Melbourne Story - 6. Dishwasher 1

Before I began working at the Italian sports club restaurant, a young man I had worked with at a sushi shop once told me he had also worked as a dishwasher in a kitchen but quit because it was too hard. He said most people gave up after two or three months. Hearing that, I remember feeling a sudden fear inside.

Yet somehow I managed. Over time, I settled into the job, working anywhere from 25 hours a week to as many as 40. The fear I once felt gradually faded. Still, as if it were the accumulated result of all that labor, I would wake up in the mornings with both hands stiff and hardened. I had to massage my fingers to loosen them, soak them in hot water, or ask my wife to rub them until they bent properly again. Little by little, I was learning what physical labor truly meant.

Kim (金) Su (修) Hwan (煥).

There is something my wife occasionally says:“Why is the middle character of your name ‘Su’ meaning ‘to polish’ or ‘to refine’? Are you going to spend your whole life polishing and never finishing anything? Other people use the character that means ‘excellent’ or ‘outstanding’…”

I laugh, but when I think about it, she may be right. Throughout my life, it often feels as though I started polishing something only to stop halfway. I had many thoughts and plans, but few concrete achievements.

Now, at fifty, perhaps I had finally entered a path where I would truly “polish” something — as a dishwasher. It might sound humorous to others, but to me it felt like I had stepped onto another stretch of life’s journey where there was still more to refine, more to clean, more to endure.

Back in Korea, whenever I heard stories or read books about people who had gone abroad, it seemed there was hardly anyone who hadn’t worked as a dishwasher at least once. I assumed it would simply be a slightly harder version of washing dishes at home. Only after arriving here did I learn what being a real dishwasher truly meant.

At that time, there were three young Chinese men working at the restaurant. Most of the Australians were chefs, waiters, or waitresses. The Chinese workers and I either assisted the chefs — preparing ingredients or helping with pizzas — or worked as dishwashers. They had been in Australia for over three years and spoke English well, so they were often used as kitchen assistants. I, however, lacked English skills and was older, so I remained focused almost entirely on dishwashing.

Most Australian restaurants use large, heavy ceramic plates. When a function hosted around 120 guests, after serving soup, main dishes on large plates, slices of cake or ice cream for dessert, and finally coffee, there would easily be 500 to 600 pieces of crockery, along with knives, forks, and spoons. Processing them through the dishwasher machine took about three hours. The frying pans, cooking pots, rectangular trays, and various utensils used by the chefs required another two hours.

Usually, one person operated the dishwasher machine for plates and cutlery, while another person scrubbed pans and trays by hand with rubber gloves and detergent. During those long hours of silently washing dishes, I sometimes wondered whether I was truly living up to the “Su (修)” in my name — polishing properly at last. I would reflect on everything I had lived through and feel as though some invisible presence was urging me to start again and polish my life anew. Strangely, in those moments, I felt less troubled and more at peace.

Perhaps it was because I was simply grateful to have found work in a foreign land.

At times, when work was delayed or particularly busy and midnight passed before we finished, I knew the longer hours meant more pay. Still, some nights I just wanted to go home and rest, and I would feel irritated as waitresses kept bringing more dishes without pause. In Korea, at my age, pride might not have allowed me to do such work. But here, the Italian restaurant paid better than Korean or Chinese businesses, I could use and learn English, and I could work with people who simply focused on their own responsibilities without unnecessary interference. I often thought this kind of experience might only have been possible outside my home country.

Above all, I was grateful that my children cared about what I was doing and encouraged me, allowing me to concentrate on my work without burden. On days when my mind was steady and clear, I even managed to handle dishes for 240 guests on my own. But I am only human. When tired and irritable, I would suddenly miss my hometown friends and my university club mates.

After some time, I worked four days a week — Saturday through Tuesday — from 5 p.m. to 11 p.m. (until 1 a.m. on Saturdays). Standing for six to seven hours straight in the heat and steam rising from hot water, lifting heavy pans and plates, I would be drenched in sweat. Around 11:30 p.m., my wife would pick me up by car, and by the time we reached home near midnight, I was completely exhausted.

The sushi job required me to wake up at 5 a.m., so Mondays and Tuesdays were especially tiring. Both jobs required standing the entire time, meaning on Sundays, Mondays, and Tuesdays I stood for nearly nine hours a day. I had to find ways to loosen my body. Sometimes my wife would press my back with her feet to relieve the tension. Other times, after finishing the morning shift, I would get off the bus at Chadstone — an enormous shopping center — walk around for about forty minutes, and then take the bus home. Walking helped the blood circulate down to my feet and eased the pain in my back.

I

was paid in cash at the sushi shop and by bank transfer at the sports club. I handed all the money to my wife and carried only about fifty dollars — around 35,000 Korean won — as emergency cash. It would last for two weeks. I rarely had reason to spend it, since we bought household items together at the supermarket and I had no social gatherings or occasions to treat anyone. Aside from once going into the city with my second daughter at her insistence, that money simply slept quietly in my pocket.

Still, being able to contribute, even a little, to our household expenses as the head of the family made my heart feel lighter — even on days when I was resting at home.