It was probably a bad move to thrust myself into the work environment on the first day of freshman year classes, but if I was going to get a decent job on campus, I had to search within the first week.  I was lucky enough to land a position in the lunchroom of the hall I lived in, and have since been employed with the Mashuda Dining Hall service.

    I began at the Impinger position, which is a giant conveyor-toaster that makes noodles and pizza (respectively), because meal coordinators think that college kids like noodles and pizza.  I was happy with the position, despite the monotony of running food through a toaster for three hours a shift.  It was also the highest paying job on campus.  At times, however, the redundancy of the job became far too grating to deal with, so I did my best to entertain myself during each shift. By playfully harassing the staff and making new concoctions with the Impinger, which was really good at fusing two different foods together in awful combinations (gyro pizza!) I was able to at least tolerate my job.  The crew warmed up to my antics throughout the course of the year, and even the management appreciated my efforts to make a dull job fun.  The Impinger station, known that year as ìJosieís Oven,î was actually changed to ìJerryís Ovenî at my request, and my job started to feel like home. It is now my third year working there, and after management turnovers, I had several shifts cut, lost my oven title and was fired twice.

    This year introduced new management from Megan and Jim, and with them came harsh reinforcements in the former system I grew used to as a freshman and sophomore. These people took their jobs as idiots feeding food to idiots far too seriously, and within
the course of the year, the radio that accompanied the cook disappeared, shifts were cut, coming in early became forbidden, eating was only allowed before the shift (when none of the food is prepared), job positions became combined (Impinger/Stocker replaced my previous occupation), and humor became dangerous.  I no longer felt at home at Mashuda, and despite the fact that I was there far longer than any other student worker, I felt a distinct lack of respect that would have been filled by the old management staff of freshman and sophomore year.  I was passed over for a student management position that was instead awarded to the laziest person on earth. Although I worked my hardest during each shift, I did it with an air of humor and was thusly viewed as irresponsible.  I probably should have just adjusted to the changes that Mashuda was undertaking, but because I felt like I was losing a part of home I rebelled against the new authority.

    In the beginning, student managers did an equal amount of work as the student workers, but in addition to the usual lunchroom tasks other positions were also governed.  This year, the new student managers for the most part did little work throughout the shift aside from telling other what to do.  Megan would compile a list of chores that would need to be done before a shift and give it to George, the head student manager, with the intent of him completing the list.  Instead of letting the student workers do their respective jobs and take care of the list himself, he would pull each student from their positions to complete a list intended for him. George is a sophomore, and rose to student manager in one year because ass-kissing outshines ineptitude.  I always had it in for George because he outranked me despite working there for half the time I did, and when he made poor decisions that only furthered his laziness, I lost respect for him and Megan for causing Mashudaís failings.  I donít mind helping others, especially managers, but when Iím forced to do things outside of what was outlined in my job description and when it results in my Impinger being neglected, I get upset.  On one occasion, George told me to do random stuff in the back dock, and then when I got done, he ordered me to do something else while he stood at the Impinger.  I snapped at him because of a semester of similar actions from him, and told him that although his nametag displayed a higher title than mine, I knew how to run the cafeteria better and would use my best judgments instead of abiding his.  He nearly dragged my by my ear to the back office for the remark.

    ìWhat is your problem Jerry?î

    ìThe fact that youíre not helping us out as a team and are ordering us around at our jobís expense.î

    ìIím not a part of your team.î

    I was floored by this remark.  I cannot think of any managers who selfishly separate themselves from other workers in an elitist manner simply out of convenience.  I realized that because of this separation and the fact that Georgeís power had skewed his views as a former student worker, he would never be able to comprehend my problems with the system, so I told him what he wanted to hear and went back to work.

    George sent out a mass email to the entire staff that week outlining the many things each student was doing wrong, with a list of the names that had write-ups for missed shifts.  These people knew they were written up because they had to sign forms because of it.  Thus I viewed this as an unnecessary attempt to demean the workers and replied to everyone on the list with a subtle crack at George.  I did not however realize that Meganís email address was on that list, and the following morning I was called into the office, where my e-mail was taped to the wall and highlighted.  I was then written up, for something I did when I wasnít on the clock.  Three write-ups and youíre fired, and because I work so many shifts, I didnít view this as a light matter.  If I got sick on a Saturday and missed both shifts I worked that day, my employment with Mashuda Food Service would be over.

    That same week I was told I was fired because I shifted my work study program.  I was not then, nor have I ever been involved in work study, so I had no idea where it was coming from. George knew that it was a glitch and took care of the problem, but his delivery of the news (ìYouíve been firedî) showed me that he intended it as a wake up call with the intent to divert my behavior.

    It was a bad week for work.  The last day of the week started off on a sour note for me because none of the food was prepared on time, and because I canít afford food I wasnít going to be able to eat.  I asked George if he could put me on break for fifteen minutes during the shift to eat and he allowed it, and during the meal Megan tapped me on the shoulder from behind, asking why I was eating during a shift.  I simply told her that George put me on break and she stormed off.  George then pulled me aside as I returned from work, and handed me a sheet of paper with the heading ìList for Jerryî which contained mopping all freezers and cooler as well as scrubbing the dish carts which get dirty every shift anyway.  I threw down the list and left, because I couldnít deal with being punished for eating when a student manager allowed it.

    However, I was so financially insecure that I regretted stepping out as soon as I
did it.  I also realized that I had a second shift to fill that day, and if I was going to save my job I had to show up for it.  If youíre gonna walk out on a job, make sure you donít have a second shift that day, because it really ruins the effect of you storming out when you have to come crawling back an hour later.

    So I was back in the office, where my email still hung, at the mercy of Megan and George.  Megan began:

    ìI donít want you here!  Youíre fired!  No one walks out on a job on me!  ButÖGeorge wants you here, and because you have only two write-ups now, not three, I canít really fire youÖsoÖyou can stay.î  So I went back to the Impinger, highly paranoid and scared of Megan, who for the rest of the shift treated me like nothing happened.  I owed a lot to George for sticking up for me, although he does suck as a manager, but I knew that my position at Mashuda from that day forward was going to grow all the more unfamiliar, which was the cause for my outburst in the first place.

    Itís been about two weeks since all of this happened, and I can feel that familiarity fading all the more, but Iím learning to accept it, because it seems that individuality has to be sacrificed in the workplace in order to make it ìwork.î  I donít think that Iíll stay at Mashuda for much longer, and expect to look for a job very soon, where hopefully Iíll be respected.  Until then I hope that the Mashuda Food Service staff realizes what their job entails:  we are nothing more than people that load up troughs for drunken fools to eat out of.  I can put my position in perspective, hopefully the higher ups can do the same instead of alienating all those that have carved a niche in the trough-filling industry.