I recently started a new job. The perks are few, and I would describe my specific environment as corporate and stuffy, but there is a great cafe on site where there are entree’s being made, a well stocked salad bar, readymade sandwiches, a great ice cream station which I’ve yet to use, and a more than friendly kitchen staff. The food is not free, but it is drastically discounted, where you can get a full meal for about $5.
I use the cafe almost everyday, albeit with my own personal restrictions. On Monday through Thursday, I get a full salad, which is self serve, and on Fridays I treat myself to a sandwich. The Kitchen area is an “L” shape, where entrées are made on one side of the “L”, and sandwiches are made on the other. I’ve never had an entrée, but the food that comes out from the cooks looks high quality. I always mull the idea of getting something from them, but I stay true to my personal pact.
Since the salad bar is self serve, the only time I communicate with the kitchen staff, besides a casual “hello” mixed in with some small talk, is on Friday’s, and in this specific case, I have to speak to the appointed sultain of the sandwich bar. Let’s call him “Jimmy”. To say Jimmy is full of character is an understatement. He loudly sings to himself off key (usually its a 70’s funk song or something that’s currently being played on the radio), he jokes with the guys, and politely flirts with the ladies. He knows the ins and outs of the kitchen along with everyone who walks through it. I don’t know what Jimmy did before his tenure in the kitchen, but I could imagine that he’s had an interesting ride, and that he is more than content on where he is in life. He seems truly happy. With that being said, I can tell that something is a little “off” about Jimmy. I would be remissed to try to diagnose his issues, but it seems that there might be a slight learning disability of some sort, based on my interactions with him. It doesn’t take away from his ability and willingness to interact and engage with me or anyone else. I can tell that something is there, or not there (please excuse me, as I’m trying to be as sensative as I can be. I’m just trying to paint a picture). Regardless, it’s great to be in his presence, even when I’m not interacting with him and passing through.
Here goes my first sandwich order. I fill out the order form: Choice of bread, condiments (just a little), cheese, dressings (extra tomatoes), onions, etc., side of fries. My wait is a bit longer than it should’ve been because there was a communication breakdown in putting the order for the fries. When my finally receive my sandwich, I’m on my way to my secret eating spot where I can sit and eat in peace…unbothered, just the way I like it. When I open the carton, my sandwich is a complete mess. It’s thrown together sloppily, the fixings are scattered, the condiments are overbearing making a mess of things, what the FUCK?! Well, it’s one time, so I’ll mark it up as singular instance. I’m sure there will be better days. Well, not so much. The next week I got a sandwich again. I over explained the specifics of my order, I wrote neater, and spoke clearer. I even (I hate doing this when ordering food) watched as he made it, just to remind him LIGHT condiments, extra tomatoes, and so forth. In the midst of making my sandwich, Jimmy was his usual charismatic self. Friendly, exuberant, chatty, seeming like he didn’t have a care in the world. I paid for the sandwich, went to my eating spot, opened the carton, and *boom*, same thing. Everything is a mess. I thought to my self, ‘Damn, these ingredients are so good, and the sandwich would be perfect if I had a proper sandwich maker behind the counter.’
After the third time, I just came to expect it. A good sandwich that is sloppily thrown together. I didn’t let it effect me too much, and on the flip side, the more I ordered from Jimmy, the more we engaged in small talk. He’s from Chicago, he lives in Hollywood, he has a wife and they like to go out and enjoy their weekends together. The thing that really impressed me the most about Jimmy was his tenure. He had been with the company pretty much since it’s inception, which was about 10 years and some change. After hearing this, it really made me change my attitude about my sandwiches, because this is how he’s been doing things, way before I was there. And that’s not all. I thought about my outlook, my situation, and what was really important in my exchanges with Jimmy. What if I would have complained about my sandwiches? Or wrote a note complaning? Or even worse, demanded that Jimmy be relieved of his duties? Maybe the would have replaced him with a professional sandwich maker with experience in customer service, working with the finest ingredients. They would have made a much better sandwich, but is that where the value is? I’ll answer that by saying “no”. The value of the experience is Jimmy, and all of his quirks and nuances, and that was something that could never be replaced.
When thinking of the incident in its entirety, I thought about gentrification as it impacts my community, and communities around the world. I thought about how many times there has been a complaint from a new resident who didn’t know the lay of the land, or the culture of the street, or the heritage of the neighborhood — or maybe they know but don’t care, and what they really want to see is things change to their liking, rather than what the community likes, or what is the norm, or what people are used to. I thought about the age old drum circles in Oakland that have been shut down because of some noise complaints from some new neighborhoods, or a street festival in Brooklyn that no longer exists because it was too much of a rukus. I think race is the underlying issue with many instances of gentrification, but the lunch room story has more to do with other aspects, such as heritage, seniority, and respect.
Jimmy is the OG, the tenured employee, the long term resident, and I’m the newcomer. I’m in his space. Jimmy was her long before I was, and he’ll be here well after I’m gone.
