TheBanyanTree: Life Stories 105

[Tobie Shapiro]

December 30, 20000006


Dear Flick, Flock. Fluck,

	When my mother was a teenager, she and 
her aunt Anne (the one who lived to be 104) for 
fun, made up a language, based on the declension 
of the verbs being:  ink, ank, unk.  So the verb, 
think, would be: think, thank, thunk.  The word, 
run, would be: runink, runank, rununk.  I suggest 
that plurals be after the model of: child, 
children.  So:  raisin, raisinren; sheep, 
sheepren; book, bookren.  Don't you think English 
should be more regular?




                                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
                                XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
                                 ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡


The one hour career


	I was a waitress for an hour.  That's how 
long I lasted.  And that was pushing it.  This 
was in the era of Dweller working for his 
master's degree in Human Factors Engineering.  He 
would be working full time at his studies, and we 
needed me to go out to work and bring home the 
bread.  This would be my first foray into the 
world of the gainfully employed.  And what I knew 
was that I didn't want to work for my parents. 
I'd had a bad run in with applying for a job as a 
dancer in which my dog, Griffith, saved my life. 
Now it was time to get realistic.  There was a 
Golden Bear Motel situated on San Pablo Avenue 
near Cedar in Berkeley, a lower middle class 
neighborhood on a busy four lane, divided street. 
The motel was attached to a restaurant, your all 
American fare.  Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner.  Not 
exactly an, "all you can eat", place, but just a 
step above.  People staying at the motel could 
charge their meals to their rooms.  I'd passed by 
the place a thousand times, but now that I was 
looking for employment, I noticed they had a, 
"WAITRESS WANTED", sign in their window.

	I brought the idea up with Dweller and 
with some friends, and the general advice was 
that I should lie and tell them I had experience 
as a waitress.

	"But they'll know as soon as I mess up 
that I've got no experience.  Why should I lie?"

	"Because that's the only way you'll get the job."

	"But I can't lie.  That's dishonest. 
What kind of recommendation is that for an 
employer?"

	"Okay.  But you won't get the job unless 
you lie.  It can be a small lie.  Tell them you 
have only a little experience."

	This went against my grain in an 
important way.  It was unethical to lie, but we 
needed the income.  I tortured myself over this 
one.  Lying would be like bowing down to the 
Greeks' idols, the golden calf, the statue of 
Rah.  I couldn't

	I walked into the restaurant and 
nervously asked to see the manager, or whoever 
was intended by, "Enquire within."

	"I am the manager."

	"I'm interested in the waitressing job. 
I'm working my husband through graduate school."

	He asked me if I had any experience as a 
waitress.  I swallowed.  "I have only a little 
experience.  Maybe it doesn't even count.  But 
I'll work hard, and I learn fast."

	He gave me the job.  I nearly fainted. 
He told me to go out and buy a white dress.  That 
would be my uniform.  Already I would have to 
invest in this job.

	"Show up for work tomorrow morning.  Six 
a.m."  I ran off to find a white dress, and 
procured one that was stunningly bland.  The next 
day, I donned the costume and showed up right on 
time, even a little early.

	The boss showed me where the orders went 
in and where I would pick them up.  He said to 
study the menu.  I took the menu and looked at it 
as if I were going to have a final exam.  What 
order came with what side dishes?  What was a 
number two?  What was a number three, and hold 
the syrup?  This was clearly a daunting task. 
Customers came in.  A whole family filled up a 
booth, and two truck drivers who'd stayed 
overnight in the motel came in and sat in 
another.  I brought the family their menus and 
apologized in advance for this being my first 
day.  "Just tell me if I've forgotten something. 
I'm new.  But I'll try my very best to please 
you."  I came back and took their order.  I 
brought the order to the cook, and I waited for 
it to come up.  It appeared with a ding of the 
bell.

	But the order for the truckers didn't 
appear.  I waited.  I actually didn't know what 
to do to complain to the cook that table number 
five didn't have their meal yet.  I stared off 
into the middle distance, hoping the order would 
appear and I'd hear that little bell.  But 
nothing happened.  I went to the family's table 
to pour more coffee for them.  Still no order for 
the truckers.  I stood there waiting.  Finally, I 
noticed that the truckers were hailing me.  I 
went over to them and apologized that their order 
hadn't come up yet.  I would check with the cook. 
They stared at me.

	"Could we have menus?

	Oh my God!  They didn't have their menus 
yet.  I fell all over myself with, "I'm sorry," 
and, "Can you forgive me?" and, "It's my first 
day."  "Oh I'm so sorry.  I'll be right on it.  I 
can't believe I did that."

	"That's okay," they both grinned at me. 
I fetched them two menus quickly.  Then  I 
watched them carefully, and came back as soon as 
they folded them up.  I took their order, and I 
ran it in to the cook.  As soon as their order 
appeared, I whisked it away and delivered it to 
them, still apologizing.  "It's okay.  It's okay. 
You can stop.  You're making us very happy men."

	The restaurant was vacant but for them. 
When they got up to leave, I smiled at them and 
thanked them again for their patience.  One of 
them walked behind me and saying, "That's okay, 
sweetheart," reached in and pinched me right 
between the legs.  I jumped.  I literally jumped.

	"HEY!"

	"What's the matter?" they smiled broadly.

	I went to the manager and dragged him 
over.  I pointed, "He pinched me!"

	"The customer is always right," he said flatly.

	"No.  You don't understand!  He pinched me!"

	"The customer is always right."

	The truckers were enjoying this 
immensely, winking at me and laughing between 
themselves.

	"He pinched me in a place my husband has to get permission for."

	"The customer is always right."

	I envisioned day after day of customers 
like these being right.  I imagined how I'd have 
to dress to protect myself.  I imagined what else 
customers who were always right could manage to 
do to me.  I reached behind me and untied my 
apron.  I ripped it off.

	"Then I quit!"  I handed him the apron.

	"Goodbye," he said, unflinchingly.

	Ever after my harrowing one hour as a 
waitress, I have appreciated the arduous work 
that waiters and waitresses do, and I still tip 
very generously.  My brief job was truly 
inspiring.  I had handed in my resignation at the 
moment of ethical consideration.  So I saved my 
honour.  And I got a job working for my parents, 
losing a little of my honour in the process.  All 
in an hour's work.



                                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
                                XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
                                 ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡
-- 




Tobie Helene Shapiro
Berkeley, California   USA

tobie at shpilchas.net