You Take the Good, You Take the Bad

It's been a full three and a half weeks since I plunged into the cheese world, and as is natural, I no longer greet every task with quite as much child-like wonderment as I did at first. The smell of my clothes at the end of certain days, for example. Uncool. Still, getting up for work continues to be exciting, and the days of dairy drudgery are nowhere in sight. The simple reason: I wake up everyday thankful for an opportunity I never thought I'd have the chance to experience.

Of course, it's not all rosy on Cheesy Street. I'm well on my way to completely wrecking my hands, and have flung my body about into all sorts of obstructions. At first, my work boots were destroying the sides of my calves and upper ankles with painful chafing. The first week there was a red oval on the side of my legs that had completely scabbed over, but only after it stopped burning every time I touched it. I remedied that problem by wearing light cropped pants that just covered the calves instead of shorts in the hot cheese room. Then, I began to get red bumps on my forearms from either the gloves, the soap, or both. I'm not sure what to do about that, short of covering my entire arm in wristbands or Livestrong bracelets, so I just put up with it as it comes and goes.

I've scraped my knuckles on the concrete floors while hosing under the cheese vat more times than I can count. I've burned my hands in the ungodly hot water used to clean the dishes. While trying to balance up to 70 pounds of cheese in my grip, I've slammed my body into doors, walls, shelves, and pipes as if I'm in some cheesy mosh pit. My knack for walking recklessly has included ramming my arms and knees into the large bricks that hold up the aging room shelves while trying to fit through the narrow aisles with big wheels of cheese. I've also developed some sort of bizarre soreness in my wrist and thumb from flipping and lifting said notoriously fatty cheese blocks.

Not all things are due to my own buffoonery. Making cheese or clean-up involves a full day of washing and sanitizing your hands multiple times, scrubbing dishes, and/or having them covered in gloves while handling the curd or cheese. By the end of the day, everyone's hands look like they belong on a drowned zombie corpse. So, of course, any amount of pressure cuts through the skin like our hands are baby plums. I've received several deep cuts on my fingers just by applying slight pressure on the corner of a metal mold. I felt validated when I learned I wasn't the only one to have this problem with their hands.

One of the cheesemakers asked me the other day if I was still enjoying myself.  I answered without hesitation, yes absolutely! My rationale, however, was complete gibberish. Of course, I may at times take some tasks for granted, as any job eventually develops its own routine. I also can't (and would never want to) spout out an insincere, trite, interview-like response of  "Gee, I just really find everything we do so exciting and wonderful." Screw that. Sometimes it sucks to sweat over a piping hot soapy industrial sink and inhale the decomposed dust in the aging room. It's exhausting, and I come home some days and just sit on the couch watching Office and Golden Girls reruns until I either fall asleep or remember I should eat before falling asleep.

But I do still very much enjoy my life as a cheese intern, or a cheese apprentice, or a cheese monkey... whatever you want to call me. On the whole, I am still very excited about my days. I guess the best rationale, now that I've had some time to think about it, is this: Every day there is some challenge and every day there is something new to learn, if you care enough about what you're doing to notice it.  Every day, I am surrounded by people I admire and I am working in a trade I respect. Coming from a job that was the complete opposite, each day now is one I very much enjoy and for which I'm very thankful. It's similar to finding the perfect person after many years of dating absolute tools. Sure, the right person will have flaws and there will be terrible days together. Nothing is that easy. Maybe they hog the remote; maybe they buy too many shoes; maybe they fart during meals.  But if it's the right fit, the goosebumps never go away.