The Worker at The Point

The metal doors swing back and forth, back and forth. She walks out with food, pushes the buttons on the machine that let people know their food is done, and then walks the other way through the swinging doors. She stops to smile only once when I am watching her, and that’s when Dr. Qubein puts his arm around her shoulder to speak with her. As he leaves, she turns back around to go back to the monotonous routine she calls work.

Music plays loudly in The Point. It is a background music that reminds me of a five-year-old boy…it’s great for a little but can hinder the conversation you wish you could have. The worker at The Point continues her tedious work. She is stopped once, before going back through the swinging doors. A student who hasn’t gotten their food yet complains to her, and she smiles at him, but the second she turns her back, her expressions mimic the flavor of vanilla, a plain look with nothing to it.

She has dirty blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her black, collared, High Point shirt is tucked neatly into her dark jeans. Underneath her High Point shirt is a long sleeve white shirt pushed up to her elbows. She gets a face of frustration every couple of minutes as the white shirt falls from her elbows back down to her wrists. To her, the shirt is a natural disaster that is ruining her day. She comes out of the swinging doors chewing on something this time. She is holding someone’s plate of fries and as she sets it down I wonder if she is eating some of their fench fries.

The aroma of grilled food fills the air, and as kids walk past me with their lunches, the scent of cheeseburgers, chicken, french fries, and vegetables lingers around me. She doesn’t seem phased by the smells. She is in her own world, doing the repetitive actions that fill up her day.