkins, packets of sugar, salt and pepper. I clean the tables and leave the napkins and packets, thinking maybe someone else will use them. But they don't. One man loads up on twelve of the single serving butter pieces and leaves seven of them unused. Those go in the trash. Some residents fill up three Styrofoam cups of juice rather than returning for refills.
Maybe it's because I'm tired this morning, or maybe it's because my friend Lisa joined me to volunteer and scored the premium job serving eggs while I was once again sent out into the dining room for busboy duty, but the waste is extra upsetting. I'm just sick of human beings right now, which isn't the best attitude to have while working here.
When the head cook walked me out to assign my job this morning, he told me I would be collecting the dirty red trays and dropping them off at the dishwasher's window. Cool, I can do that. But when I started doing this job a biker-looking dude with a gray handlebar mustache yellowed from years of smoking, said, "I got these," protecting his job of tray clearing. I mostly left him to it, clearing trays only when he wasn't paying attention.
Again, there are four of us performing the busboy duties, which means we have about four tables each if we divide the dinning room evenly. And I'm the only volunteer, the rest are residents who are compelled to work here. I feel like a waste.
I didn't drag my ass out of bed at 5:30 a.m. and drive down here to compete for busboy duties or to feel unnecessary, but that's how I feel today. If I'm not needed, then why am I here? To feel good about myself because I'm volunteering? For me, that's supposed to be a side effect of volunteering, not the reason. And maybe it's my perception, but everyone else around here seems pissed off today too, and I'm receiving commands––"we need more bread; there's no bread"––rather than compliments.
Breakfast this morning consists of eggs with cheese, bacon, Cream of Wheat, two choices of cereal, bread, juice and coffee. Much of the Cream of Wheat goes uneaten and sticks to the trays when residents bang them on the garbage cans. When I clear the trays, I get the stuff all over my gloved hands.
A female resident working with me, who looks like amphetamines ruined her life, says, "You want something to do?" when she sees me standing by the railing and staring at the tables. This is the same woman who asked me to help her fold up a table a little bit after I got here, prompting another resident to ask, "Y'all closing up early this morning?" Nope, this lady just can't settle down, poor thing. She sets me to re-filling the utensil containers with plastic forks while she does knives. After I do the first one, she tells me I'm doing it wrong, then says I have to stack the forks before putting them in. I do, and she tells me they look better.
Ten minutes later, she comes back over and tells me I should stop doing the utensils and start sweeping the floor. I'm pretty sure she's supposed to be sweeping the floor and doesn't want to, preferring instead to wander aimlessly around the room. On my first day, a co-worker resident told me I needed to mop up a spill, while he stood around watching. Some like to pawn their duties off on the volunteers, which just ends up making me feel like they're taking advantage of me. This time, I ignore the amped up lady and continue with my silverware job. She returns a minute later and says, "The ladies will do that later. We really need to focus on the floor." I tell her I'm focusing on the silverware right now. "But we really need to focus on the floor," she repeats and points at the idle broom and dustpan. "Someone will do the silverware later."
I take up the broom and dustpan and begin sweeping up salt and pepper packets, bits of eggs and cereal, and avoiding the Cream of Wheat droplets on the floor. Breakfast ends at 7:30 a.m. sharp, and the security starts harassing people to get going. After folding all the tables and sweeping up everything we can, the crew––volunteers and residents––mop the entire cafeteria. With so many of us working, the whole job is done in about fifteen minutes.
I'm starting to think I should volunteer for the education program tutoring adults for GEDs. At least my work will have a measurable impact on someone's life and I won't be wasting my time. After all, maybe it's more important to feed the minds of the poor than their bellies.
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