Irregular Events. Regular Days.
From the perspective of Sunday morning, the week ahead looked to be an unremarkable one, save for my brimming calendar who warned that days would be long and sleep in short doses.
Despite the dwindling daylight hours, I've been waking up before 6 to a still dark sky and the cankerous music of the garbage collectors beneath my porch. By the time I leave the apartment, the sky is pink, the air warm and my body - while still not hungry - calling for the taste of java. I divide my days between Jerusalem (for study) and Tel Aviv - where I am working at a cafe-restaurant called Roladin. (known for the amazing jelly donuts and other desserts). I was attracted to the job by its proximity to my house and the opportunity to speak more Hebrew.
Waitressing is fun for me - busy, crazy, exciting. I prefer it that way. The dull mornings before the customers arrive bore me; my adrenaline kicks in amid the frenzy of Friday afternoon. Tuesday, however, was a bit too crazy.
The early morning weather was nice so people headed out for the artists' fair and market across the street from Roladin. As rain burst forth, shoppers sought shelter indoors with comfort of a coffee or molten chocolate dessert.
We were short chairs, without clean silverware, and with a computer that suddenly shut down. I had to push myself through the crowd and behind the dessert counter to put in orders and then write down the coffee requests for the barista. Then, I would have to explain to customers why I was delivering their meals hot and tempting, but could not offer a utensils preesntly. Perhaps they would want to get by with a spoon - in the meantime? Or maybe a soup spoon would suffice to stir their espresso?
The tables were squished close together, packed between with shopping bags and new market purchases. People hung damp clothes on the back of their chairs and the environment became warmer and more humid. It was at about this time that an elderly woman suddenly passed out.
I dashed to her side and began to assess the situation. She was nearly 70-years-old, and while breathing, her eyes were closed and she was not responding to us. We called an ambulance and while I monitored, she slowly came to. I offered her sips of water and as the minutes wore on, it became clear that she had forgotten to eat or drink for nearly 24 hours.
Meanwhile, despite my obvious attention to this emergency, I had customers motioning for their check. The table behind me, sitting mere centimeters form the poor woman, had the nerve to ask to exchange their pasta. For what? I asked... After 5 minutes of indecision, they requested a menu to help them decide.
Drink orders piled up, customers grew impatient and the ambulance seemed to take an eternity to arrive. When it did, the EMTs had no interest in my assessment of the situation. I returned awkwardly to work and waited for the post-lunch lull.
That was Tuesday.
Yesterday, I had to wake up before 6 again for a field trip in jerusalem.
