Immigrant Dishwasher

I transferred to Appalachian State University in 1992 in an attempt to finish my stunted progress towards and bachelors degree. I moved to Boone by myself, 24 years old and eager to get things done. This new found motivation found me taking care of business in ways never evident in my previous years. Surprisingly, I found a town apartment, moved with my dog, completed a semester, moved to a cabin in Ashe County, and nothing fell apart. Once I was settled in the A-frame cabin deep in Binghe Gap, a real mountain holler populated by actual mountain folk, I needed to get a job to make it through the summer. Notoriously, Boone has very few jobs considering how many college students are desperate to work. So I hustled down to the university work study office and put in an open application for the first campus job available. The next day ASU hired me to work in the dining hall dish room. My first day of work saw me being trained in loading and unloading a massive conveyor belt dishwasher that was surely 50 feet long. A blind man named Jackie Greene trained me. He could sort dishes for washing and drying faster than anyone else in the room. In fact it was a tradition, apparently initiated by him, to have races to see if anyone could beat him at sorting clean silverware from a tray that collected forks, spoons, and knives all together. The first time I witnessed the race he barely beat the dish manager, who had been working in the room almost as long as Jackie. They let me now that by the end of the summer, after I had developed some sorting speed, that I would have to race Jackie in sorting silverware. Most of the summer was spent getting to know the authentic mountain folk working in the dish room. For me it was a summer work study job but for them it was a livelihood. They were impressed that I would live 3 miles down a dirt road in a holler. They told me the history of the Greene family, which is one side of the legendary Doc Watson's kinfolk. They told me about building log cabins, farming the hillsides, losing fingers in Christmas tree farm accidents, and their appreciation for the wild animals in the forest. Between living in Binghe Gap and working with the dish crew, I began to feel like mountain folk myself. One Friday, the manager asked me what I was up to for the weekend. I told him my plan was to get some dog food and groceries and stay in the holler until work on Monday. He smiled and said, "You really get it, don't you." I felt a sense of pride that you have when your are accepted into a group as an immigrant. When I showed up to work Monday, the manager told me to day was the day. It was time for me to race Jackie Greene. After the lunch service, we loaded all the silverware into two trays and let it roll down the conveyor belt into the steamy dishwasher. On the other end, Jackie and myself  waited. When the trays emerged, the rest of the crew dropped everything and gathered around us on both sides. They cheered, some pulling for Jackie and a few rooting me on. I concentrated on the shapes of of the different items, quickly shuffling forks into one bin, spoons and knives into others. I sweated but didn't dare stop to wipe my brow as my eyes teared up from the salty drips. Jackie calmly felt through the silverware tray with his hands and quietly finished his three bins at least a minute before me. I didn't even have to say I had lost, Jackie knew. He clapped his hand on my shoulder and let out a sweet little giggle. To this day, it has never felt so good to loose a race.