It may be a cliche, but in this job, you see a different side of people. Not always their nicest side of course. But I do feel it’s a privilege. Being the representative for the Domestic Front, I do have extra responsibilities. But you get to see the unguarded side of people, observe and facilitate their daily routines. It’s impossible not to form attachments – I sometimes wonder who’s dependent on whom.
Most of it’s drudge work of course – always first to rise, first cup of tea, or some kind of hot drink – kettle goes on. The mundanity doesn’t get to me, it’s half of why I’m here. People soft from sleep or exuding low-level tension until after the first hit of the day. Unguarded, like I said. No pretence when you’re still half-fogged from the unseen things that chased you through your dreams.
The social rituals – door opens, someone comes in, kettle goes on. Some acknowledgment of this fact usually, it’s one of the social lubricants as much as the sharing of a drink. Sacred laws of hospitality. Sometimes they even joke about its cultural specificity, but the ritual happens with every guest regardless of the script.
There are the emergencies too. I won’t lie, I half-enjoy these. Those times when someone comes in, jerkily or slowly or trudging, and impart news of some calamity. Without thinking, they reach for me. It’s a way they have for caring for each other, I know that, but it’s nice to know one plays an important, if unnoticed role.
Morning, midday, afternoon, evening, night, over a trade or a counselling session or a lesson or a visit or business, or a late night snack or to kick-start some energy or to create a quiet moment for recharging, or simply to eke out the conversation half an hour longer, in which case my offerings are generally soon forgotten. The kitchen is where it all happens and I have a front row seat – or I should say front hob. I smooth your interactions time and again, I sit with you in your darkest moments and your relief and your illness and your laughter and your endless experimentation in the kitchen, your creations and disasters. I am there when there is a person slumped on the sofa for hours, unable to do anything but accept my offerings. I am the first out of the box when people pack up their lives and move them to a new place, ready to help them settle and reclaim their normality. I am there in offices, hospitals, community centres. I am there when the bottle is too dangerous, I am there in war and peace, holding together the fragile norms of human interaction. My hob is your hub.
passing the bechdel test 