you when I get back from the city. I’ll go and withdraw some cash.”
He sighed and turned to answer the ringing phone. She walked out, casual and upright, but as soon as she sat down for a coffee at the bus station, from a plastic- flavored cardboard cup, she scratched her head. She still had $200, which she wanted to save, and just another hundred NIS.
To her irritation, she had yet to find a job, and even when she went back to the hotels and asked for a job as a waitress or as an ice-cream lady on the promenade, she was answered with no more than a grin, raised eyebrows, or an indecent proposal. At least on one subject she was clear: she had no debts back in Tel Aviv. The apartment was paid up to the end of the rental period, the utilities were prepaid in advance at the beginning of the year... and her last meager salary must have balanced out any other bills. If someone over there was missing Lynn, they should deal with it. She wouldn’t ask for a loan because she had no intention of returning.
It was already late, and Lynn was getting hungry. She saw the amount of food being thrown out the back of the hotels and thought about collecting it and selling it cheap. What was the most luxurious hotel she’d visited? She walked to the back of the Herods Hotel. Comparing to the quiet and pleasant lobby, which was decorated and beautiful, the back entrance was the complete opposite. At that moment, it was full of chaos and noise, dozens of people coming and going through the giant kitchen doorway. It was, in fact, a warehouse. Chefs and assistant chefs wearing starched white uniforms; busboys and porters inserted and removed boxes of food, vegetables, and meats; trucks unloaded merchandise; and a few others, whose job was unclear, also moved amongst them.
Lynn paused, stared at the commotion, and tried to guess which of these people she should speak to. Within a few minutes, the picture became clear to her: the top chefs never left the kitchen. They were busy supervising and giving instructions to their subordinates in the kitchen. The men in white coats were ranked somewhere in the middle, below the kitchen staff, and their job was to get the goods from the suppliers and make sure that everything was done according to the orders in terms of quantity and standards. The delivery men and transport workers urged them on. The cleaning staff of the hotel were in different uniforms of blue and gray and cleaned the area. Next to them were people standing and waiting.
After the unloading of the food was done, the people who waited went toward the people in gray robes and smiled expectantly. Each of them came equipped with a basket or a box, and the service workers selected vegetables and other food packages and put some in the baskets. Lynn now realized what she had to do. It wasn’t pleasant, but they all did it. She should ask for some of the food surplus that was still edible, but not good enough for the distinguished hotel guests.
She stood before one of the swarthy, mustached service men. He had an Arabic accent. “Are you new here?” he asked, curiously scanning her fancy suit.
“Yes,” Lynn bowed her head.
“Today I have cutlets and some cabbage for you.” He saw that she didn’t have a basket and courteously bent over and arranged the groceries in a cardboard box for her. She thanked him, but when she saw what she’d received, she was dumbfounded. What would she do with a frozen chicken breast and fresh cabbage? She needed cooked food.
She turned to the young man and asked, “What’s your name, please?”
The young man was surprised and replied, “Hassan.”
“Hassan, have you, maybe, some cooked food... spare cooked food?” She was embarrassed, but she had no choice. The hunger bothered her.
He was surprised and smiled. “The lady does not know how to cook?”
“Yes, but... I live in a place where you can’t cook...”
“Wait another hour, hour and a half, and I’ll get some for you.”
Lynn
He sighed and turned to answer the ringing phone. She walked out, casual and upright, but as soon as she sat down for a coffee at the bus station, from a plastic- flavored cardboard cup, she scratched her head. She still had $200, which she wanted to save, and just another hundred NIS.
To her irritation, she had yet to find a job, and even when she went back to the hotels and asked for a job as a waitress or as an ice-cream lady on the promenade, she was answered with no more than a grin, raised eyebrows, or an indecent proposal. At least on one subject she was clear: she had no debts back in Tel Aviv. The apartment was paid up to the end of the rental period, the utilities were prepaid in advance at the beginning of the year... and her last meager salary must have balanced out any other bills. If someone over there was missing Lynn, they should deal with it. She wouldn’t ask for a loan because she had no intention of returning.
It was already late, and Lynn was getting hungry. She saw the amount of food being thrown out the back of the hotels and thought about collecting it and selling it cheap. What was the most luxurious hotel she’d visited? She walked to the back of the Herods Hotel. Comparing to the quiet and pleasant lobby, which was decorated and beautiful, the back entrance was the complete opposite. At that moment, it was full of chaos and noise, dozens of people coming and going through the giant kitchen doorway. It was, in fact, a warehouse. Chefs and assistant chefs wearing starched white uniforms; busboys and porters inserted and removed boxes of food, vegetables, and meats; trucks unloaded merchandise; and a few others, whose job was unclear, also moved amongst them.
Lynn paused, stared at the commotion, and tried to guess which of these people she should speak to. Within a few minutes, the picture became clear to her: the top chefs never left the kitchen. They were busy supervising and giving instructions to their subordinates in the kitchen. The men in white coats were ranked somewhere in the middle, below the kitchen staff, and their job was to get the goods from the suppliers and make sure that everything was done according to the orders in terms of quantity and standards. The delivery men and transport workers urged them on. The cleaning staff of the hotel were in different uniforms of blue and gray and cleaned the area. Next to them were people standing and waiting.
After the unloading of the food was done, the people who waited went toward the people in gray robes and smiled expectantly. Each of them came equipped with a basket or a box, and the service workers selected vegetables and other food packages and put some in the baskets. Lynn now realized what she had to do. It wasn’t pleasant, but they all did it. She should ask for some of the food surplus that was still edible, but not good enough for the distinguished hotel guests.
She stood before one of the swarthy, mustached service men. He had an Arabic accent. “Are you new here?” he asked, curiously scanning her fancy suit.
“Yes,” Lynn bowed her head.
“Today I have cutlets and some cabbage for you.” He saw that she didn’t have a basket and courteously bent over and arranged the groceries in a cardboard box for her. She thanked him, but when she saw what she’d received, she was dumbfounded. What would she do with a frozen chicken breast and fresh cabbage? She needed cooked food.
She turned to the young man and asked, “What’s your name, please?”
The young man was surprised and replied, “Hassan.”
“Hassan, have you, maybe, some cooked food... spare cooked food?” She was embarrassed, but she had no choice. The hunger bothered her.
He was surprised and smiled. “The lady does not know how to cook?”
“Yes, but... I live in a place where you can’t cook...”
“Wait another hour, hour and a half, and I’ll get some for you.”
Lynn
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