The Whole Wide World

It’s Friday according to the calendar, but for me it’s Monday. It’s a six-day work week down here and my day off is Thursday. Normally, I would get up and go for a run on the treadmill before work in what’s known as the ‘gerbil gym,’ but a pipe burst under the gerbil gym yesterday, flooding it and rendering it out of order, so no run for me today. Instead I slept in. I still got up and did a little workout routine and yoga before work. I am pretty good about doing that no matter what. I know how rude the antagonist between my ears can be if I choose to be lazy, so I try not give her any ammo, especially down here. 

Someone back home asked me why it’s called the gerbil gym, which I had thought was obvious—because we are all in a little room running on machines, much like a gerbil (or hamster) running on their little wheels, but apparently it’s not that obvious because they asked. I never asked them what they thought it meant. I like to think they envisioned me exercising amongst hundreds of gerbils. That’s a fun image. 

During the austral summer, I worked in the galley as a steward (aka stewie), helping to keep the station fed. I’ve worked in restaurants either as a full time gig or as a side hustle for almost twenty-five years now. That’s almost incomprehensible for me to think about. Twenty-five years. Ooh-fah. Getting a job as a stewie is largely accepted as being the most common way to get your feet on the continent and into the program (though there are plenty who come in through other positions). Being a stewie in the galley, however, is nothing like being a server in a restaurant. The only commonality is smelling like food at the end of the day. There was no waiting on tables and there were no tips. Instead, I spent five-months scrubbing heaps of pots and industrial-size kitchen utensils, spraying plates and silverware, refilling condiments, manning a buffet line…you get the picture. 

It took detachment from ego early on, especially when putting the frumpy uniform each morning. Black chef pants and a blue polo that had no shape to it, topped off with a ball cap that read “Antarctic Food Services’ on the back and the outline of Antarctica on the front. You wouldn’t think a ball cap could be bad, but somehow it was the most ill-fitting hat I’ve ever worn. The uniform is commonly known and referred to as the ‘stewie blues.’

It is no secret on station that as stewies we worked the longest most unfavorable hours and for the least pay, but I was never here for the monetary compensation. I’m here checking a continent off the list and having an experience. As a member of our galley leadership once said to me, “I’m just down here living someone else’s dream.” As with most things in life, the experience is what you make of it and while stewie life was rough at times, it was the connections I made with my fellow stewies that made it tolerable. We had fun. We lost our minds early on, but we had fun. 

And now through the darkness of winter, I am what I like to call the ‘station vice dealer.’ There are 144 of us here for the austral winter and I am the sole dealer of the stations cigarettes, booze and sugar (with the exception of the glorious baked goods our lovely baker turns out daily). I run the station’s only store. It’s comparable to running a convenience store, liquor outlet, pharmacy and gift shop all in one. Most of the inventory is controlled through a ‘depletion plan’ which makes it more challenging and different than your typical supply and demand stocked store. When the community has bought all the chocolate or chips allocated for the week, it’s normal and acceptable to have empty shelves. The station is resupplied only once a year during vessel season so everything has to be rationed to last both the winter and summer seasons.  

I also have a part time job as the station’s winter beverage supervisor, which primarily consists of keeping the bar (Gallagher’s) stocked-at the mercy of the depletion plan, onboarding and training new bartenders, doing the bar schedule and coordinating any facilities issues. Tonight there is karaoke at Gallagher’s, something I have successfully avoided (through my entire life) ever partaking in. I enjoy watching everyone else partake, but I have nothing to contribute. One day, when I conquer the antagonist, I’ll get up on a stage somewhere and sing without a care in the world (the same goes for dancing). It’s on my list, but today is not that day. Instead, I opted for a quiet night in my room. It is my Monday after all. There is an open mic night on actual Monday, which is a little more my speed, so I’ll most likely go to that, besides, it’ll be my Thursday by then. 😉