…you come to work sick, and no one else on the staff cares if you are sick, because they’ve had whatever you have or are getting whatever you have. In an office, when you call out sick, it’s just fine. You work a little from home, and everyone thanks you for not sharing the bug. At a restaurant, you drag your sorry behind in, pump yourself full of Tylenol or Dayquil or whatever, and function. If you are REALLY that sick, the managers will send you home.
…going to the restroom is part of your job. To keep it debris-free and clean, that is. That’s right, I chose this job.
…at first glance, you don’t recognize many of your coworkers when they are wearing their “civvies.” When crisp white shirts, ties, and starched aprons are replaced with baggy jeans, T-shirts, and baseball caps, I have no clue who anyone is until they look me in the eye and say, “What, you don’t recognize me? I work here!” We have 100-plus employees, remember. At my office job, I could predict with great accuracy what everyone would be wearing on “casual Friday.”
…you never know when quitting time is. Some days I get cut at 3 p.m. Other days, I am hanging around until 4:30 or 5 p.m., because someone called out or didn’t show up on time. I figure I have a possible 8-hour range of workable hours. At my past office job, I counted down to 5:01 p.m., and then–see ya!
…each day begins as a question-mark, and no two are ever alike. In an office, Tuesday melds into Wednesday, and Thursday feels like it will never end. Every week someone at my old office piped up with the predictable: “Can you believe it’s only Tuesday? Doesn’t it feel like it should be Wednesday?”
…the minute you walk out the door, you leave it all behind. You can’t take the podium home “to work on it later.” Thankfully.