When Steve and I first started dating, we instantly bonded over our mutual love of salt and vinegar potato chips. Shortly afterwards, we realized that we had another important thing in common. We had worked our way through college by working in the cafeteria dishroom. It was true love.

When you get assigned to work in the cafeteria, you get some choice about what you do. You can swipe the food cards, slop the food, stock the salad bar, or work the dishroom. I usually chose the dishroom. Why would I pick the grossest job possible? I mean I reeked at the end of my shift.

Well, there was this beautiful boy, Adrian, who was back there, too. Can’t deny that was a factor. But it was the dishroom culture that amused me the most. The stoner townies who worked back there full time were a riot. At the beginning of the shift, we would sit around drinking cokes and messing with the stoners. Then the trays would start trickling in through the conveyer belt. Then they came faster and faster. Bang the plates into the garbage and slide them in the rack. Dump the liquids in the trough and fit the glasses in their trays. Cutlery and trays last. When the trays filled up, they were thrown into the steamy washer. If you slowed down, the trays would back up on the conveyer belt, get stuck behind the hole in the wall, and crash on the floor in the dining room. Applause. You HAD to keep up. We would be yelling at each other to get it together and go faster. I liked the challenge. Some shifts were grosser than others. Chicken wing night. Pancakes with syrup. But mostly nothing bothered me after the first tray or two.

Question of the DayWhat’s the oddest job that you’ve even had?