warning: this post contains explicit descriptions of heat and sweat
some of you, i know, may have been experiencing a bit of unpleasantly humid weather lately. i offer to you one consolation: you can be thankful that you don't have my job.
imagine a large room, lacking windows and having only one outside door. imagine that in this room are three--yes, three--huge ovens, each large enough to pass for a new york apartment bedroom (or a walk-in closet, at the very least). imagine that each of these ovens is heated to a steady 475-degree burn, shooting jets of steam every few minutes. actually, do your best just to imagine what 475 would feel like. now imagine that your job is to fill the ovens with soft, sticky dough, as quickly as possible, for hours on end. when the dough becomes bread, you empty the oven, and when the oven is empty, you reach your arms deep inside the belly of the beast to sweep its scalding ceramic floor with a long, unwieldy metal-handled broom, filling the impossibly humid, 475-degree air with clouds of black soot. and imagine that, while you're doing all of this, as quickly as possible, you're wearing (along with the usual shoes, socks, underwear, t-shirt, apron, hat, etc.) long pants made of roughly the same material that a flame-retardant acrylic tarp might be. what you're imagining is my life.
it's always hot in the bakery, and it's been really hot for a few months, but today's heat was an unparalleled endurance challenge. perpsiration welled from every surface of my body. while i was loading bread, i had to angle my head so that sweat didn't drip from my face onto the dough. every article of clothing i wore, including my apron, was completely, totally, thoroughly sweatsoaked. except for my pants, of course, which were mostly just sweat-coated. my eyes burned as they filled with warm salty liquid: nope, not tears! best of all, though, was the phenomenon visible on my arms. flying clouds of soot, ambient flour, and prodigious perspiration had joined forces to form a quarter-inch thick layer of the dough from hell from wrist to elbow. i also came home with several burns, as a half-second's contact was all the oven door needed to scar my warm, moist skin. my lungs also hurt. i tried not to breathe the air, i tried to wear a surgical mask, but my efforts were thwarted within minutes: ever tried breathing through hot, wet fabric strapped to your face with elastic? don't get me wrong, though: i love my job.
imagine a large room, lacking windows and having only one outside door. imagine that in this room are three--yes, three--huge ovens, each large enough to pass for a new york apartment bedroom (or a walk-in closet, at the very least). imagine that each of these ovens is heated to a steady 475-degree burn, shooting jets of steam every few minutes. actually, do your best just to imagine what 475 would feel like. now imagine that your job is to fill the ovens with soft, sticky dough, as quickly as possible, for hours on end. when the dough becomes bread, you empty the oven, and when the oven is empty, you reach your arms deep inside the belly of the beast to sweep its scalding ceramic floor with a long, unwieldy metal-handled broom, filling the impossibly humid, 475-degree air with clouds of black soot. and imagine that, while you're doing all of this, as quickly as possible, you're wearing (along with the usual shoes, socks, underwear, t-shirt, apron, hat, etc.) long pants made of roughly the same material that a flame-retardant acrylic tarp might be. what you're imagining is my life.
it's always hot in the bakery, and it's been really hot for a few months, but today's heat was an unparalleled endurance challenge. perpsiration welled from every surface of my body. while i was loading bread, i had to angle my head so that sweat didn't drip from my face onto the dough. every article of clothing i wore, including my apron, was completely, totally, thoroughly sweatsoaked. except for my pants, of course, which were mostly just sweat-coated. my eyes burned as they filled with warm salty liquid: nope, not tears! best of all, though, was the phenomenon visible on my arms. flying clouds of soot, ambient flour, and prodigious perspiration had joined forces to form a quarter-inch thick layer of the dough from hell from wrist to elbow. i also came home with several burns, as a half-second's contact was all the oven door needed to scar my warm, moist skin. my lungs also hurt. i tried not to breathe the air, i tried to wear a surgical mask, but my efforts were thwarted within minutes: ever tried breathing through hot, wet fabric strapped to your face with elastic? don't get me wrong, though: i love my job.