Life Episodes: The Hospital Laundry

In tonight's episode of "Life Episodes" ... that very special segment we sometimes run here at the DCV ... you know the one where we document the most memorable times in Dolberry's life ... (no? seriously? look back at the archives!) ... we're going to take a look back at the summer I worked at the Humana Southeast Regional Laundry. Basically, it was the summer I spent living the life of a John Steinbeck character.

(Have you ever noticed that the DCV uses a lot of ellipses ... those things right there? It's because we've lost confidence in how to use commas and semicolons. Wikipedia implies that Dolberry is on solid ground in using this device to indicate a pause in thought. So there.)

Anyway, here are my 11 most favorite jobs I've ever had (in the beloved countdown format). And please don't misunderstand ... I do not like work in any format really. So, by "favorite", I really mean "least loathsome". And by "job", I mean somebody paid me (or pays me) to do it.

11 - Research Assistant at University of Chicago
10 - Environmental Something or Another at MCNC
9 - Babysitting
8 - Sticking Random Labels on Random Forms Drone for Standard Register
7 - Environmental Protection Specialist at EPA, Region 5
6 - Modeling Director at LADCO
5 - Maintenance Worker at the Executive Inn
4 - Umpire for Hikes Point Optimist baseball
3 - Physical Scientist @ NOAA/EPA (esp. when it involves 5-day weekends like right now)
2 - Lifeguard at Woodhaven
1 - Vacation Sales Representative for Nabisco

The only job that did not make the list was the one my dear mother got me one summer at a hospital laundry. Apparently she had an "in" with someone who ran this slave labor camp in the Bluegrass Industrial Park which was conveniently located about 5 miles from our house. Dolberry doesn't remember exactly how his mom knew the Stalinesque supervisor of the laundry. I think it involved Jazzercise.

Anyway, to this point, Dolberry had done jobs #2, #4, #5, #8, and #9 ... all of which complied with basic OSHA standards for worker safety. And really Dolberry was ok with a third year of spending 15-20 hours of each summer week, avoiding the sun and warding off girls at the pool, but Mom convinced me that $0.35 less per hour was a good tradeoff for the opportunity to work 40-hour weeks (more on this later).

The summer before I'd been a maintenance worker at a hotel in Louisville (the Executive Inn). This was a good job ... in the cushy variety that I favor when it comes to occupations. Mr Luersen, a neighbor, had gotten me the job. My "maintenance" duties consisted of:

1) mowing the lawn (easy),
2) watering flowers (easier), and
3) drinking unlimited free soda with the crew in our break room (easiest).

(It is also at this job that I learned one of my favorite quotes ever, from our foreman: "We didn't get much done today, but will give'r hell tomorrow.")

So, I show up for the first day at the laundry expecting to meet some new friends and earn a few bucks ... and get my caffeine fix for the summer.

And this is no exaggeration ... I was so exhausted by the noon lunch break I put my head down on the lunch break table and slept away my 30 minute reprieve from the floor. And 15 minutes of the morning was spent in orientation.

It was the most awful job you can imagine. Go ahead ... imagine the worst job you can think of ... I'll wait ...

Yeah, this was way worse than that.

One bad thing about a hospital laundry is that people who go to a hospital often do not maintain the same hygiene level that folks outside hospitals do. I guess that's why they're in the hospital. I don't know ... I'm not a doctor. So, they bleed on stuff. They throw up on stuff. They pee on stuff. And worse. I know what you're saying ... "Well they throw all that stuff away." No, my friend, they do not. Or at least they didn't 20 years ago. They sent it to the Bluegrass Industrial Park and insisted that people making $3.55 an hour restore this stuff to its original luster. This was in the early days of AIDS but before the term "biohazard" had been coined. You'd often see needles in the incoming baskets.

Another bad thing about a hospital laundry is that there is no air conditioning. My job was to take the clothes out of the industrial washers and put them in the industrial dryers. The washers provided a nice tropical humidity and the dryers added a nice Saharan touch that combined to put heat indexes up into the 110s in the environs where I spent 8 to 9 to 10 to 11 hours a day.

That was another bad thing about the hospital laundry. You never knew when you were going home. Basically, you worked until the trucks quit bringing dirty laundry. We didn't get overtime, though. Everyday was 8 hours on the timecard. For the life of me, I still don't see how that could have been even close to legal.

At the end of that first lunch, one of my co-workers roused me out of my labor-induced coma and encouraged me that I would get used to it. I guess that was one of the nice things about the hospital laundry ... my co-workers. Dolberry was definitely the outlier ... the college boy ... the kid who knew the boss (as evidenced by he acknowledged me at least 2-3 times that summer) ... the boy who would be out of here in three months. But they accepted me. That's either a testament to the basic goodness of the common working person or a testament to the fact that Dolberry is just so darned likeable. And while there were definitely some lifers on the crew, there was a heavy rotation. So much so, that by August I was one of the veterans. You'd ask someone at lunch "Where's Tommy?" and they'd say "What? Didn't you see the news last night? I TOLD him that First National Bank ATMs had cameras. Idiot!"

Anyway, by the end of the summer I was in awesome shape. Best shape of my life. Was anxious to get back to SLU for my junior season of cross-country. Sadly, they canceled the program that fall so they could have more women sports. Seriously?

And as I look back on this, Dolberry is puzzled. I learned a valuable lesson about hard work that summer. I learned that for whatever reason, I had started life leading off 3rd base while some were still in the batting box. The blessings that I'd been given (loving parents, nice house, good schools, passably tolerable sisters, supreme intelligence, and overpowering charisma among others) ... maybe hadn't been bestowed in an equal manner on everyone else. That some people have to work incredibly hard to narrow out what many would consider to be a meager existence. The puzzling thing is that this seems like a lesson that the fatherly El Cueto would have tried to instill. Instead he got me the job where I drank soda and ate Oreos (the next two summers) and it was La Cueta that got me this job. One thing's for sure, I never complained again about her potato soup after that summer.

Writing all this down made me feel a little guilty ... not because the prose here is achingly beautiful ... which it is ... but because I know there are millions of people today working laundry-like jobs.

Sometimes, it seems like being thankful isn't enough for all the blessings you've been given.

Happy T-giving to all DCV readers!