To Lift My Sole

Chapter 2

My job as a cashier was a means to an end. In reality, I owned a small food services consulting firm in the healthcare culinary field. I had found, over the years, that the best way to get to know how an organization functioned—or didn’t—was in the trenches. That usually meant going undercover—with the blessing of upper management.

I would work in a few different positions over a specified period—up to six months, if necessary, depending on the job—as anything from a server or food prep worker to a cashier or patient menu ambassador. All of these positions gave me enough intel to evaluate all aspects of the system, its glaring flaws and safety issues, and make suggestions for improvement.

Hospitals hired me for my keen eye and innovative, cost-saving—and lawsuit avoiding, hopefully—strategies. By the time my stint was done, I typically amassed enough information to give the institution a thorough review and informed suggestions for change. I liked doing things from the inside out, you might say, and it was something I enjoyed. Usually.

But this gig had been difficult. I was normally a friendly person, laid-back and easy to get along with. However, the stentorian mindset I’d encountered here, and the robust gossip mill, made me reticent. I’d come across so many inflated personalities, it made me want to puke. The medical personnel here were the worst I’d ever had the displeasure to be involved with. Although the guy from earlier…well. Best to ignore that spike in my heart rate—for now.

This particular establishment was under new management, and, after settling a lawsuit out of court pertaining to a life-threatening food allergy fuckup, the executives were anxious to improve things as quickly as was feasible. I had a few days remaining in this position and then I would write up my report and make a presentation.

I believed I could help the hospital move into the twenty-first century, with software tracking, better food safety measures, speed scratch cooking, just for starters. It would also be nice to have a fresh salad and fruit on occasion, instead of the limp offerings typically on display.

I called in to my office to make sure things were going smoothly.

“How’s it hanging, Paula?” My business partner wore many hats. She was our financial manager, research analyst, and receptionist, among other things. We made a great team, the two of us.

“Nothing to worry about. We received a few requests for consultations in the next month or so. Referrals from satisfied clients.”

“Always happy to hear that. I suppose my desk is covered in paperwork?” She took perverse pleasure in stacking piles of tree byproducts near my keyboard.

“Why, yes it is.” I could almost hear the smile in her voice. “Just some legal stuff and invoices needing your approval for payment.” I hated that part of running a company.

“Exciting. How about you, everything good?” Paula and I had worked together for years, and we were almost as close as brother and sister.

“Oh, sure. Bevin’s back in town.” Bevin was Paula’s husband of two years, an engineer by trade. “We’re planning a nice romantic dinner for two.”

“Sounds lovely.” I was pleased for her, even though I was sometimes a little jealous of the happiness she’d found.

“Yes, it is.” She sighed in contentment. I could almost see the hearts floating around her head. It was disgusting.

“Stop it. You’re making me want to hurl.”

“You’re just envious.” Yes.

“Never.”

“Later, hon.”

“Bye.”

Paula was a treasure. One thing she never did was talk about my leg or hound me about doing too much. She knew I enjoyed my work, and that I knew my limits, mostly. She didn’t push. I looked at my watch. It was time to get back to work.