One look at me and it isn’t a challenge to believe that I love food! I love it so much; I made it my career choice. However, I’m not just passionate about food, I have a thing for food sanitation and safety too. So much so, I have considered on many occasions, becoming an inspector or sorts, but I think the nightmarish kitchens I would have to inspect would haunt me. Ask my kids, ask them how crazy they think I am because I use the bathroom at most every food establishment I visit. Why? Well, yes, I do usually need to relieve myself and I’m big on washing my hands, but there’s something I do most folks don’t think about. I want to inspect the cleanliness of the area of the establish they know is going to be seen by the public. If it’s not maintained, what do you think the parts of the establish look like that are not generally seen by the public? Odds are, you don’t want to know.
I recently needed to renew my food sanitation certification. In the past, I’ve sat in a classroom for approximately 6 hours and then take a test. This time around, I did it on-line. One would think that this classroom experience would be speedier, but no. I actually spent over 10 hours taking the on-line course, mostly because I want to be certain that I’ve taken excellent notes. Basically, that’s the way I learn, if I write something down, I have better retention. I did the class over the course of 3 days. By day 3, hour 2 I was getting rather punchy. I started to talk back to the videos and do voiceovers. In one segment, there was a group of people seated around a meeting table. At the front of the table, there was a man speaking and a woman standing beside him smiling. When the man put his hand on her back, I did a voice over for her. Through gritted teeth, “Get your f…king hand off of me, you misogynistic bastard!” I started laughing so hard, I decided to take a break and do some dishes, too funny.
I had a problem I with this on-line course. It was broken down into 10 sections. Logically, one might assume that after being presented the first section, one would be quizzed on its contents…silly me. When I was taking the quiz, I was asked questions about the presented material and more, much, much more. I was being quizzed on a subject I had never heard of before and as it turns out; I wouldn’t be given any information about that subject matter until section 10. Yep, I was being quizzed in section 1 about section 10 material. Maybe the zero after the one confused them; this was minor compared to taking the actual exam.
I registered to take the exam on-line and at home. Little did I know that I would be jumping through hoops of fire, in secession, while doused in kerosine to do so. When I read in the instructions that I would need to have a small hand mirror to take the exam, my attitude eyebrow rose in suspicion. What could I possibly need a mirror for? Oh boy, I hope nobody is going to be getting their kink on with me. When I signed in to take the exam with a proctor, I had already cleared my at-home office of anything on or around my desk that I thought they may construe as a means of cheating…I was wrong. Having a tissue box on my desk was a no-no. Here’s hoping I wouldn’t need to sneeze during the 90-minute exam where I was not allowed to leave the room, talk (I sometimes read questions aloud, not today) or have any food or drink. I felt like I was entering prison, but even more so when I had to not only stand up and show them what I was wearing, I was given strict instruction not to lift my shirt up! Really, how many times did that kink happen that they need to make a statement? I don’t think I want to know.
I also had to show them what was in my pockets, on my wrists, have the curtains drawn and do a 360 degree turn 3 times while showing them with my webcam that no one or any measure of cheating was on the ceiling, walls or floor. I felt like I was performing an incantation, spinning thrice and losing my balance during the deed. What about the small hand mirror, you ask? I had to use it, facing the camera and show them that I did not have any post-its on the computer screen or keyboard. Whatever. I mean really, it’s not like I was taking a board exam to be a doctor, but I guess that’s just how much folks are willing to sell their soul these days.
I was prepared to take this exam. I have had a food sanitation certification of one sort or another for literally decades. I studied and I was confident that I could answer whatever question they bestowed upon me, that is as long as the correct answer was one of the 4 multiple choice options. Yep, that’s right, when asked about the temperature danger zone, the correct answer was not an option. I typed in the chat box to the proctor, asking, “Do I just pick the closest option?” Really? After all the coursework and poorly written quizzes, I was now taking my exam and I had to just pick the closest guess? Also, there were many questions about subject matters never discussed in the coursework, so I took a stab at those as well. I guess I’m pretty good at pulling answers out of thin air because I passed with a 97%. There had been 90 questions, so I think that means I only got 3 wrong. Which 3, I will never know, they wouldn’t tell. I really want to know if it was the one about the temperature danger zone. Who knows, maybe if I did lift my shirt, I would have gotten the answer.
Thankfully, that ordeal is over and now I can focus on more pressing matters, like going to meetings for work on my day off, scheduling to get the batteries in my pacemaker changed and the holidays. Having worked retail for over twenty years, the holidays are more of a time to survive than celebrate, and even though I only have the one day off, I invited a couple of people to join my son and I for dinner. Most folks don’t mind that I don’t have a proper dining room table. Actually, I don’t have one at all, my kid and I usually eat while watching TV and use very nice TV trays to dine on. For some reason, this year I wanted to be fancy and not just offer my guest a TV tray of their own, I wanted to have people dine seated at a table, facing each other instead of a TV. Either way, I’m certain the meal and the conversation will be amazing, but for some reason, I thought I should be a little more Norman Rockwell this year.
On my one day off, I got to work cleaning our basement. I do not have a nice basement; I have a basement-basement. One could sweep and mop till their hands were covered with bleeding blisters, but that floor will never be declared clean. The brick walls leave a lot to be desired and the entire space is infested with dust bunnies. I had my kid help me take up from the basement a few days earlier a beat-up table I had found in the alley years ago. You know, something I felt I could breathe life into once more, but never did. As soon as he dragged it up there, I knew I had made a mistake, all the flaking yellow paint was merely the beginning of the woes this table embodied. However, I thought if I went the “Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” route, I could tie a nice table cloth to it and surround it with a variety of equally beat-up chairs that I possess. To my excitement, I even found a palm tree patterned table cloth! I could do it, right? A tiki Thanksgiving would be perfection! However, the more I thought about the flaking paint and the warped tabletop, the further my heart sank.
I decided to see what other tables I might try and have my kid lug up the stairs for me. There was my Aunt Ginger’s 50’s kitchen table, camping and card tables, but most notably, my mother’s old MCM dining room table that my dad had been using as a work table for years. We hadn’t had a table in the dining room for decades because all it was ever used for was putting stuff on and maybe eating at it once or twice a year, so I put it in the basement and dad used it instead. Removing the piles of unfinished projects, I unearthed the piece plywood that was supposed to be protecting the table. However, it wasn’t big enough and my mother’s table had been ruined by multiple paint spills. My heart sank as I realized that I couldn’t save it, so instead, I spent a little time with it before covering it once more with unfinished projects. I wiped it off and paused, standing still with one hand on the table, I spoke out loud, “I miss you mom.” And the tears began to flow. I thought about how hard she would work to make us a Thanksgiving feast and never sit with us to enjoy a hot meal. She was always working, she was always working, working, working, just like I do now. I wondered if she had not wanted to sit us, and if so, why? Did she enjoy her solitude eating after we had all left the table? Did she feel like she didn’t belong? I never thought to ask her, so I will never know.
I went back upstairs with a paint scrapper to see, one more time, if I could somehow resurrect the dumpster dive table, but it was horribly sad experience and instead, I dismantled what I could and dragged the deceased to the alley from whence it came. Along the way, of course I did a little yardwork in the 27-degree weather, because well, that’s what I do, just like my mother, always working, working, working. I brought upstairs the two remaining MCM dining room chairs. Both have seen better days, but I wanted them there, or maybe, I needed them there. I tied decorative outdoor cushions to the seats to cover part of the damages, but nothing would hide the paint and scratches on the wooden backrest. I saw a crisscross pattern carved into one of them. Did I do that as a child? No, its more likely that on of my kids did it during a break from a D & D excursion once held on a weekly basis in our basement-basement. Somehow, I didn’t hate it, I didn’t resent my child’s indiscretion, in fact, it made me smile.
Although I don’t believe my mother’s MCM table is worthy of the work it would take to get it up the stairs for one meal, I will never let go of it. It holds so much history, so many stories, memories and feelings, ones, I hope to never loose. I might venture to have the chairs refinished, brought back to life by a professional who understands that a chair is not simply a chair. Question is, do I let them erase the crisscross pattern with a power sander or let it serve as a reminder of days gone by? I’ll cross that bridge when I need to.
For today, I ordered a wooden folding table that I hope will arrive in time for my guests to enjoy a meal (not in the temperate danger zone) seated across from me instead of my TV. I searched for some wooden folding chairs that may arrive in time, but if not, no matter. I will have my mother’s MCM chairs, decorated by a mischievous child and a couple of other chairs I saved from the dumpster during my property mistress days at Columbia College. I brought them home decades ago and breathed life into them with black paint and palm leaf patterned cushions. It may be a tiki Thanksgiving after all! Cue the “Peanuts” theme!
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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