and Words
No one on the streets and the city is quiet
I should be asleep by the heat of the fire
But I′m on my way out
And I’m gonna stay out
I can feel the pulse as I walk in the door
Take me through the crowd to the middle of the floor
The red and the green lights
Are hitting me just right
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
From my earliest memory, my dad ran his own restaurant. We lived in Puerto Rico, and he converted the front end of the residence, in the middle of our street, into a restaurant. This means that my family has been in the service industry my entire life. Most people have fond memories of Christmas Day. They remember Christmas Day traditions with their families, with little else to do. After all, most businesses close on Christmas Day. Chinese restaurants do not close on Christmas Day. My dad didn’t close our restaurant on Christmas Day.
Once my dad passed away, we moved to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. My mom didn’t speak English and had only a limited education. She took on work as a seamstress and found side jobs in the kitchens of Chinese restaurants. However, the rest of my siblings and I started work at an early age. I started working at the age of twelve by washing dishes. My sisters similarly worked in the food industry. In fact, my mom ran another restaurant in Florida.
You can say that the food industry was built into our DNA. It started when my dad apprenticed as a chef in Hong Kong, before my parents got married. It continued through my childhood. Henceforth, my entire family worked on Christmas Day; we celebrated in the morning, but worked during the dinner shift.
Upon graduating from college from the University of Miami with an engineering degree, I landed a job as a software engineer. Neither my mom nor dad graduated from high school. Thus, as my sisters and I navigated school, we didn’t realize that education existed after high school. While this sounds silly now, we didn’t think that far ahead at the time. We didn’t personally know anyone who held a college degree. Years later, my younger sister and I graduated from engineering school on the same day.
However, we all grew up in the service industry. We all held at least three different jobs, including washing dishes, busing tables, waiting on tables, and even doing kitchen work. At the time, we had no reason to believe that we’d ever work on anything other than food service. Even at the young age of twelve, I took pride in my work as I washed dishes. Years later, once we enrolled in college, we realized that there was more to life than food service. However, even as we came to this realization, we continued to conduct our work with diligence and pride.
Leaving that job where I waited on tables saddened me. It’s not necessarily that I preferred to wait on tables. However, I now embarked on a life where I have abandoned my roots. Starting a life in a new location, apart from my family, meant that I had nothing to keep my values and work ethic from drifting away from my roots. This idea petrified me.
My wife and I travel to Michigan to visit family; we sit down for dinner at Five Steakhouse on that first evening. We’re familiar with this restaurant; we frequently dine here for both breakfast and dinner when we stay at Saint John’s Resort. Their food and service are exceptional. However, having stayed there for days at a time, I know firsthand that they play the same music for both breakfast and dinner. Their playlist normally includes 70s and 80s music, and it was burned into my brain. Their music sounded louder during breakfast, but that’s because there is more ambient noise during dinner.
While this is our first evening here, the bartender greets us with a smile and definite recognition, “Hi guys, welcome back! 😊”. She has taken care of us before; we settle into two seats at the bar and ease into the evening with a couple of Cosmopolitans. During this particular visit, they played, as you might expect, holiday music. Our bartender quips, “Just wait until they start to play the Cher Christmas music.”
We continue to unwind from the day’s travel and plan tomorrow’s events. Suddenly, the music turns to this song, ‘DJ Play A Christmas Song’. Our bartender points to the speakers overhead and smiles. We all chuckle; this song will anchor our visit.
We spent the days that followed shuffling between our hotel and our loved one’s assisted living. I carry my computer to help me occupy my time, but I’m generally at their beck and call. We spend the days filled with conversations filled with memories and our individual ailments. I won’t minimize the significance of our loved one; after all, we went there to visit her.
However, on this trip, I noticed the people who care for these folks with such great compassion. I occasionally managed the ailments of one person for a handful of days. These saints dressed in scrubs and sneakers wander these halls. They care for this collection of people with frail bodies and sometimes failing memories. My wife and I rate each day; some days are better than others. Bad days test our patience and empathy. These folks don’t have that luxury. They show up day after day and greet her with smiles and enthusiasm. I am in awe of them.
In the evenings, we retire to the hotel and visit our familiar spots at the bar. Tonight, a different familiar face warmly greets us, “Welcome back! Nice to see you.” The bar is packed, but she manages to make our Lemon Drops promptly and perfectly. We browse the new menu that changes with the season and order our food. These two seats become our refuge and our opportunity to recharge.
It would be easy to walk through it all and neglect to think of the person on the other end. The exchanges become transactional. These people become a means to an end: the trip from your apartment to the dining room in assisted living… the appetizer or burger on that menu… the cocktail that helps you unwind.
On this trip, I observed these people conduct their work, and it humbled me. The dedicated people in assisted living patrolled the halls in scrubs and sneakers as they attended to each soul. They conducted their work without ego, but with a quiet empathy and compassion. I saw the weariness in their eyes and body language as they approached the end of their shift. We entrusted the care of our loved ones to them, and they took the work seriously. They carried on their work with pride.
In the evenings, the bartenders took exceptional care of us. While the staff behind the bar rotated among several bartenders, they consistently took care of us. They were all subtly different, but they were all exceptional. They remembered the items we ordered months before; they engaged in conversation about our visit and checked in on our loved one. I reflect upon my modest roots when I waited on tables decades ago. Honestly, these folks did it better than I ever did.
We learned that one bartender will graduate soon and will start a new job in about a week. She’s in the same position I was about thirty-five years ago. Her departure from this job, which she knows well and excels at, saddens her as it did me. I only know that whatever job she takes on next, she’ll conduct it with pride and dedication. This leads me to believe that she’ll be just fine.
On this holiday, I think about all these kind people who choose to work in these fields where they may easily be overlooked. For some, it is the career they chose; for others, it’s a layover en route to their final destination. They worked on this holiday with grace and dignity. I am in awe of them and appreciate them.
You are not invisible. I’ll tolerate the Cher Christmas music, if for no other reason than to remind me of you.