What I do is not commonly rewarded. A 'promotion' doesn't mean much, if anything it indicates far more work with only a wee bit more pay. No one here is the conventional hero, genius, or revolutionary. We are regular joes and misfits and weirdos. But we sure as hell don't care about those labels. In fact, we embrace them.
This isn't a home to everyone. Especially since, for the most part, home isn't any physical place one can return to. Home is the body, the welcoming faces of friends, and wherever we choose to be.
I am a seasonal worker. And I cannot speak for all of my colleagues. I am merely relating my experiences, which is my largest collection (aside from postcards, which goes hand in hand with my lifestyle), because in only the beginning of this rendezvous I have already encountered so much. Brilliant people with ambitions that go above and beyond. Sightseeing that renders one speechless. Everlasting friendships. Seasonal loves that don't always remain seasonal. Parties that will knock your knickers off. Nature that WILL kill you. Food that may kill you.
This is a way to submerge oneself in the culture and become a part of the landscape. We are not tourists and, typically, tourists become the butt end of many of our jokes. What I want is to live in each location long enough to know the behind the scenes knowledge you can't get from a visit.
The work is never glamorous. Serving is my forte, but there are plenty of jobs: bellmen, housekeepers, front desk clerks, night auditors, line cooks, dishwashers, chefs, porters, hosts, cashiers, maintenance... the list goes on. Without one ingredient the bread can't rise. And, as I've recently seen, at the end of the season every last ingredient is acknowledged. A high rate of workers quitting or being fired results in disaster. Fortunately, my first full season was a smooth ride while nearby locations struggled.
No, serving tables is nothing to write home about. Unless, of course, you serve the governor of your home state and he's a complete asshole (mom loved that one). What I write home about are the breathtaking hikes, the encounters of hostile nature, the lovely people who treat me like family, so on and so forth. I've already covered this. Experiences, i.e. learning about the world outside of my own.
Seasonal workers move from place to place like gypsies or vagabonds or what have you. I began with Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park. Establishments like this (similar are Yellowstone, Sun Valley, Steamboat, etc) take care of the worker. Rent and meals are cheap and come right out of the paycheck. Unless you are a manager (and even then) you will have a roommate and share a bathroom and a hallway with a whole bunch of people in the same position. Beware noise complaints! More importantly, beware the food!
Conveniently, the worker will walk a mere 30 seconds- 5 minutes to reach the Employee Dining Room, aka EDR (This goes for the workplace too. Being late is absurd, and when it happens it either means something bad or else your boss WILL FIND YOU). Those guys and gals in the EDR work just as hard as anyone else, so this creates quite the conflict. Everyone is constantly complaining about how godawful the cuisine is (and it is) while the EDR staff slaves away back there attempting to make it as edible as possible. Hutterites saved the plate this past summer with their fresh veggies (best salad bar I've seen).
On top of it, I am a vegetarian and I don't plan on changing that any time soon (I can go in to that decision and my beliefs later, but please understand that I am not the stereotypical preachy, haughty, judgmental vegetarian). There were so many days where I nearly gave in to temptation simply from my severe lack of protein.
I recall on lunch in particular... I was a lead server, which meant that I was managing whenever Casey, the front of the house manager, wasn't present. I always liked to get the entire staff to lunch before myself. Molly, the "cute as a button" and "may break down into tears at any moment" server, returned from lunch bursting with great news, "Cassie! Veggie quesadillas today! Spinach and jack cheese...it was so delicious, you'll love it!"
Mouth watering and brimming with anticipation I get in the EDR line and sign in my name and say hello to Scott and ask for a quesadilla.
"Aw, Cass. I'm so sorry. They're all gone already."
Devastation.
"That hurts my soul! Oh well, I'll go with the salad bar."
Scott held up an index finger and scurried to the back of the kitchen. In a few minutes he reappeared with a steaming quesadilla upon one of those tacky coral colored Ikea plates, and I nearly squealed.
"Scott, thank you!"
"Well, I can't have your soul hurting."
I have fiercely digressed here, but hopefully I've shown how considerate those people are. They know the food is bad! They're eating it too! So, when I speak abjectly about the food I am not, under any circumstances, referring to the people who cook it.
Bottom line, though, the food is bad.
However! If you can get past that, you're off to a fantastic start.
As for the living situation, everyone has a different opinion. The older folk disagree with the small, shared space. Younger folk have trouble keeping quiet for the older folk. Sometimes, those roles completely flip flop. My favorite people this past summer were all over the age of 40 (except for my most favorite person who is only over 30) and they could all RAISE HELL. The Christian Ministries couple existing next to my room and whose window was facing "the wine circle" abhorred the living situation (sorry y'all). A dear friend had to deal with borderline pornography occurring in her room. Another had to deal with creepy invasions by a large, older, tie-dye wearing man looking for marijuana. But this is all part of the fun!
My roommate was a sweetheart from Slovakia, Lenka, and coincidentally the other lead server of our restaurant. She worked hard, hiked hard, partied hard, and was extremely clean. I truly lucked out.
At this point, I have covered the aspects that can break a deal between the worker and the establishment. College style housing, terrible nourishment, shitty work? What's it all for?
At the end of the work week you can step in to your backyard that is a WILD, MAJESTIC, AWESOME (cue Glacier DVD inspirational music) wonderland. A few rock climb and summit mountaintops, quite a bit of us hike, some fish, many camp.
I forgot to mention, Lake McDonald is in the middle of nowhere. Forget about cell phone service and expect limited internet services. This might be my favorite part of the whole shebang. It forces the worker to DO SOMETHING ELSE. Go outside! Get to know someone new! Read a book!
Different locations offer variations to this mentality. My current environment allows me to call home whenever and blog on the internet (I hope to keep it up, too). Still, the absence of technology is one of my favorite aspects of the whole shebang.
Therefore, I spent most of my time being with others (often in safety meetings), hiking, hanging out by the lake, and drinking wine in the circle (our favorite is Bandit).
Every season the worker will walk away having learned an immense amount about the location and themselves: how the worker interacts with the environment. Maybe they find that this isn't the lifestyle for them. Maybe all of their dreams come true. (for me and many of the others I speak of, the latter is true)
I've already written more than I ever could have with my previous blogs. It excites me to know that I have started something in my life that makes me want to write again. There is so much yet to explain and share but I'll leave the beginning post with this.
