When I worked at the census last spring, my only contact with the office was on the phone to schedule a test, get hired, later turn down two jobs (I was fully employed already) and last winter, accept the job I have now. The office was a mystery, a voice on the other end of the line.
It's where the unemployed land. Some are laid off, while others are semi-retired. Among others, I work with a laid off truck driver, a former golf pro, a hospital transplant coordinator, a prison system nurse, an airport security worker, a teacher, a former lawyer who does home renovations, a curator, a parking valet, an animal shelter euthanizer, a retired minister and laid off railroad worker.
And me, the pastry chef, and that's not even all of it.
At the restaurant job, I apparently look like the person I am replacing, at least from behind. My first day in there, the laundry service guy asked where I'd been. I had to think back to other places I worked. Did I know him? No, I hadn't worked anywhere he serviced, so I told him it was my first day. He laughed and said he was joking, but I don't think he was. There were too many times in the first week where I was dipping out flour from a bucket or counting desserts in the reach-in fridge, and when I turned around, found somebody looking shocked. In one case, I introduced myself. The cook introduced himself back, and said he had just assumed I was Renee.
I had been hearing about her for a while. We are the same age and background, and our baking styles seem to be similar. I feel like I know her, and i think it's mutual. I called her to ask about some recipes and the conversation that followed, including an update on how her mother is doing, was easy and casual, like people who are friendly with each other.
I look forward to meeting her someday, even though I will give her the job back when she comes home. She told me I didn't need to hold it for her, that I could take it, but that's not something she needs to worry about right now. We'll handle that when the time comes.
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