“A bit better,” Sadie commented as I entered the dining hall. She was obviously waiting for me to emerge. “Let me see the hands,” she ordered. I held out my hands with a small roll of my eyes. She ignored my eyes and looked closely at both sides of my hands with special attention to the nails.
“Take the chairs off the tables,” Sadie ordered. I assumed she had accepted the cleanliness of my hands since she didn’t make me rewash them. “Tuck them under, equidistant apart. Don’t move the tables, they are exactly where they belong. Meet me in the backroom when you’re done.” She headed off with a purpose. I looked at the legs of the tables and the north sets of legs were lined up perfectly on a tile line. The northeast leg of each table was on a tile corner. Sadie may be a little OCD. I lowered the chairs and tucked them under and scooted them to make sure they were equally spaced. I walked around when I was done and adjusted a few, so the chairs lined up with the tables in the same rows. I rechecked each table to make sure it hadn’t moved. Then I went into the backroom. I had no idea how Sadie got me to be so anal about tables and chairs.
I walked into the backroom, one of the cleanest kitchens I have ever seen. All the stainless steel sparkled and everything seemed to have a place. There were no utensils or pots and pans lying out. Even the tiled floor looked spotless. Sadie was sitting on a stool, working with a set of papers. She looked up as I walked in and pointed to an apron and scarf that had been laid out on the counter. I donned both.
“That’s the hand wash station,” Sadie said, as she pointed at a small sink along the wall. “Push the lever with your leg and wash your hands. Before you touch any food or anything that will touch food, you wash your hands. Paper towels are in the dispenser next to it.” She went back to her papers, making notes on one of them.
I was a little surprised to not see anyone else working. I moved over to the sink and washed my hands. It seemed a little over-the-top since I had just gotten out of the shower. I guess I touched some chairs, but I assumed they were strictly sanitized like the rest of the place. I was drying my hands with the paper towels when Sadie looked up again.
“There are Roma tomatoes in the walk-in,” Sadie said and pointed to the large steel door, “they are on the left side, second shelf. Bring out two boxes and set them on the floor by the prep sink.” She indicated the large sink with the high curved faucet. She then went back to her papers. I started to walk toward the walk-in and decided my silent obedience was a bit much.
“By the way, good morning, Sadie,” I said with a tiny bit of smart-ass. I kept moving toward the walk-in so she couldn’t find fault. Sadie surprised me by looking up briefly with a smile.
“Good morning, Frank,” Sadie replied and returned to her work. I guess authoritative regimes could be cordial. I found it pleasing to make the great leader smile — my little bit of rebellion for the morning.
I hauled the two boxes of tomatoes out to the sink. They were a bit heavier than I had thought so it took two trips.
“Open the boxes, then, wash your hands again.” Sadie didn’t look up from her work this time. I sighed as I opened the boxes and washed my hands again. Sadie rose from her work and washed her hands as well. “We never allow our skin to touch the food,” she instructed as she dried her hands, “We always use latex gloves; I’m guessing you will want the large ones.” She pulled a pair of small, disposable latex gloves from a rack mounted on the wall next to the sink. I grabbed a pair of large.
“It’s taco night and you’re prepping the tomatoes.” Sadie’s motions were practiced as she blindly grabbed a metal colander from the wire shelf above our heads. “Both boxes need to be prepared. Rinse, core, slice then chop. These will be used for taco toppings.” She handed me the colander, “Load it up and hold it under the water to rinse them.” She walked off to grab some more tools for the job as I began rinsing the first batch of tomatoes.
Sadie returned with a cutting board and a pair of small clawed spoons. She deftly maneuvered, with her feet, a wheeled garbage can over toward the sink. “Touch the garbage can and you need a new set gloves,” she warned. She retrieved a wet tomato from the colander and showed me how to take out the small hard core at the top with the clawed spoon. The core went into the can and the tomato onto the cutting board. We started coring the tomatoes together. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.
“I have seen your face before,” Sadie said absently as she quickly cored another tomato.
“I don’t see how.”
“No, I’ve seen it.” I remembered her greeting everyone at the door last night. She was good with names. “‘Frank’ doesn’t jog my memory. Perhaps you have another name.” Her smile was slight, but I did see the small curve. I cored another tomato, conscious she was doing two for every one of mine.
“I like the name Frank right now,” I said truthfully, while respecting her deduction, “yesterday was the first time I have ever seen you, so I am sure you must be thinking of someone else.” I couldn’t see how our paths had crossed in the past. My mind was drawing a blank.
“It will come to me,” Sadie said, “I never forget a face.” I needed to change the subject. Amber didn’t know Frank. It was easier to try and forget as Frank.
“I thought there would be other workers.”
“Not until one,” Sadie replied, “I only need one for prep.” I felt like I was in a coring competition. Every time I moved to catch up to her pace, she would accelerate. Finally, I surrendered and slowed to a reasonable pace. “Nice try.” Sadie was wearing a smirk as she slowed to a pace just a bit faster than mine. She obviously liked to win.
“So how did you end up here?” I asked Sadie. I was truly interested in how a model of efficiency could find herself running a free soup kitchen.
“Long story. Maybe I will tell you sometime.” Sadie paused, then smiled and said, with emphasis, “Frank.” ‘Touche,’ I thought. She was willing to trade stories, but not give hers up for free. I just smiled back. Sadie had a quick mind. Amber would have liked her.
“How do you fund this place?” I changed the subject to something more comfortable.
“Donations. Lots and lots of donations.” Sadie lost her smile as she continued to core her way through the pile of tomatoes. The answer seemed to exhaust her.
“501(c)(3)?” It came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. It was habit. Sadie stopped coring and looked up at me.
“Do you understand financial statements?” Sadie had already surmised a lot. I wanted to feign ignorance, but I had asked the question too confidently.
“Yes.”
“Will you look at my books?” Sadie’s question sounded almost pleading. I sensed her confidence didn’t extend into accounting. So much for totally ignoring my old life.
“I can do that.” I didn’t want to sound too confident about my abilities. Sometimes people hand you a horrible mess and expect you to create facts from thin air.
“Okay, tomorrow, same time. I’ll get someone else to prep.” Sadie’s mood changed. She started coring with enthusiasm. I thought I might have just bitten off more than I could chew.
I learned a lot about mass food preparation. Sadie changed from authoritative to patiently instructive. Maybe her books were more than a mess. I was being buttered up for tomorrow. Strangely, I found the labor fun and relaxing. It was fairly easy, different and repetitive. Nothing you had to think too deeply about. Each task had an endgame, a place where I could identify that it was done and enjoy that sense of completion. I needed the mindless labor, and today I was good at it.
At 1:00 four other homeless workers showed up. Each had worked for Sadie before, and confidently went to work after reading a chart on the wall. Trudy, the large women who was serving chili yesterday, didn’t read the chart. Sadie instructed her verbally as a matter of course. I suspected Trudy couldn’t read. Sadie just took it in stride and ignored the limitation. In fact, she put Trudy in charge of teaching me how to brown the beef. Trudy smiled and waved me over to the grill.
Trudy redundantly educated me about washing my hands and using latex gloves, which I took in stride. She showed me the controls for the hood and emphasized the exhaust fan had to be on when the grill was on. I had lessons regarding grill controls and clean up. It was fifteen minutes before Trudy thought we were ready to get the meat from the cooler. Her personality was a lot like Sadie’s, only leaning more toward the compassionate side.
Trudy’s hands moved quickly, chopping beef and searing it on the grill. I watched her hand maneuver the large metal spatula with practiced agility. She handed it off to me and I proved my lack of coordination quite handily. Trudy found it entertaining and amusingly grabbed my hand every once in a while to steer it toward beef that might otherwise burn. My college degree was useless compared to her experience. It was refreshing to be taught something new and to have a teacher so enthralled with the experience.
We transferred the first batch of meat to a large metal pot and sent it off to someone else for sauce and seasoning prep.
“You single?” Trudy asked. There was a twinkle in her eye and I couldn’t help blushing. The question came out of nowhere. I mumbled, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t scar the rapport we had. I could think of nothing that would not come out insulting. I whispered some truth for both our sakes.