I have a little confession--I wash dishes for money. In my experience, dish-washing (and the larger subset of restaurant kitchen work in general) has a reputation for being physically demanding, fast-paced and usually unpleasant work. It seems strange then to announce that, I’m actually enjoying my job. That’s not to say that I think it’s a “good” job: meaning respectable, in any way glamorous, providing adequate monetary compensation for the effort expended, or even that the tasks I perform repeatedly all night long are enjoyable (who would find reaching into a tub brimming with uneaten food and dirty dinner plates, for example, to be enjoyable?) Still, I’m enjoying this job.
Why?
Though requiring relatively low-level thinking to perform, it is nonetheless challenging work – every night is different and there is always something to do better, or faster. It is a game to play against oneself – a continual improvement of dish-washing techniques and strategies. I like to pretend sometimes, when faced with a frightening stack of dishes on say a busy Friday night, that I am a dish-washing ninja. Each dish is washed with frightening accuracy and speed; my hand movements blur together into blinding white light. Really though, it is not hard to outperform my immediate predecessors. One of them (whom I worked with one night), moves at a pace so devoid of speed and motivation that I am constantly astounded that he still has a job. I have to believe that there are, somewhere, folk who are out of work and would gladly move faster than molasses for an opportunity to earn a wage. I can’t help but focus on this lack of ambition to do a good job because in my own life I can’t help but try to do the best I can at whatever I’m doing. I am realizing this about myself: I take pride in my work, even when the work sucks.
Scraping out half-eaten rice bowls with my bare hands is humbling. Those who know me well know that, while I’m no slouch, I’ve never actually had “a real job.” I’ve worked in direct exchange for room, board and most of my other needs since I graduated high school, doing both hard and highly skilled labor. But the distinction (often pointed out by family and friends) is that I’ve never filled out that familiar I-9 or W-4 form that officially sanctifies and designates work as being “a real job.” I feel oddly proud, considering that my wage has decreased to the absolute minimum rate allowed by Oregon law. In this there is a lesson I’m learning with every exhausting shift about the value of money: how the conversion of hours in my life to numbered pieces of paper is a dynamic and ever-shifting relationship; I get a raise and suddenly I have more money in my pocket per hour worked. I will value this money slightly less, because I’ll have more of it for the same time and energy used to earn it. My theory (developed while hunched over the stainless steel sink) is that the more a person gets paid for their time, the less they value a dollar. It’s pretty obvious and elementary I suppose – though somehow it seems insightful to me.
Regardless of my wage, I have steady, paying work in a time of ridiculous unemployment and I make much more in one hour than over half the world lives on each day. That single fact, paired with the inherent frugality of our lifestyle means that I am not actually under-employed. Even at the lowest possible pay allowable by law and working a part-time schedule, I will earn more dollars each month than I spend to meet my needs. As long as I can put something in savings, I can’t really complain. Plus, I’m starting another job shortly which will supplement my income further. I definitely don’t see myself washing dishes long term, or even moving up in the ladder of restaurant positions—-I don’t really care that much about food service—-but I am grateful to have the job I do, for now, and determined to be the best kung fu kitchen ninja that I can be.
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