Responsibility

Around Hillside, I am affectionately known as the Basement Bi***. Well, no one actually calls me that, but if there was a term for what my coworkers thought of me, that would probably be it. “You are always in the basement,” they always tell me, when I emerge from the underbelly of Danforth with a seventy-five-pound cartload of stuff. “You live down there.” The truth is, if I did not make those countless trips down to the various milk coolers, freezers, and storage rooms, Hillside would be empty in no time. No one else pays any attention to what’s needed or about to be missing from the shop until it’s actually not there, and when it is gone, heaven forbid someone actually go down and look to see if we have it. What is more, only a handful of workers actually know where to look for these things. I happen to be one of those workers. I am also the one who pays attention. Therefore, the duty usually falls to me.

When I do emerge, dragging oodles of chocolate syrup and smoothie cups and frozen strawberries behind me, I then have to revert to my “floor manager” duties. As a student manager—and a responsible individual—I take it upon myself to make sure things that need to be done get done. This seems pretty basic in terms of how one is supposed to do one’s job, but consider this: on many days, I work with one or two other student managers, and oftentimes, no one but me bothers to look and see if the garbage is overflowing or of the Coke machines have run out of product. No one tells any of the other workers to wipe down the ketchup-encrusted tables until I [with a sigh—because no one wants to do this job] hand some poor freshman a bottle of cleaning spray and a rag and ask them to please take care of that task.

This may sound like a rant, but what is happening—what I am just realizing is happening—is that I am assuming more responsibility or, rather, more responsibility is being thrust upon me without my consent. Just the other day, as I emerged (once again) from the basement with products for restocking the café, Darlene (a Union worker--not a student--who makes the omelets and quesadillas) came up to me and asked, “Are they all right?” I turned around to find two of my coworkers lying on their backs on the floor in the middle of the café, legs in the air. Thinking one of them might be sick, I went over to find out what was going on. They were “doing Pilates.”

Now, the immediate reaction of any reader (I would expect) would be that I should reprimand these two girls and find something for them to do. They are at work! Just like me, they are getting paid! However, one of the two is supposed to be my equal; she is also a student manager. Therefore, why should I have to baby-sit her? The more significant portion of this story, however, is what struck me a few moments later was: why had Darlene asked me? Why was I the one she came to? I am realizing that this happens more and more. When I went to leave the other day, the union worker got a panicked expression and asked, “You’re leaving?” “I’ll be back at 1:30,” I reassured her. But as I walked out, I began wondering: why was I reassuring her? What did she depend upon me for? There were other workers there, other student managers.

My boss e-mails me. She asks me to stay late. She asks me to “take care of things.” I am the one the Danforth (i.e. building) managers come to when they have a question or concern during my shifts.

My parents always advise me, “Ask for what you need.” So I asked for a raise. We shall see what comes of my request.