Work. Study. Rinse. Repeat
As steam rises from the dish washing machine and fogs the glasses of yet another first year student, I smile to myself and shake my head before slipping my caf tray onto the conveyer.
The good old days.
Slogging buckets of cooking oil from Marty’s up to the loading dock, catching patties of charred meat as they slide out of the flame broiler before painting a thin crusted pizza with fresh marinara—my time has been served. A sentence of one year, served working in Dining Services: a time of deep reflection, a few cookies sneaked into a waiting apron pocket, and above all, painstaking labor.
Working in admissions, the hazards of the job are slightly different. As I look down from the top floor of Dahl Centennial Union, surveying the sweeping campus in full bloom, I worry about paper cuts, the carpal tunnel syndrome that has stricken my closest comrades, and the dangers of overheated coffees on eager tongues as I stroll into work 5 minutes late. Life is different up here. Appearances are important: looking good, speaking well, writing weller. Gooder? More well?
But I can’t help but think that my time spent in the bowels of the Union was well spent. The trips in the cargo elevator. Wrapping bagel sandwiches at 6:30 in the morning with my other first-year compatriots. Getting lost in the freezer looking for jalapeno poppers. Glancing out at a line of 23 seniors waiting for their low-fat caramel macchiato and thinking, “Yeah, keep on waiting, sucker.” Grasping for meal tickets as the 30th CheesBurgMeal crawls out of the printer on the last day of meal transfer. I can handle this. I got this.
I can remember when my mom first cajoled me into filling out a job application at the local Hy-Vee almost 8 years ago. “It’ll build character!” she said. “A great experience!”
Long story short, I was the only person to ever be turned down from working at a Hy-Vee at the age of 14, but the message still rings true.
Despite its grimy surfaces, its swirling smells and foggy dish rooms, nothing has taught me more about camaraderie, patience, and slicing green peppers than my early mornings spent in Marty’s preparing for a long day of consumption. For some, it’s a lifelong (alright, 4 year long) commitment that they look back on with a fondness that few others will understand.
For me, it was an experience. Something to look back on, the way a shipwrecked traveler recalls his 4 months on a deserted island—it made me strong, patient, and thankful for what I have. A cushy seat, a computer with Facebook access, a drawer full of chocolate covered peanuts, and the chance to talk to families and prospective students while getting paid. But no green peppers. No bagel sandwiches. No cookies.
Well, maybe cookies.
Kevin Kooienga is a recent Luther graduate, now putting all his work-study experience to work in the elementary classroom—where they always have cookies on hand.
