Image courtesy Jennifer Jones
My alarm goes off just before 5 a.m. I pull on my bathrobe, pad down the hallway and open the plywood door to a gravel road and a line of large rounded tents surrounded by concrete highway dividers. The sun is already up, and hundreds of birds have congregated in the few trees to bid the morning welcome with their cheerful chatter. It is almost cool, but the promise of 50-degree heat hangs in the air.
I walk over sand and gravel to the shower trailer. This early in the morning I have the place to myself, which doesn’t happen often. The trailer is ripe with the smells of chlorine and disinfectant, and I hurry back to my tent where I’m living for six months and change into my uniform. I put on sand-coloured pants and a shirt, my name tag and a desert camouflage hat. As I arrive at work, there’s already a lineup, so I hustle in the side door. My coworkers are bustling about, making coffee and stocking cups. I grab a hairnet, put it on under my cap and take my place as the doors open.
Not an average job
This is no ordinary Tim Hortons. I work on the Kandahar military base in Afghanistan.
The store is roughly in the middle of the base. In the centre is a large sand-and-gravel field where the Americans play football and the Brits play cricket. There’s a ball hockey rink right outside our store where we watch the Canadian troops play enthusiastic games of hockey in the sweltering heat. Other food outlets and stores line two sides of the boardwalk in the sand.
The store is actually a trailer and in the mornings, with six people behind the counter, it’s a busy place. We rush about in a practiced ballet of coffee and doughnuts, calling out orders and dodging the bakers as they come to fill up the showcase. Sometimes I marvel that we don’t crash into one another.
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