In Check

I’m happy to report that I have had a few more temp jobs: a little bartending here, a little coat check there. This particular blog entry is another tale of a day spent as the Keeper of the Coats.

It’s 9:10-ish AM, and I’m working coat check at a big corporation for a conference of some sort. I’m very thankful to be here, gainfully employed even for just a few hours (twelve long ones, to be exact), but that unfortunately doesn’t stop me from being bored off my butt at present. Not much is going on now. Despite the rain and colder weather today after the beautiful, warm weekend—- which ought to bring out lots of coats and umbrellas to be checked-- there don’t seem to be too many takers on the ol’ coat check. But then again, most of the people haven’t even arrived yet.

I spent the early morning “traying pastries.” This means I was forced against my will to put all the muffins, croissants, danishes, and bagels out on platters to be served to hungry business folk, who are surely less weight-obsessed than I am. Ah, the irony of it. Of all the people to stick in that particular job, they torment me, the little Weight Watch-er girl (yes, I admit I’m an avid member of Weight Watchers) by forcing me to handle, smell, fondle… covet… a ton of baked goodies. I mean, I’ve got will power, but come on people, I’m only human! I felt like an alcoholic bartender or a sex addict in a strip joint. It was sheer torture trying to resist the temptation to devour eight of the fattening things on the spot.

Nevertheless, being one to take my work seriously, even the painful tasks, I tried to be very precise and organized with my pastry presentation. When it comes to food, appearance is naturally half the appeal, and I wanted these yummy treats to have the same mouth-watering effect on others as they did on me. They had to look good. Delectable. Artistic even. But after I'd been at it for awhile my supervisor came out and made an off-handed comment to me: “Okay, Picasso!” he said. This concerned me. Was I being too particular? Too artsy? Taking too long? Though I knew he was kidding, it brought back traumatic memories of a pastry-arranging incident from my younger days, a long time ago, when I was fired from Harrod’s in London. All the painful details came rushing back again: The mean boss lady yelling at me in her snooty English accent as she sent me packing. She was screaming, “I just couldn’t stand watching you put the carrot cake away so slowly!” Yes, it would seem that I must have some sort of a slight pastry-displaying handicap. But I wasn’t about to let it get the better of me twice. So after that recollection this morning, I picked up the pace. From then on the bagels simply flew onto the trays.

Next came breakfast time in the company’s in-house cafeteria, with a spread to rival the brunch buffet at the Four Seasons: scrambled eggs, scrambled egg whites, oatmeal, pancakes, fresh fruit galore, multiple types of bread, cold cuts, five types of cream cheese, you name it. I would get so fat if I worked here full-time. And that was just breakfast. Of course, lunch here is always just as fabulous: soup, salad bar, sandwiches (pre-made and make-your-own), tacos with all the fixings, sushi, an amazing-looking dessert buffet including cheesecake, brownies, cookies, and even mini cupcakes. And then, there’s dinner too... But enough about the food.

11:42 AM

Now that the initial rush of arriving guests has passed, there’s a big coat check lull. I’m sitting here in a nearly-empty reception area, almost alone with nothing but a giant 7-foot replica of an iPhone, and the collection of coats and bags under my guardianship. No one’s around, save the receptionist and the occasional businessman on a cell phone who has rushed out of a meeting to take a call, that was apparently too life-altering to miss. Must be nice to be so important.

Still over seven more hours to go.

Earlier today, there was a guy trapped in a conference room right behind me. Stuck there. The sliding door was slightly off its track and wouldn’t open, so he was locked inside and couldn’t get out. It took three burly men and two clever ones to free him.

4:38 PM. Just over two hours left.

I spent the very long, dreadfully slow afternoon reading The New Yorker while munching on mini bags of baby carrots from one of the countless kitchen areas in this giant office. These kitchens are stocked, by the way. (We’re talking at least five types of milk in the fridges, including the normal ones, plus soy and rice milk. There are bins of Clif Bars, granola bars, packs of gum and mints, and fruit chewy things. Crystal Lite packets by the water cooler. And snack dispensers full of candy, nuts, and cereal. They have a toaster, and beside it, not only individual containers of peanut butter, but almond butter as well. What a company! Can you imagine? Full benefits package and almond butter to boot). But anyway, I passed the time reading some depressing article in The New Yorker about happiness, which, ironically, I decided is my free pass to self-pity. It said:

“Job loss…has been shown to be singularly upsetting. According to one frequently cited study, as a downer it outranks divorce or separation. Even when workers find a new position at similar pay, they often fail to regain their earlier level of happiness”.

Now that’s encouraging. Though not nearly as upsetting as something else I read: According to Metro New York, a state assemblyman wants to ban salt in restaurants. Ouch.

Occasionally throughout the afternoon I would rearrange the hangers, just for kicks. And now, at long last, the event is winding down and people are coming to collect their belongings. They all get little party favors to take home, too—souvenir baseballs enclosed in clear plastic display cases. Knowing this company, they were probably autographed by Derek Jeter himself.

And so another day of coat sitting comes to an end. I made it through twelve hours of this, helped along by free snacks and mildly entertaining reading material. Not to mention there’s a slight thrill and natural high you get from knowing that you are selflessly risking life and limb to protect the world’s outerwear from the threat of danger, damage, or theft. And now I have a new skill to put on my unemployed resume: Coat check girl. That’s right, I can say it with pride. Because any potential employer should know, they couldn’t leave their coats in any better hands.