Work

Seven little tables sit on the street, hostess out front to meet and greet. Individual letters clothed in Grandma's old cotton house dresses that spell the restaurant's cute lil name hang in the window. Descend about four cement steps into the restaurant. To your immediate right: glass case that wraps around end of bar, displaying assorted pies and tall thick cakes. Cherry pie, apple, rhubarb. Cookies n' Cream cake, velvet, many more. Bartender at the bar just past that. Tables in front and along wall, tables down the hall, more tables in the back, a couple steps down. Variety of formica tables-- large, small, round, square, red, checked, black, white, a couple of wood tables too. 

Vintage type stuff you see in every Niles shop and people's garage sales fill the walls and sit on the shelf that runs the length of the wall on the left. Large old coffee cans, food pyramid and various ad's from the 50s, license plates, string of large-bulbed Christmas lights--you get the idea. Old tinsel and paper valentine hearts are draped or hang from lamps. Kitchen past the bar and on the right. Counter where we grab the food and tickets.  Angel's in charge. 

Flight of stairs in the kitchen takes you down to the "dry storage" room. Watch the low ceiling--I hit my head on the pipe running along the top. Think Being John Malkovich- you have to duck the entire time. Beans, ketchup, Tobasco Sauce, crackers, etc. 

Menu: Comfort food-- mac and cheese (we're known for it), Holy Cow hamburger, cole slaw, fries, Sammy sandwich, tomato and basil soup, quesadillas, chicken fingers, "Kitchen Sink" salad, etc. etc.

And me: All black-- black shirt, black pants, black Chuck Taylor's (pants and shirt reminds me of how I used to dress in Rasputin Music era). Shadowing a fellow Californian for the whole shift. She's from Santa Cruz. the hostess is from Jersey, the server's from Boston, another server's from Georgia--none of us are from here. I'm checking on tables, taking orders (don't be cocky--write down the drink order too), cashing people out, carrying drinks on trays, spilling just a little on the table, forgetting how to find all the crazy buttons on the touch screen. STARVING. No break, hands are sticky, feet HURT.

Dead at 3:30, and the head cook and the guys in the kitchen make what they call "family meal" for all of us (free), and I wolf down a sandwich and french fries. If you want something different, order it ahead of time and it's 50% off.

Fun and fast, but I'm really tired, so instead of walking around town like I planned before work, I hop on the train and head straight home.

Jenny (enthused, smiling): "How was it?"

Me: "Fun. I'm gonna take a nap."   

Three hours and a nap later and my feet are still tingling. 

Go back in tomorrow to train in the evening, Saturday night too, and Sunday for brunch. We're known for our brunch.

My first day at work.