My primary shift at the restaurant was breakfast, except when the coke-addled assistant manager was feeling especially cruel. Special cruelty entailed scheduling me to work a closing shift on Saturday night and returning six hours later to open on Sunday morning.
Another of the manager's tricks was to assign me, a non-smoker, to the smoking section of the restaurant. Except during the above mentioned night shifts. She freely admitted that she was trying to get me to quit. Apparently, she found my complete lack of interest in cocaine, pot, getting piss drunk or having indiscriminate bad sex with one of my co-workers unsettling. The phrase "goody two-shoes" came up frequently in her vocabulary when describing my personality.
As I was young and could honestly use the label "cute" to describe my physical appearance, I attracted a fair amount of attention from the male regulars. This also meant that I was an easy target for harassment. Comments about my looks usually took the form of asking me when I was going to land myself a "sugar daddy" to take me away from the drudgery of waiting tables.
Since physical retaliation was frowned upon, I developed a thick skin and the ability to quickly fire back a suitable insult, cutting enough to let them know they were pushing their luck, funny enough to make them laugh and not forget my tip.
Several mornings a week an elderly gentleman by the name of Jimmy would shuffle into the restaurant to order 1/2 of a breakfast and a cup of hot water for his used tea bag. Jimmy was immune to charm from any person male or female and universally disliked. It was not his personality but his physical appearance. Jimmy liked to smoke cheap cigars and a lifetime of bad smokes permeated his clothes, hair, teeth and hoary nails. But poor Jimmy's greatest crime was that he never tipped the staff.
Jimmy's most frequent sidekick was a truly horrible man by the name of Henry. Henry was mean and passed his mornings chain smoking and making cutting remarks to Jimmy. No one liked Henry, not even Jimmy. Henry did not tip either.
One morning Henry was in an extraordinarily foul mood and decided to direct his abuse in my direction. All morning long, every time I passed the table he was sharing with Jimmy he would make crude comments about my appearance and intelligence. Several times he poked Jimmy and said "Be sure you give the little girl a tip, she'll need them to support herself until she lands herself a husband".
After the fourth time he called me "little girl" I snapped. I put down the dishes I was carrying, looked Henry straight in the eye and said "I think you should be the last person in this place giving Jimmy advice on how to tip since you have not left a dollar a day in your life." As I picked up the dishes and walked into the kitchen I could hear Jimmy's cackling in glee. "She sure told you!" he said to Henry.
Henry sulked for the rest of the morning and never spoke directly to me again.
Jimmy left me a dollar.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
I Hate Volkswagen
As much as I like to flatter myself into believing I don't watch that much television, I watch enough to be up on the current rotation of commercials running.
Volkswagen, always on the cutting edge when it comes to shilling their product, is showing a series of commercials to emphasize the safety of their product, with the tag line “Safe Happens”. They are truly disturbing to watch, as the actors are going about their routine day driving until a car comes out of nowhere and hits them. Except that the viewer can see the accident about to happen.
I hate them. I hate them a lot. I really hate the most recent one, which has two actresses debating the merits of this latest add campaign, only to be hit by car. I'm sure the ad agency executives enjoyed the post-modern irony, but it is not funny.
Why? Because I know, firsthand, what it is like to have a vehicle come out of nowhere and slam my car into a guardrail. It has been ten years and I can still hear the screeching of the brakes and feel the impact on the passenger side. I can still remember how loudly I screamed as my vehicle spun 180 degrees.
I also remember how fortunate I was to be hit on the passenger side, where no one was sitting. I was fortunate the other driver was moving so fast that the impact, which sent my car into the spin, also caused the passenger side of the car to hit the guardrail. I walked away with a totaled car and three bruises.
I was lucky to have really terrific co-workers who organized a system, without my asking, to make sure I got to and from work everyday. I was lucky to have a friend available to spend the rest of the day driving me to the hospital, the insurance agent and out for ice cream. I was lucky to have a neighbor who forced the keys to his car into my hand the next day and made me drive.
While I respect that Volkswagen has come up with a clever way to market the safety of their product, the commercials are emotionally manipulative and feed into the overall climate of fear generated by everyone from politicians to religious leaders. It took a long time before I could confidently get behind the wheel of my car and drive without worry. Every time a network runs one of the commercials I am forced to relieve that accident over again.
Volkswagen, always on the cutting edge when it comes to shilling their product, is showing a series of commercials to emphasize the safety of their product, with the tag line “Safe Happens”. They are truly disturbing to watch, as the actors are going about their routine day driving until a car comes out of nowhere and hits them. Except that the viewer can see the accident about to happen.
I hate them. I hate them a lot. I really hate the most recent one, which has two actresses debating the merits of this latest add campaign, only to be hit by car. I'm sure the ad agency executives enjoyed the post-modern irony, but it is not funny.
Why? Because I know, firsthand, what it is like to have a vehicle come out of nowhere and slam my car into a guardrail. It has been ten years and I can still hear the screeching of the brakes and feel the impact on the passenger side. I can still remember how loudly I screamed as my vehicle spun 180 degrees.
I also remember how fortunate I was to be hit on the passenger side, where no one was sitting. I was fortunate the other driver was moving so fast that the impact, which sent my car into the spin, also caused the passenger side of the car to hit the guardrail. I walked away with a totaled car and three bruises.
I was lucky to have really terrific co-workers who organized a system, without my asking, to make sure I got to and from work everyday. I was lucky to have a friend available to spend the rest of the day driving me to the hospital, the insurance agent and out for ice cream. I was lucky to have a neighbor who forced the keys to his car into my hand the next day and made me drive.
While I respect that Volkswagen has come up with a clever way to market the safety of their product, the commercials are emotionally manipulative and feed into the overall climate of fear generated by everyone from politicians to religious leaders. It took a long time before I could confidently get behind the wheel of my car and drive without worry. Every time a network runs one of the commercials I am forced to relieve that accident over again.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
In My Previous Life
I was a waitress.
At a restaurant in Greensboro, North Carolina. I lived the cliché of a poor graduate student complete with kitten, crappy apartment, crazy roommate and worked with a crew of potheads lead by the assistant manager, a redhead name L.
Because I was a graduate student, the majority of my classes were at night. Because I was an out-of-state student, loans covered only my tuition and a fraction of my living expenses. Waiting tables seemed to be the only thing that would fit around my full-time graduate school class schedule and provide me with enough of an income to pay the heating bill.
For the next nine months I averaged five hours of sleep a night due to the following schedule:
Near the end of the school year, after yet another battle with the cocaine-addled assistant manager over her insistence that I work a shift during a FINAL, I quit. Two weeks later I landed a full-time job at a collection agency for twice the pay and half of the hours. With medical benefits and vacation time. For a company that permitted me to flex my hours during exams and use office equipment and supplies for schoolwork.
Coming up: A lesson in wheedling tips out of cheap old bastards.
At a restaurant in Greensboro, North Carolina. I lived the cliché of a poor graduate student complete with kitten, crappy apartment, crazy roommate and worked with a crew of potheads lead by the assistant manager, a redhead name L.
Because I was a graduate student, the majority of my classes were at night. Because I was an out-of-state student, loans covered only my tuition and a fraction of my living expenses. Waiting tables seemed to be the only thing that would fit around my full-time graduate school class schedule and provide me with enough of an income to pay the heating bill.
For the next nine months I averaged five hours of sleep a night due to the following schedule:
- 5:00 am: Rise, shower and dress for work. Feed the kitten. Eat a plain bagel.
- 6:00 am – 2:00/3:00 pm: Open restaurant, work breakfast and lunch. Playfully insult regular customers. Get shafted from leaving on time by wait staff working swing shift. Forced to do prep for breakfast and dinner.
- 3:00 – 6:00 pm: Return to apartment. Argue with roommate over cat litter box in bathroom. Change clothes, walk to library to study. Eat another bagel with garlic cream cheese.
- 6:30/7:00 – 9:30/10:00 pm: Attend classes.
- 10:00 – 11:30 pm: Return to library. Study.
- Midnight: Fall into futon. Discover roommate's dog has peed on the sheets. Roommate claims kitten did it.
- 1:00 am: Go to sleep after cleaning up dog pee.
- 5:00 am: Repeat ten days in a row before getting a day off.
Near the end of the school year, after yet another battle with the cocaine-addled assistant manager over her insistence that I work a shift during a FINAL, I quit. Two weeks later I landed a full-time job at a collection agency for twice the pay and half of the hours. With medical benefits and vacation time. For a company that permitted me to flex my hours during exams and use office equipment and supplies for schoolwork.
Coming up: A lesson in wheedling tips out of cheap old bastards.
Monday, September 11, 2006
My Obligatory September 11 Post
I am going to mark the fifth anniversary of the loss of 2996 lives in the destruction of the World Trade Center and the additional loss of life in Iraq and Afghanistan by talking about my brother.
Three hundred and thirty-six soldiers serving in Afghanistan did not make it home.
My brother did.
Pray for Peace
- My twin brother.
- My twin brother, the guy I celebrated every birthday with from the ages of 1 to 20.
- My twin brother, who enlisted in the Army Reserves when he was eighteen and not handling college very well.
- My twin brother, who spent a year away from his family and friends training to serve his country.
- My twin brother, who wrote me some of the most colorful letters I ever received from anyone, during basic training.
- My twin brother, who has given up a weekend each month, two weeks each year for the past fourteen years to serve his country.
- My twin brother, who was "involuntarily transferred" from his quiet little clerical unit in the backwoods of Western PA to a unit on "high alert" in January 2002.
- My twin brother, who was shipped off to Kuwait in the spring of 2002 to serve as support staff to military stationed in Iraq.
- My twin brother, who could not leave his base in Kuwait without an armed and armored escort. In Kuwait, which is supposed to be safe.
- My twin brother, who answers the question "What was it like over there, really?" with "Even if you think you want the truth, I would lie to you".
- My twin brother, who came home safely, thirteen months later.
Three hundred and thirty-six soldiers serving in Afghanistan did not make it home.
My brother did.
Pray for Peace
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Another Damn Thing Blogger Needs To FIX
I can't blog photographs from Flickr any longer!
Anyway, because I have nothing else to say this afternoon...
Anyway, because I have nothing else to say this afternoon...
Thursday, September 07, 2006
I Swear
that if I see ONE MORE photograph of Eli and Payton Manning that has absolutely NOTHING to do with football, I may have to vomit.
The mayor's funeral is today. The procession will be going through downtown during my lunch hour. I wonder if it will stop in front of the Starbucks in Market Square he used to frequent?
My one encounter with Bob O'Connor was in that Starbucks. I had a grande skim chai and pastry in my hands and was headed out the door when a man darted in front of me to kneel at one of the tables. I nearly ran over him.
It was only after I left that I realized why there had been two City Police officers hanging out in the store, and it was not for the coffee.
The mayor's funeral is today. The procession will be going through downtown during my lunch hour. I wonder if it will stop in front of the Starbucks in Market Square he used to frequent?
My one encounter with Bob O'Connor was in that Starbucks. I had a grande skim chai and pastry in my hands and was headed out the door when a man darted in front of me to kneel at one of the tables. I nearly ran over him.
It was only after I left that I realized why there had been two City Police officers hanging out in the store, and it was not for the coffee.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Long Weekend Part II
Correction on Second Oakland Stop: The Nationality Rooms
My favorite of all the rooms is the Ukrainian Room. It is a newer room located on the third floor, with an elaborate tile fireplace and warm wood paneling. A hammered copper mural hangs on one wall and the shelves above the door are filled with ceramic plates. Traditional icons hang on the far wall opposite the door. What I like most about the room is that it reminds me of my high school math teacher, who was originally from the Ukraine. Sophie Lassowsky was a brilliant teacher who nagged me up until the day I graduated from college to drop my silly English major and study engineering instead. She died of breast cancer while I was in graduate school.
Third Oakland Stop: Soldiers & Sailors National Military Museum & Memorial
B loves military history, which made this museum an ideal stop in Oakland. It is small and simple and full of Civil war memorabilia. The displays run from the Civil War all the way up to the current conflict in Iraq and includes uniforms and arms. I wandered ahead to look at the exhibits when J and B stopped and checked everything out in detail. While I like history, I am not as into the military & munitions aspect as J and B. I was content to study the scale model of a ship I found in one of the side rooms and ponder Lincoln's Death Mask.
Fourth Stop: Pan Asia Chinese and Japanese Cuisine
This restaurant, located on Route 51, is the best place in Pittsburgh for sushi. We ordered a variety of sushi, sashimi and special rolls for the table and ate everything. The Crazy Tuna Roll, while more expensive, is beyond description.
Sunday in Pittsburgh
Sunday the boys set out on a hike and left me behind to catch up on sleep, work on a painting and spend some time writing. When J and B returned, we headed to Tom's Diner for a late lunch (in my case Cinnamon French Toast) and hit Half Price Books. Which was having a sale on everything in the store.
For $8.00 I was able to purchase a French language computer program so I could begin studying the basics. I also snagged a second language program in Spanish, since I am seriously out of practice and only remember enough to misinterpret conversations when eavesdropping.
Sunday night ended with dinner at the Casbah. If you have $100.00 to spend, this is the place to blow it. We shared two bottles of Dolcetto di Dogliani and a cheese plate. I had cioppino, which I could not finish and was even better when I heated up Monday afternoon.
I thought I was full until Jason, our waiter said two magic words “Pastry Chef”. Turns out I had enough room for homemade sorbet. J and B both ordered the bread pudding, made with fresh peaches and blackberries.
On Monday, after B left, I slept until 2 pm.
My favorite of all the rooms is the Ukrainian Room. It is a newer room located on the third floor, with an elaborate tile fireplace and warm wood paneling. A hammered copper mural hangs on one wall and the shelves above the door are filled with ceramic plates. Traditional icons hang on the far wall opposite the door. What I like most about the room is that it reminds me of my high school math teacher, who was originally from the Ukraine. Sophie Lassowsky was a brilliant teacher who nagged me up until the day I graduated from college to drop my silly English major and study engineering instead. She died of breast cancer while I was in graduate school.
Third Oakland Stop: Soldiers & Sailors National Military Museum & Memorial
B loves military history, which made this museum an ideal stop in Oakland. It is small and simple and full of Civil war memorabilia. The displays run from the Civil War all the way up to the current conflict in Iraq and includes uniforms and arms. I wandered ahead to look at the exhibits when J and B stopped and checked everything out in detail. While I like history, I am not as into the military & munitions aspect as J and B. I was content to study the scale model of a ship I found in one of the side rooms and ponder Lincoln's Death Mask.
Fourth Stop: Pan Asia Chinese and Japanese Cuisine
This restaurant, located on Route 51, is the best place in Pittsburgh for sushi. We ordered a variety of sushi, sashimi and special rolls for the table and ate everything. The Crazy Tuna Roll, while more expensive, is beyond description.
Sunday in Pittsburgh
Sunday the boys set out on a hike and left me behind to catch up on sleep, work on a painting and spend some time writing. When J and B returned, we headed to Tom's Diner for a late lunch (in my case Cinnamon French Toast) and hit Half Price Books. Which was having a sale on everything in the store.
For $8.00 I was able to purchase a French language computer program so I could begin studying the basics. I also snagged a second language program in Spanish, since I am seriously out of practice and only remember enough to misinterpret conversations when eavesdropping.
Sunday night ended with dinner at the Casbah. If you have $100.00 to spend, this is the place to blow it. We shared two bottles of Dolcetto di Dogliani and a cheese plate. I had cioppino, which I could not finish and was even better when I heated up Monday afternoon.
I thought I was full until Jason, our waiter said two magic words “Pastry Chef”. Turns out I had enough room for homemade sorbet. J and B both ordered the bread pudding, made with fresh peaches and blackberries.
On Monday, after B left, I slept until 2 pm.
FIX THIS
Apparently I can no longer comment on blogs that have not been moved to beta.blogger.com.
And those accounts cannot comment on my blog.
Lisa at a clear view to a new life has a link to an essay everyone should read and her latest photograph is spectacular.
Jay, that cat is the most frightening thing I have seen in a long, long time.
And those accounts cannot comment on my blog.
Lisa at a clear view to a new life has a link to an essay everyone should read and her latest photograph is spectacular.
Jay, that cat is the most frightening thing I have seen in a long, long time.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Long Weekend Part I
The city was rather quiet this weekend. Partly because of the weather, which was "fall like" partly because the mayor died on Friday night and residents are still in shock.
How much shock? Ben Roethlisberger is going to miss the first two regular season games due to appendicitis and it did not become headline news in the local papers.
An aside: Is it really appropriate to say that Ben is "cursed" in the article just because he has ended up in the hospital twice in the past three months? Most of the injuries from his accident could have been prevented if he had been wearing a helmet. If he is cursed with anything, it is bad judgment.
This weekend J and I played hosts and tourists to an old friend from South Carolina, now living in Columbus, Ohio. The last time B visited Pittsburgh was ten years ago, so he was eager to see some of his favorite haunts.
We started with a traditional breakfast at Eat-N-Park. Eat-N-Park is a chain of local restaurants. Their claim to fame, aside from what really is a killer breakfast, is their Smiley Cookies. Which are made with lard and sit like lead in your stomach, but have a pleasantly round shape and come in all sorts of colors, including black and gold during football season.
An aside: One of the most embarrassing phone conversations I ever had with another person was caused by my innocently inviting a guy I liked to join my roommates and myself at an Eat-N-Park for a late dinner. Forgetting that the young man in question was not from Western PA, my question "Would you like to go to Eat-N-Park" took on a whole new connotation. After a long, confused silence I was able to clarify my intentions, much to the guy's relief.
First Oakland Stop: The Main Branch of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh.
B is the type of guy to appreciate a well designed library, and I am a library groupie who counts the Main Branch of CLP as one of the most interesting places in Pittsburgh to visit. Among the highlights of the newly renovated library is a small bamboo garden placed in a center courtyard where patrons can sit and read in nice weather. The administration thoughtfully placed a space heater in the garden in anticipation of colder days.
By far the best feature of the library is the stacks. The shelves of the stacks reach five stories and are connected by hazy glass floors. It is a quiet and romantic place, with hundreds of nooks and crannies where a person can disappear for hours. Some of the stack floors are closed, which only tempts me to sneak past the barriers and wander without interruption. On some of the floors you can look through the windows in the Dinosaur Hall of the Museum of Natural History. Sadly, the hall is empty and undergoing renovations.
Second Oakland Stop: International Rooms at the Cathedral of Learning
In order to tour the rooms one must stop at the gift shop and ask for a key. For a $3.00 fee you get a key attached to a tape player with worn out tape narrating the history of each room. I had turned over my identification and fee and had collected the tape player when J and B joined me at the counter. Upon seeing them the clerk informed me that the fee was $3.00 per person and I owed them $6.00 more. I paid the extra money and bit back the temptation to ask if the other members of my party also got keys and tape players.
The International Rooms are worth a visit on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Some are more interesting than others.
To be continued...
How much shock? Ben Roethlisberger is going to miss the first two regular season games due to appendicitis and it did not become headline news in the local papers.
An aside: Is it really appropriate to say that Ben is "cursed" in the article just because he has ended up in the hospital twice in the past three months? Most of the injuries from his accident could have been prevented if he had been wearing a helmet. If he is cursed with anything, it is bad judgment.
This weekend J and I played hosts and tourists to an old friend from South Carolina, now living in Columbus, Ohio. The last time B visited Pittsburgh was ten years ago, so he was eager to see some of his favorite haunts.
We started with a traditional breakfast at Eat-N-Park. Eat-N-Park is a chain of local restaurants. Their claim to fame, aside from what really is a killer breakfast, is their Smiley Cookies. Which are made with lard and sit like lead in your stomach, but have a pleasantly round shape and come in all sorts of colors, including black and gold during football season.
An aside: One of the most embarrassing phone conversations I ever had with another person was caused by my innocently inviting a guy I liked to join my roommates and myself at an Eat-N-Park for a late dinner. Forgetting that the young man in question was not from Western PA, my question "Would you like to go to Eat-N-Park" took on a whole new connotation. After a long, confused silence I was able to clarify my intentions, much to the guy's relief.
First Oakland Stop: The Main Branch of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh.
B is the type of guy to appreciate a well designed library, and I am a library groupie who counts the Main Branch of CLP as one of the most interesting places in Pittsburgh to visit. Among the highlights of the newly renovated library is a small bamboo garden placed in a center courtyard where patrons can sit and read in nice weather. The administration thoughtfully placed a space heater in the garden in anticipation of colder days.
By far the best feature of the library is the stacks. The shelves of the stacks reach five stories and are connected by hazy glass floors. It is a quiet and romantic place, with hundreds of nooks and crannies where a person can disappear for hours. Some of the stack floors are closed, which only tempts me to sneak past the barriers and wander without interruption. On some of the floors you can look through the windows in the Dinosaur Hall of the Museum of Natural History. Sadly, the hall is empty and undergoing renovations.
Second Oakland Stop: International Rooms at the Cathedral of Learning
In order to tour the rooms one must stop at the gift shop and ask for a key. For a $3.00 fee you get a key attached to a tape player with worn out tape narrating the history of each room. I had turned over my identification and fee and had collected the tape player when J and B joined me at the counter. Upon seeing them the clerk informed me that the fee was $3.00 per person and I owed them $6.00 more. I paid the extra money and bit back the temptation to ask if the other members of my party also got keys and tape players.
The International Rooms are worth a visit on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Some are more interesting than others.
To be continued...
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