How many people can say they’ve been in charge of cooking enough spaghetti to feed a school full of spotty, awkwardly pubescent urchins? I could be wrong, but I don’t think very many can. When I was a wee Pance and a boisterously active participant in our church youth group we prepared an annual spaghetti dinner for the congregation. But still, there are more mouths in your average middle school. So when the lovely ladies handed me – I kid you not – an oar with which to stir the tub of spaghetti I thought, “This is it. I have arrived.” Life is and will continue to be OK. I can feed the masses with one batch of spaghetti. Not unlike… say… Jesus.
Why am I paddling through noodles, you might ask? I decided quite some time ago to register myself as a substitute teacher because it’s respectable enough employment where how much or how little I work is in my complete control. The goal being extra fundage of course. Win win. Except, being in charge of a room full of kids is quite possibly the last thing I would choose to do if I had one day left on earth. It would also be the last thing I would choose to do if I had decades of time left. Why did I do this again?
As I sat through sub orientation I learned that the “school nutrition” division is in *desperate* need of sub help. Hm. Now that I could do. Work in cafeterias instead of classrooms? OK. So I spoke up with interest and viola! GGP can now be seen stirrin’ ‘sketti and drying lunch trays across the greater Montgomery County school system.
And it’s actually kinda fun. The day is roughly 7AM – 1PM. Easy. I get all the free food I can consume + the opportunity to take home anything that’s going to spoil and I get to laugh and chat with some interesting ladies all morning. I’m endearingly known as the “New Yorker” and they always make a big deal to offer me “cuawfee” when I show up.
The juxtaposition that this work is so close behind the nine years of my life that I spent riding elevators in New York City high rises, wearing power suits and heels, tapping on Blackberries and using phrases like “the click-through rate of the landing page allows for optimized monetization and aligns perfectly with P&G’s brand positioning and geo-targeting goals” is all just swirly. But for now, it’s cool to feed the future power suits of America. A simple change of scenery can go a long, long way. And, besides, working in front of boiling batch of carbs instead of a buzzing computer screen is all-in-all easier on the eyes. And on the soul, I think.