Work and Ireland

I have worked at a pizza restaurant for the past four months. Did you know the average fast food employee quits or is fired every four months? I read that in the book Fast Food Nation. If you read that you'll never want to eat fast food again. Especially the What's in the Meat? section. I'm proud of my work ethic and that I survived the hellish dishroom where you stand in one place on your feet all night long and scrub off other people's food and spit, pull wadded napkins out of drink cups, some with the occasional message scribbled on them. I remembered I got one napkin where someone had written in blue ink, "Fairy." Another one said, "Fuck you." That's always entertaining. What gets really stinky is the salad dressing on the plates. First you dump the remaining food in garbage cans, then spray them off, put them on a crate in a large silver machine that spews hot water and slam down the lid. The garbage can is enormous and it takes a few hours to fill. A chance for food to sit and putrify. Half a minute later they come out clean. I also had to put the dishes away in addition to washing them. In addition, I had to "bus tables", that is clearing the tables of dishes and putting them in a bus bin, then wiping the table down with a rag. Always a grotesque process as food would splash and get everywhere, a balancing act with dirty plates and half full glasses. And the bus bins would be so heavy once you filled them up, making my back ache. So would the big pots I had to carry. Well my boss noticed I did a good job in the dishroom so he promoted me to garnisher, making the pizzas. That involves deciphering cash register symbols before you can make a pizza. There would be triangles and GP's and other weird symbols and sometimes you had to use your brain and make assumptions about what the symbols meant because they wouldn't always be spelled out. I made mistakes the first few nights but then I got good at it. I'd have to say I'm one of the best garnishers there is, considering the others who make mistakes. Our pizza is special. The meat is crumbled, except for the pepperoni and I swear there's drugs in the pizza, that's why I haven't been able to quit working at that place, I'm hooked. And then came the accident, right before I was scheduled to go to Ireland with my family. A coworked dropped a sharp, metal bartop on my head as I was reaching down to restock the refrigerator. The accident was on the fourth of July. There is more accidents on that day of the year in the U.S. than any other day. I know why in my situation. The coworker was pissed that he hadn't been able to see the fireworks and instead had to work, so he was in a bad mood. We had been really busy that night too and he was frustrated. All night I had seen him dropping stuff. I prayed he wouldn't drop anything on me. But he did. All of a sudden a sharp knife like thing slices down on my head. It weighed ten pounds. If it hadn't hit the part of my glasses that goes back toward the ear I would have required more than the four stitches I had to get in the emergency room at the hospital. Stitched up and in pain I flew with my family to Ireland, to Wicklow, in the east of Ireland, where it rains a lot and people turn words like "sleeping" into "slayping" when they speak, "spake" and Ireland into "Ahland." The toilets weren't as good as American toilets, and there are no public restrooms in Ireland. I liked the jolly pubs where people could go with families and hang out like they were social halls. You didn't have to go there to drink. You could still have fun anyway, shooting pool and eating fish and chips. I liked the homeade food, preservative free unlike food made in large American factories and boiled cabbage and currant. My stitches were removed by a family member there who also happens to be a nurse. Dublin was a green city. Signs were green and so was the moss that grew around the river Liffy. The whole of Ireland is green so no wonder that is "their" color. I liked driving up to Kilrodgery castle with my aristocratic cousin and when the guard asked us to pay having him say smartly, "We have relations in the castle and we're here to see them" and having the guards open the gate and wave us ahead. The fact that a house had guards...I loved my other witty cousin with his sharp tongue, quick jokes and Irish lilt. And when I got back I got promoted. My boss had filled out workers comp papers. He seemed worried that I was going to quit or something. I think that was the reason for the promotion because now I'm the sald bar waitress. I do have a scar near my left eyebrow and when I smiled I feel tightness. I look like piratish or perhaps like an Irish girl who's pub brawling husband beat her. The scars just another tale to me. Like the way the fairies went. Nevermind.