My first blog, Life as Fiction, was often written in third person, occasionally with a little fantasy thrown in the mix. I saved my old blogs in richtext, since they were originally written in a now-dead computer language. I pulled this one up because I called in sick today. I wasn’t dying. My stomach was a little upset, that’s all. I think I did it because I could.
For years, I did work which produced something. If I wasn’t there, something vital would be missing from the high dollar meals. In all the years I worked in restaurants, I called in sick maybe three times, and one of those was because I had a sick child. Despite that level of responsibility and skill, it doesn’t pay well.
It amazes me that there are buildings upon buildings of offices, where lots of people work, get benefits, paid vacations and decent paychecks, and nobody but their co-workers would notice if they didn’t show up.
My stomach still feels a little weird, but I’ll go in tomorrow. Today, I took off for the person in the blog, without whom there would be no bread, a possible dessert shortage and the catering would have been left hanging.
Entry for May 10, 2007
Tired. She plodded up the metal steps and unlocked the door. Beeep! The alarm was set. Unfazed, she punched in the code and turned on the lights, running on auto pilot. She clocked in, then went to make coffee. No, not today. It had probably been food poisoning that kept her up most of the night, but what if it was a virus, raring to bite again? If anyone on the crew wanted coffee today, they would have to make it themselves. It was just too much effort.
She needed to start the breads. Foccaccia. Challah. Some other kind of bread, a big batch. Did I clock in? Probably. The thought left her mind as easily as it came. Didn’t cook wheat berries yesterday.She added it to today's list. Dill bread. People liked it. Boy I’m dehydrated, but even water sounds dangerous. She poured herself a small amount of ginger ale.
There was a strange calm in working on no sleep. I’ll bet if I close my eyes, I’d sleep right here, standing by the mixer. She didn’t allow herself to do it, and instead, turned out the foccaccia dough into a large bowl and covered it with plastic wrap. Cross that one off the list. She plodded on down the list, mindlessly creating desserts and breads as the day wore on. When the list was done, she ate, then drove home, concentrating on staying awake.
Home. Upstairs. The afternoon sun shone on the bed as she pulled the blanket over her, feeling the rough Mexican weave against her face. Sleep. Blessed sleep.
And since I've been throwing recipes into my posts, here's the exact one I used. We made it thick enough to split for sandwiches. You can quarter the recipe and still make a half sheet (12"x17")
Focaccia
20 min, 350˚, 3 half sheet pans
4 T yeast
6 c water
2 T sugar
14 c flour
1 1/2 T salt
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