Early this week, Chris and I took our daughter, Danae and her boyfriend on our first official boat ride of the season. We headed due west, towards Thorah Island, so we could take a closer look at everything we had been observing by telescope all winter! (Please note: we HAVE been looking up with the telescope too…not just out!)
After we satisfied our curiosity about “life on an island”, we decided to check out Lagoon City – an anomalous destination, just north of Beaverton. This is a city with an eclectic showcase of houses, condominiums and townhouses lining the canal and we eventually parked our boat in front of a restaurant. It’s cool to drive a boat to a restaurant, rather than a car!
As soon as we entered the restaurant, Danae took control. Besides being a student in Massage Therapy these past three years, she has also worked as a waitress in Peterborough – so she knows her stuff. It was amusing to listen to her stories and touching to listen to her convictions about customer service. It took me back to my waitressing days….or should I say, “day.”
It was my first paying job at The Crock and Block restaurant. Although I had some doubts regarding my limited training, I was young and naive – after all, how hard could waitressing be? The restaurant was filled with hungry businessmen, wanting to get in/get out quickly. I was assigned a table with six men and although I managed to take their orders with minimum confusion, the back end of the lunch didn’t go so well.
The “20 minutes or free” committment had already expired, the sweat was pouring down my back and I was already getting dirty looks from the restaurant hostess. To say that I was feeling a lot of pressure is definitely a gross understatement. I remember the disaster in multi-colored detail as it seemingly unfolded in slow motion. I approached the table, tripped on a briefcase and watched with horror as a “dressed-to-the-nines” businessman became shrouded in a spaghetti and meatball extravaganza – head to toe.
The man stood up, meatballs plopping off his head and spaghetti sauce dripping onto his eyebrows. He started yelling and I started crying. After all was said and done, I was charged his dry cleaning bill and fired from my job.
I didn’t get a tip.
I still smirk whenever I serve spaghetti and meatballs.