Jello Break

I signed up for the Scintilla Project a few days ago. This is a two-week long series of of daily writing prompts for anyone who wants to write, discover, learn or connect through stories. Last year I signed up for it and wrote not one post. This year I want to give it another try. Want to get some flow going with Juice Break. Here goes!

So...the first prompts from March 13: Tell about a time you were drunk before you were of legal drinking age. Or tell a story from your first job. I'll go with getting drunk on my first job. No. Just kidding.  Far from it.

My first job was working as a tray girl at Ravenswood Hospital, just a few blocks from my home in Chicago. I was 14 or 15 and the job paid 90 cents per hour.

Looking back, I can now trace my happiness/love/need of work to this first job. So many things about it that fed a need in hungry, young me.

Order. There was a prescribed routine and structure. It happened every day, same time/same place. Took the bus straight to the hospital after school, changed into my uniform; a crisp, clean, gray, short-sleeved shirtwaist dress with white collar, cuffs and apron.

We worked in groups of 4-5 girls, each team serving a different floor of the hospital. We'd get our patient count for the day then set up our trays with paper liners and silverware. We'd stack them neatly in the big rolling, vertical racks. The hot-food cart for each floor was pre-loaded with the meat du jour plus mashed potatoes, gravy, assorted veggies and soup and clear broth.

Jello was a staple at the hospital and before we could head up to our floor we had to make the Jello. Grab a gigantic metal pan of smooth green, yellow, orange or red. Carve it up and spoon the shiny, slippery cubes into the little plastic serving bowls. Fun. Orderly. Meticulous.

Loaded with food and trays, we took the service elevator up to our assigned floor. The little team worked  to assemble the meals; bland, soft, liquid, regular, sugar-free, low sodium. Little pots of coffee or hot water. Some patients got desserts like apple crisp or pudding. Like it or not, everybody got Jello.

We had an assembly line and as the set-ups were completed some of us walked around delivering the meals. During dinner we cleaned up the kitchen and the food cart, then went around and picked up the trays and got everything back in order. Once our floor kitchen and the cart passed inspection, we hauled everything back down to the big kitchen and we were done.

I think the whole process took about 2-3 hours. I loved it. Our supervisor was  a little, gray haired lady with a bit of an Irish lilt. (She wore a little gray uniform, too.) She was our housemother. A sweetie. I liked that if I worked hard and did a good job she noticed. I liked being noticed and it felt like she cared about me. I liked that she counted on me. I felt like somebody.

In most parts of my life I didn't feel good enough, clean enough; didn't have the right clothes. Didn't know the right thing to say. Didn't feel I mattered. But at the hospital I knew the drill, could fit right in and do a good job. I felt safe. I was never late for work, never called in sick. Never let them down and they didn't let me down.  And thus I learned to count on work.

The writing prompt for today wants a "story" from that first job. Hmmm. When you are totally focused on doing what you're supposed to do, following the rules and routine, there's little room for fun or stories. And that in itself is an interesting observation.

A story of sorts: one hot summer day (no air conditioning in the hospital kitchen) I remember walking into the cooler to get the Jello. I got in there and stopped. Leaned back and just took in the cool. Broke the routine and the rush. It was a Jello break.

All these years later here I am at Juice Break, still trying to break from the routine and the rush and spend a little more time on my own stuff. And thanks to today's writing prompt I did! It's a start.