Remembering My First Real Job

A year and three months without gainful employment has a way of sneaking up on you. I'm back to dreaming about the early days... 1972 to be exact. I had just gotten my working papers and was biting at the bit to get my own job... close by as I had no car. I was able to score a waitress job after school at the local Midman Family Restaurant which was a short walking distance from the high school I attended. I showed up in my white mini- skirted  waitress uniform and was given a cheery red apron and a tour of the owner's basement room. I thought it looked like an opulent haven for a bookie... but I kept my mouth shut as he said to me.... "no one is allowed in here.. ya hear." He was an older man (probably younger than me at this writing) and his creepy Playboy son worked as the short order cook. Back then, the other waitresses and I laughed at all the sexually innuendoed jokes... and then laughed harder behind his back at his over-inflated ego. They were simpler times when harassment wasn't even part of the vocabulary. I became adept at serving six dinner plates of food to my tables of hungry families... and never dropped a one. My favorite job was as counter girl, where I served coffee to lonely old man just passing through on business... usually truck-drivers. Always respectful, they would tell me what I good girl I was as I laughed at their jokes about aging, and for the quick pour of a coffee refill and a sincere smile, I would be given a five dollar tip. Most days on the counter I would have 40-50 dollars on a six hour shift. I never saw that much as the head waitress was some cranky old crone who made sure we all pooled tips so she would get her fair cut. Once though, as a foreboding to the yap that wouldn't be shut in the face of perceived injustice I got a verbal smack-down from the owner. A woman came in to ask for an egg over easy and toast... it wasn't on the menu... only ice-cream and sandwiches. I placed it anyway and the owner bellowed at me... "We don't serve that you idiot"... I protested... "But we have eggs, we make egg salad.. surely you could make an exception." He reddened and shouted at me... the restaurant heard... the woman got up to leave and said I can't eat in a place run by such a nut." Oh well, I was delegated to the hardest job after that... hand scooping quarts of ice-cream. I made the best of it with a tablespoon in my pocket. Before I dug in for the customer, my spoon would come out and I would sample... just for quality control purposes... the counter crew would howl in hysterics as  I bent over in mini-dress with pantyhose tops showing and announce the chocolate chip mint is superb today... anyone want a dusty road sundae? I finally got tired of having lots of money in my pocket, working longer hours cleaning restrooms and grills, and coming home with ten dollars in my pocket. It's funny how I climbed the corporate ladder to realize... nothing really changes.