Ladies Bonspiels...I should have known by my Aunts reaction, which is and was genuinely unimpressed. This time was different. Everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around her all day long. From the preparation to the service, it was ice cold in the kitchen.
Now for all of you servers out there, we all know there is nothing worse then serving the dreaded 'ladies who lunch.' If you are not sure what I am talking about please refer to the musical 'Company', where Sondheim hit it on the button with his song, ' The Ladies who Lunch.' Now imagine, if you will, opening two big french white doors, the room is bright and white and gold, the air is full of lilies and perfume and slightly off smelling old Clinque lipstick, (imagine the smell of your grandmothers makeup case). The hats!!! Oh the hats, huge, feathers, colours, bejewels ...
Then exchange those doors with damp wooden ones, exchange the white for off brown. If you are having trouble placing off brown in your mind, go for a walk to your oldest neighbourhood pub and look underneath the seat of the man who has been a regular in the same position for 30 years. Exchange the brightness for darkness covered in what looks to be fog in the scariest horror flick you saw, at the age I was, when I served this function, 11. Replace that fog with cigarette smoke, replace the gold for mouldy red leather that seems to be an added touch on everything. Exchange the perfume for stale cheap hairspray, the kind that clings to your lungs. The old lipstick is still the old lipstick but instead of Clinque, it's a brand that has no label and it is older then you could ever imagine. Last but certainly not least replace those glorious hats that you dreamt about the night before when your grandma called you and said, my dear I think your ready for...a Bonspiel. Those hats are now a combination of off coloured fake hair pieces and breathing tubes. Not many tubes, and now that I really think about it probably only one, maybe two but it was enough to draw my attention from everything else.
Empathy sank in. At the beginning I smiled a closed mouth smile to every lady that made eye contact with me. Their was 125 of them, and I remember counting that day, only 5 of them smiled back. Five out of 125 'ladies,' who looked me up and down, judged me and my height, judged my ability to work, my ability to carry a tray, my ability to do anything other then make their lives miserable because lets be honest the moment I walked in that door, the tension and the drama was enough to start my own musical. Except their were 125 Ms. Hannigans and one little orphan, I guess you could call me Annie.
This angered me, so who did I have? I had the biggest weapon of all...my Grandma. What a saint she is and was at my moment of terror. After our talk, I was not to do anything but smile and work. That's what she said, hustle, smile and don't let myself be bothered with the song and dance. I was not hear to impress them, I was not hear to sing and dance. I was hear to learn how to work under circumstances that would surely arise in my upcoming years.
I served plates, I cleared plates, I smiled my closed mouth smile all day long with out any bother or thought about these incredibly rude, disgusting, obnoxious, one track minded, judgemental, sexist, withering, old bitty's.
Then it happened, while clearing a tea cup that was empty and full of disgusting kleenex, I picked the cup up by the bottom portion of the cup, not the handle, not near the mouth piece, not with the saucer (that was no where to be found) but the bottom of the cup. I remember thinking, if I clear this kleenex filled mess, I will let her know, I will bring her another fresh cup and that will be my over exceeding good deed for the day. These women were not as slow as they looked. In a flash the women flailed back with the back side of her hand and 'back handed' my waist and stomach. Implying that I was trying to make her sick by putting my 'sick little hands' on the upper portion of her cup. I could have cried. I could have at that moment, dropped the dish pan full of dishes and cried. If 125 women weren't staring at me with smoke coming out of their nose's, I probably would have. Instead, I apologised and walked away.
In a situation such as this, is the customer right? Was it wrong of me in my 11 year old head to wish something terrible on this women. Like finding a slug in her next bite of delicious scalloped potatoes. Or maybe a loo-gee in her flan. I was so hurt. I was annoyed and frustrated. I was tired and struggling, I was eleven. She was 70. She new better, I new better. I was better. I am better. She is miserable. The public...(sigh)
Tip your server;
Cheers;
~ Rokett ~
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