The task of cafeterias is to feed large <br />numbers of people quickly. They are <br />not so different, then, from farms and <br />ranches, except the clientele is often <br />less polite than cattle, horses, and pigs. <br />* <br />Back there in the kitchen, they get it <br />done, the workers: Soup for thousands, <br />noodles for hundreds, protein and starch- <br />all timed to be there when the herd arrives <br />with bad moods and lots of opinions. <br />* <br />The dishroom is a symphony of clash, <br />a humidity of food-smell, steam, and sweat, <br />a silver cacaphony. The conveyor-belt's <br />the boss. Each tray brings a catastrophe. <br />* <br />The automatic dishwasher-a tunnel of water <br />and soap-disgorges disinfected implements <br />eaters will soon stuff in their mouths again. <br />The pot-washer is a lonely figure. Once I was <br />he. Heaps of stainless steel arise, food welded <br />to metal, grease smeared on every plane. Alone, <br />you work your way through the mountain 'til <br />nothing's left but you, your soaked shirt, and <br />clocking-out. Out front, the servers smile. <br />* <br />They remember names and endure whiners <br />and would-be gourmands. Runners fill machines <br />that distribute fizz and syrup. Cashiers stand on <br />weary feet and process armies packing trays, <br />hunger, haste, and attitude. Bless the cafeteria <br />workers, who are better than we deserve.<br /><br />Hans Ostrom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-cafeteria-workers/
