My Stint As A Waitress

A close family friend died last Saturday evening and her memorial service was this past Wednesday May 15th. Since I'm still home recovering from my hand surgery, I told Marie that I would take her.

It was a lovely and well-attended service. Afterwards I said to her, "Marie, do you want to go downstairs for the repast, or go to the Peppermill for a belated Mother's Day lunch?" She thought for a minute and then opted for the repast. "Are you sure?" "Yes I am. We can sit with Dottie and Mary."

So downstairs we went, only to discover that there weren't many seats available; so we ended up at a table full of strangers. The woman directly across from us introduced herself, but no one else besides my mother and I did. I knew this was going to be a long meal.

With that being said, right before the pastor called our table to go up for food Marie whispered to me, "I'd rather go to the Peppermill." Seriously??? "And how do you propose we leave without being noticed? We're the only chocolate chips in the cookie so I know people will notice us leaving!" "Well when they call up our table, we'll just go last and no one will notice us scoot out the door!" she whispered triumphantly.

And I guess she's sure no one noticed her in her fire-engine red coat and white hat sneaking out with the giant. Oy vey...

We went to the Peppermill, which really is my favorite hometown restaurant. Everything homemade, great chef, friendly staff and the food is so yummy and comforting! Our waitress was one of my regulars; and at the end of our meal I was figuring the tip. "Being a waitress must be hard work," Marie commented. "I couldn't imagine being on my feet all day."

"I was a waitress once," I commented. My mother's eyes widened. "You were? When? I don't remember."

"That's because it was the first job I got when I moved to Long Island."

I was 19 when I moved to Long Island. My ex worked for Belmont Race Track, and there happened to be a breakfast diner located there. He spoke to the owner, and she agreed to give me a try. The diner was only open from 5 a.m. until 11 a.m., so this coincided perfectly with my ex's morning schedule so we could ride to and from work together.

I'd never waitressed before, but the owner and her sisters, who were all at the very least in their 40s, seemed very happy to have me on board. I took breakfast orders, and sometimes even made breakfast sandwiches on the grill. I wasn't very fast but the customers, primarily track trainers, jockeys and owners, didn't seem to mind and the tips were awesome! One morning I made a ham, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich for one of the trainers, and he left me a $50 tip! I was ecstatic! That must have been the best sandwich ever, and the best part was we didn't have to share our tips. I was the happiest new waitress on Long Island!

Then the week ended, the diner closed and I went to the owner to collect my week's actual pay. As she handed me my pay she said, "Um...we won't be needing you anymore." I was crestfallen! "Why not? I know I was slow but I know the customers liked me because they always gave me big tips."

She shook her head. "That's just it. The big tips weren't for your cooking, or your service. It was for...servicing. Out back..."

My 19-year-old mind spun. What she was saying, without saying it, was they were running a prostitution service for the higher-up track employees! So that $50 "tip" was for me to meet him out back for a different kind of breakfast! It was an open secret that I hadn't been aware of at all!

So sadly, that was my one and only foray into the waitressing world. When I met Raymond that day I asked him if he knew they were prostitutes. He said yes but hadn't figured they'd have me do it because I was his woman. Guess you were wrong Raymond!  They needed some young eye candy to boost their "sagging" sales, ha ha!

My mother was speechless after that story. "Well!" she finally said. "I guess it's a good thing I raised you right."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

She leaned closer over the table. "But tell me: were you tempted even a little bit?"

"Not at all. But I probably should have figured something was up because trust me: my cooking wasn't that good!"

I have no idea if "Mom's Diner" is still there or not. But if it is: I hope they give the new girls a head's up. No pun intended!

Speedy Recovery?

I am home recovering from hand surgery on 2 fingers of my right hand, which is my dominant hand. It hasn't even been a week yet and I am BORED.  I can't drive yet so I'm not going anywhere. It's hot so I'm not sitting outside. I currently have a low power bill so I won't turn on the central air. So I basically...sit. Or nap. Because even though it's my hand, any surgery is a trauma to your body so the body tires quickly.

You want to know who isn't bored? Pumpkin! This is one of the best things that's happened to her all year: Grammy's home! She's can't go anywhere! So Grammy can spend all night and all day with Pumpkin!

Let me tell you: I am sick of Pumpkin. I adore her but I'm trapped! So at night she's in my bed sleeping while I'm awake because I'm hot even with a fan blowing on me.  Then in the morning, after I've been up since 5 a.m., she stretches her little legs, opens her eyes, gazes adoringly at me and then comes over for me to rub her belly. Seriously? I only have one usable hand, you selfish little dog! Yet I rub her belly. Then she goes back to sleep while I give her the evil eye.

When I can't stand it anymore, I get up and we go downstairs where I have to singlehandedly open her Chef Michaels and feed her. As she eats, she gazes adoringly at me. Then she joins me on the couch, curls up in my lap FOR A NAP while I channel surf and curse the lack of anything watchable on the TV. Judge shows, who-the-baby-daddy shows, infomercials, news. Thank God today there was a marathon of America's NEXT Top Model on. Pumpkin wakes up from her nap, gazes adoringly at me and then goes back to sleep! She's such a hater!

One of the worse things about this recovery process is using my left hand. You don't even want to know how long it's taking me to type this post one-handed! But there are things that aren't fun that I have to do with my less dominant hand. I don't get too upset with the uneven moisturizing, or tooth-brushing or hair styling. However, there's one thing that I've had a hard time with, and that is what I'll delicately call the "T-Rex". 

It's the T-Rex because you know how when you take care of, you know, personal stuff, it's all good and you reach what you need to?  Well, it seems like now, since I have to use my left hand, my arm isn't long enough!  It's still the same circumference and all, but it's just not the same. And you end up at a weird angle...and let's just say that one time I almost fell off of the toilet! Brie's still laughing about that because I was dumb enough to tell her!

With all that being said, please wish me a speedy recovery. Or that my left arm gets longer...either one!