Tuesday, November 24, 2009

North Star

I am wearing my new black pumps.  The best thing about them is the clicking noises they make when I walk.  Calvin new it was me before I even got to his office.  Though he was expecting me and it was after 5, so no one else was around...so it was an easy guess.

Tomorrow is casual Wednesday because it is the last day of the working week.  I think I shall wear jeans and maybe a sweatshirt, maybe a teeshirt over a thermal shirt.  Is not wearing a bra too casual?  Just kidding, if I'm not allowed to do it at North Star then I'm not allowed to do it here.

North Star is a restaurant about 2.5 miles from my parents house.  I worked there one summer.  The cook's name was French, Fonda de Something.  I can't remember her last name any more.  Her 15 yr old daughter was a dishwasher. The most memorable day was the day I FINALLY got my "turn" being a busser. Meaning, it's way easier bussing tables than it is doing the dishes by hand, so I always got the shaft and had to dishwash even though we were suppose to take turns.  Anyways, I was bussing, and the tubs were not emptying.  A server told me NOT to help the dishwashing girl get caught up in the dishes, but to do what I was suppose to do and bus.  So I did.  Next thing I know the owner, who is the scariest woman alive, and one of the largest women alive, came in so angry!  She started yelling and told the girl she could either do all those dishes or quit.  The girl said that she thought if she went on a cigarette break long enough someone would do the dishes for her...then she quit.  I had to do all those dishes, but it was one of those very few moments where a person actually got what they deserved.  It was wonderful. 

There was a sign up in North Star telling the servers that they must wear a bra or go home.  I only ate the BLT's there b/c they seemed the safest.  The cooks smoked while they cooked.  They had a large ash tray that had metal tongs all in a row above it that held their lit cigarettes while they flipped eggs.  The servers had their own ash tray on the server counter as well that always held lit cigarettes.

There was the pig man and his son too.  They would bring us five gallon buckets for us to put all the food scraps in so they could feed it to their pigs.  I remember three full buckets of grossness sitting outback.  The Pig man's son always hit on me.

I always padded my time sheet by rounding up or down 15 min. Oh and I was forced to listen to country music and Delilah.  Bleh.  I hate Delilah!

On my first day working there I put a lot of thought into what I was going to wear and decided on a white shirt that was short sleeved and v-neck.  My mom got mad b/c if I bent over to wipe the tables the guys could see my cleavage.  That was NOT what I was going for but I had no other shirt.  I didn't want to wear my new Central one b/c I didn't want them to know I was going to quit at the end of summer to go to college.  We had this fight 5 min. after I was suppose to leave I'm sure.  In the end I could have shown up in poop spattered overalls...it wouldn't have mattered.

That was a good summer.

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