He walked directly to the dish washing room with a face of disappointment. “Back here again,” he thought. The smell in the dish washing room was enough to put one into a deep slumber; it was distinctively funky. This ominous room, or better still, the food dungeon as he often called it was at all times badly lit, which made his stay in the room much more perturbing.
He despised his job, yet it was his only means of financial stability. The pay was not good, in fact, for the work he did, it was harrowingly disappointing. As his mind drifted once again, he briefly forgot about the dish washing duties, so the plates all came flooding with the help of the conveyer; the machine hastily dragged the plates filled with leftovers to him. He sighed and began his duty. With great speed, he wiped the remnants off from the plates and placed them carefully on the dish washing machine. On and on, he did the same routine with all the plates and cutleries that came to him; wipe and place. Hours passed with ease; still he had his will to work intact. After which seemed like an eternity, the never-ending plates finally stopped; the students had eaten to their satisfaction, leaving behind their unwanted mess. He wanted more plates to clean; he needed more matters to handle. He was boy turned man, all alone, dropped on a land without help. All he had was his train of thoughts.
“Just believe, another day, just believe,” he whispered to no one in particular.
Again, lost in his own deep thought, he did not hear the heavy steps Mr. Youssouf made as he entered the food dungeon.
“Are you done?” he shouted.
“Yes I am done. Everything has been washed and properly cleaned, I double checked.”
“You know, I like you, you work well, not like some of the others,” Mr. Youssouf smilingly said.
“You remind me of myself, back back when I was young with strength, I worked in the gutters, clearing tall grasses, from sun up to sun down, I worked hard, and I did not cry for the nipple of mama like some of these young men.”
“Take a short break, but come back in thirty minutes. Thirty minutes!”
“Thank you sir, I’ll be back in due time.”
“I said thirty minutes, not due time,” The head chef angrily clarified. Lacking any more orders or complaints, he left the food dungeon cursing his divorced wife.
So left on his own again, the dishwasher ventured to a place close by; a place where his thoughts could be free from plates and leftovers; “a place where dreams were never empty, there he went.”