I arrived about half an hour early, but my stomach was doing squelchy things, so I stayed in Bucky (sister's van) for a few minutes until my nerves settled somewhat. Finally, at about 15 minutes 'til, I shook it off, took a deep breath and walked into the place, repeating to myself the advice Nacho gave me the night before: "People say there's nothing to do, but it's an establishment. There's always something to do. Sweep the floor, clean the counters. Make yourself useful; just do something. They'll notice." So I walked in, greeted the ladies (all-women team at this place), hung my keys on the doorknob, washed my hands, then asked what they needed of me. Well, dishes, as it turned out. The pile was huge! And it never ended, 'cause just when I'd dwindle it down a bit, they'd pile on more. I almost got frusterated at first (about halfway into the second hour), but quickly pushed the negativity out of my mind. It was my first day, what the fuck did I expect? I realize now that being a dishwasher is the best and most logical choice for someone's first day. It gets you aquainted with the kitchen: by the end of the day, I think I now now where most all supplies go.

To keep myself from getting bored or overwhelmed by the ever-growing pile of dirty pots, spatulas, piping tips (gawd, those piping tips!), mixing bowls and the like, I tried to form up a routine, like I have at the UPS warehouse. Tackle each grouping of equipment (all scoopers, spoons, spatulas, for example) as I do International multiple-shipments at work. Focus on this first "multiple" (wash, rinse, put out to air-dry) and get it out of the way. Start a new "multiple" batch of tupperware, or mixing paddles. It put me in the mindset I'm used to, and I was able to focus better. By the end, I had developed my rythm and didn't want to stop washing until it was ALL done.

Roberta, the owner, stopped me, though. 'Cause Nacho was right, of course. They do watch. And after about four hours of dish washing and two trips to take out trash, she moved me on to rolling out sugar cookies! Which, yeah, I know, no big deal, they're effin' cookies, man. But Marylisse (I think that's how you spell her name), who's been working there for two months already, said she's never been given the chance to roll out cookie dough. I thought that was a weird thing to keep her from, seeing as how she's allowed to bake and fill macaroons, which are arguably harder to work with. So my last two hours were spent rolling out sugar cookie dough and cutting out shapes, placing them into the pan. I was watched closely on that, too. It made me feel good that I wasn't given much instruction on how to work the dough. Again, why would they have to? It's fuckin' cookie dough. Kids learn to make sugar cookies in what, first grade? Kindergarden? E-Z Bake Ovens were all about cupcakes and sugar cookies, weren't they? (I don't actually know, since I never had one.) Anyhow, I think I did okay. Tomorrow they'll get decorated with royal icing, though I don't know if I'll be allowed to help on that. Probably not. More dishes await me in the morrow, is my guess. Maybe I'll even be able to pick up a mop this time! (I'm not being all-the-way sarcastic on this one. I actually desperately wanted to mop their floor with scalding hot water and bleach, if possible. So. Sticky. So. Much. Buttercream.)