The residents of the Record Street Home for the Aged are my responsibility as far as breakfast, lunch and dinner are concerned. Thirteen women with an average age of eighty-nine. While cooking I also have to answer the telephone.
“Good morning, Chef Stephen, Record Street Home, how can I help you?”
“My mother is in the infirmary and I would like to come by
with some of her Depends underwear,” some lady says.
“Let me send you to the Nurse’s Station.”
I have worked here five years and have not totally figured out the phone system. I have cut many people off by accident, especially when I am busy in the kitchen. The responsibility and the help that I am given have caused me to lose my temper on several occasions.
The residents, who are hard of hearing, have complained to the director of yelling and banging in the kitchen. She said one more incident and I am history. She yells this at me. She has threatened me with dismissal four times. The one time I quit she called me the next day and for the first time in four year she said, “You do a good job. Please come back.”
I don’t handle stress well. It can cause me to eat like a hog, smoke mother nature, and watch weird movies on Netflix. It is a good thing I only work on weekends…