Interview with a Dishwasher

My first real job was washing dishes at Jerry’s Restaurant in Susanville Ca, paying $1.35 an hour. There was no job interview, the training was free for anyone interested. Most of the other dishwashers treated the work as drudgery and I gave that a try but I couldn’t do it. I was 14 and loved the big washing machine and the challenge of a stack of dishes up over my head. Sure I got embarrassed when I had to mop the floor in front of my school mates but when I got back in the kitchen I was king and soon became one of the best dishwashers at the place.

That was when I got to thinking what it would take to be the best dishwasher ever. I figured there must be a fancy restaurant someplace in New York or Paris where they really do have a job interview for dishwasher. Then I fell into the habit of practicing for that interview so I could become the best in the world, as if there were an Olympics for dishwashers. After that the drudgery became great fun as I perfected the art, if that is possible. After a month I got promoted to Fry Cook and I was never as good at cooking as I was at the dishwashing and I missed that feeling of confidence, but you can never go back once you start up the ladder of success.

Later on in my career I was often required to interview candidates at a hi-tech call center where we had a high turnover due to smart people who didn’t want to do the dirty work. We were having trouble with people passing the interview with flying colors only to fail at the actual job of helping customers or debugging issues in the lab. All our candidates were equally qualified technically but after they got hired they couldn’t grasp the team concept, or the required self-motivation and working outside the comfort zone.

That’s when I hit on the idea of using the dishwashing interview. Dishwashing is the solution I argued. In one simple real-time test we get to see if the interviewee is willing to jump in and take care of the dirty work. We can see in a minute if they have the right organizational skills, manual dexterity and most of all; humility.

Of course they never let me drag a candidate back to the break room to watch them wash the dishes but it sure made for some good debates and it might actually have improved our interview process. Most of all, I was hoping it would improve everyone’s attitude when it comes to doing the dishes but the truth is; nobody likes doing the dishes.

The Trillium Thief

The last two years before we moved from Portland to Sacramento my wife was determined to keep us healthy by taking regular hikes along the 22 miles of trails in Forrest Park. These trails are very steep and the forest is quite wild, yet it’s right there off 23^rd street in downtown Portland, though it feels like being out in the middle of nowhere. We saw many natural wonders on those trails and one day there were a bunch of pretty little three-petal flowers in bloom so I picked one.

Then on the way back to the car we were confronted by a self-appointed Park Ranger. “You’re not supposed to pick that flower!” We stopped short in the trail dumbstruck, me standing there like Yogi Bear with the pilfered picnic basket. “Those are Trillium flowers and they only bloom once every 7 years, don’t you know?” Again we stood in silent disbelief hoping to avoid criminal prosecution. “So now what should we do?” was my best effort at a clever response. She must have heard the remorse in my voice as she suddenly and silently turned to go as if her job was done.

Back at the car I felt like a murderer with a dead corpse. Should I leave it there or take it along home and risk further punishment. They might have a road block already setup… There was no way to enjoy the spoils of my stolen booty now. I should have known better. This wasn’t my first experience with rare flowers. The Mountain Lily grows in the high sierra where I grew up and we had to drive miles to see even one and then for only one week each summer. We scorned the city slickers who dared to pick one and now I was the ignorant despoiler. The only difference is there were lots and lots of trillium out that day.

The Trillium incident reminded me of my evolution from blood thirsty big game hunter in my youth to passive picture shooter in my later years. I am no vegetarian by any means but I can’t bring myself to kill the animals anymore. I had to quit because they kept looking back at me, but I remember thinking, “…at least I can still fish”. And then later on even the fish were looking back at me and I had to quit fishing, but I could still squash a bug. But no, even the insects finally got a good look at me and it’s come down to the flowers; I can’t even kill a Trillium without feeling bad. Now I can’t even kill time without looking over my shoulder at the clock.

Civil War Story - Chapter 1: Who Shot Stonewall Jackson

I never meant to kill General Jackson, I swear it was an accident. At least that’s what I keep telling myself after all these years, but there were plenty of reasons to suspect I might have done it on purpose. We spent years fighting together and we rarely saw eye to eye on any decision, but we had respect for each other and none of our quarrels ever came to violence. All the same, if there had been a trial, it’s hard to say how the jury might have voted.

Colonel Jackson and I first met in Winchester when I was working as Roadmaster on the B&O railroad out of Martinsburg. I always called him Colonel because that was what he went by when we were stationed together long before the beginning of the war. I never did take to calling him Stonewall because the first time I ever heard that usage it was in a derogatory tone as if to say he should have moved to help during the battle of Bull Run but instead he stood still, like a stone wall. I still called him Colonel even after he got promoted to General but only as an inside joke and never to his face.

The oldest of all reasons for me to have any quarrel with the Colonel was when he took a fancy to my favorite girl and he ended up getting all the dances, if you catch my drift, but that was all way back before the Gold Rush. For all that, neither of us ended up with her and she was gone and married by the time the war started so that was an old wound at best and certainly not one worth killing for all those years later. I wasn’t even close to being jealous back then.

I will admit to a being a little jealous of his later success and maybe a small portion of anger when I had to leave my railroad job behind to help him and his Army of Virginia by way of acting as Aide-de-Camp in charge of transportation when I preferred to stay on back at the roundhouse but as there were no trains or tracks left anyway and I felt I could do no better than agree to his terms. But in this case as the others there was no grievance bad enough to make me purposely kill the best Officer in the Confederacy.

I will acknowledge I was angry when the Colonel came through our section of track and tore up every rail and spike so they could build new lines in the Richmond area at the beginning of the war. I got over being mad because we had enough extra material to rebuild and I accepted it as an equaling of resources, so to speak, but I could not accept it when they came through again one year later and this time they stole most of our best railroad engines. Then came the last straw when he burned down the bridge at Harper’s Ferry; twice!

It is also true that on the very night of his death at the battle of Chancellorsville I had argued with the Colonel at length not to keep fighting after dark while he insisted on rushing ahead to “…out-flank them again!” That was how we got separated in the heat of the battle and I got turned around in the darkness convinced he was behind me so the riders coming fast must be those damn Yankees and I had to protect his retreat, but instead my shot was the fatal wound for the poor Colonel. But it was all purely unintentional, circumstantial. It was an accident I swear.

The Volcano Whisperer

As a kid born and raised in Chester California it was our civic duty to know all about the “Only Active Volcano in the Lower 48 United States” which was Mt. Lassen, just a few miles away. It was an easy day trip for the class to see the bubbling mudpots and smell the sulfur in the air. I took a personal liking to that mountain and it seemed tame in spite of the recent eruption in 1910. Hiking to the top only takes a few minutes on an easy trail and the view from the summit is convincing proof there is still fire down below. With clouds rising from the steam vents and the walls of the crater flashing electric yellow from the pure sulfur made it truly feel like the volcano was still alive.

Mt. Lassen’s glory only lasted until 1980 when Mt. St. Helens took over the crown as the Most Active Volcano on the entire North American Continent. Again it felt like it was happening in my own back yard with the ash in the air and all the commotion on the news. Seems like everywhere I go there is another mountain mouthing off. That was when I first got the notion that somehow it was my fault and I had better stop making the mountains mad. I spent years living at the base of Mt. Shasta always looking over my shoulder to see if the mountain was looking back.

Now anyone who has watched the science channels on TV knows that the most active volcano in the USA and maybe the whole world is the one that made the islands of Hawaii. That is one super volcano that has been going on for a long time and I have never been anywhere near the place so at least I am off the hook for that one. But I still wonder whenever I see a volcano spouting off on the news, I can’t help but think that somebody must have done something.

I don’t know why I like all the Natural Disasters so much but you must admit they are exciting. Earthquakes are the worst but unpredictable even when their location is known in advance. Ice Ages are impressive but who can wait that long. Hurricanes, Tornadoes, Cyclones, they are all impressive but so temporary you can’t plan a party. But not the good old volcano. They are always there where you left them ready to provide entertainment at any time.