Tourists and pancakes and feet...Oh my! (Part 3 in a series)Jul 06 '02 Write an essay on this topic.
Popular Products in Toys
The Bottom Line If in doubt, bring scrambled eggs out. And stop staring at my sexy foot.
The following is the third installment of my most interesting experiences during my illustrious career as a waitress. I was inspired to write these after reading and reviewing a book called Waiting by Debra Ginsberg. Yes, I have publicly admitted that I worked as a graveyard shift waitress at Denny's. Yes, I have witnessed sex, drug use, a drug bust and more. I even met my husband as we exchanged smiles over the greasy plates we were passing off as meals. One hazard of working the overnight shift is that you can't go home until the morning waitstaff arrives. Even if they show up late, even if the tardiness was due to an overnight rendezvous with the evil owner of the restaurant. When the sun came up, the ketchups "married" (or combined to make full bottles using a rather disgusting white plastic stick/funnel thing), the side-work and cleaning done, I was ready to go home and sleep. Until I looked outside at the parking lot where two large buses had parked. I tried to slip out, but before I could, no less than 75 senior citizens shuffled in. They were Asian, maybe Japanese and part of a tour group. They had their cameras and maps. They were hungry. I wasn't going anywhere. As the hungry group moved slowly to fill tables and booths throughout the dining room, I began taking orders...Or something. "Can I start you off with something to drink?" Blank stare. "Some coffee or juice." Nod-nod. "Did you want regular coffee or decaf? Orange juice or tomato?" Nod-nod 75 senior citizens on vacation who spoke no English. This could only get worse. Smile and nod... As tired as I was, I began to improvise. I held up coffee cups, juice glasses and tea bags to try and get an idea as to what they wanted. Once that was done, I began the task of getting food orders. "Would you like to try a Grand Slam or maybe one of our omelettes?" Nod-nod. Thank goodness for the pictures of the food in the menus! They started pointing to various entrees. This wasn't so bad. Yes it was. There were choices! There are more than a dozen ways to cook eggs, choices of toast or muffin. Point-point. Nod-nod-smile-nod.... Someone shoot me now. If in doubt, bring scrambled eggs out... Since I wanted to get home to take a nap before my night shift began again, I started serving things my way. If they don't speak English, they can't complain, right? Yahoo! They smiles and nodded and ate what was in front of them. They paid their checks, one by one, and under each plate I found anywhere from 50 cents to a dollar or two. The weight of the change in my apron was enough to make me look like Quasimodo as I hurried to re-clean and get home. Never rush in a heavy apron when tubs of butter are out. You might slip and fall. Crash... Just how I was able to slip on a runaway scoop of butter and get broken glass inside my shoe, I don't know. There was blood though. I hobbled to the back near the kitchen. One of the busboys, the same busboys that were nowhere to be found when we had our party of 75, rushed to my aid. As I took off my shoe, I saw the chunk of glass embedded in my foot and waited for my boyfriend (now husband) to come back with some first aid stuff. William, the busboy, was looking at my foot and trying to help me clean it up. At the time, they way he was positioned, I thought he was trying to look up my skirt. What was with the sudden interest in my foot? Thankfully, it was only a minor flesh wound and with a few band-aids, I was ready to hobble home. William began telling me he would go get his things to do my nails. What the? He went on and on about his pedicure skills...At least that's what I was thinking as his English was only slightly better than my recent customers. I do, however, understand some Spanish and was getting a bit uncomfortable. I hurried to put my shoe on and went home. The wallet... The next shift began at 10:00 pm. Both my main squeeze and I were working and I was in the downstairs storage area waiting for him to change clothes. He found a wallet on the floor and assumed it belonged to another employee. He opened the wallet to check the ID. "Feet! Jen, feet! You gotta see this!" Inside the wallet where most people carry pictures of their family or kids we found some pictures. Pictures of feet. Bare feet, some with polished nails, others without. Photo after photo of...feet. And also ID. Can you guess who the wallet belonged to? No wonder he was so eager to get a look at my naked foot... Never a dull moment... From sex in booths to fights where tables got broken, to foot fetishes, life as a waitress in a 24-hour diner is interesting. Some time I'll have to tell you about the Southern Baptist Convention when we ran out of fried chicken. Not a good thing... Until next time, go read my other bizarre restaurant stories: Part One:Sex, drugs and rock 'n roll....Waiting tables on the graveyard shift. (Part 1) http://www.epinions.com/content_2722865284 Part Two:Waitressing, more than a job...It's an episode of COPS. http://www.epinions.com/content_2723520644 And the book that inspired me to share, Waiting: The True Confessions of a Waitress http://www.epinions.com/content_67688304260  |
| Read all comments (3)|Write your own comment |
