Sundae Disaster

     It was the summer of 1995.  I just finished off my senior year at Grandville High School and I was getting ready to attend Grand Valley State University in the fall.  I ended up getting a new job as a waitress at a popular chain restaurant in western Michigan.  I am not going to reveal the name of this restaurant as they are still in business and well respected in the area.  I still enjoy their great food and delicious pies, especially my personal favorite, rhubarb pie. 

     It started out as a great place to work.  The servers had a set schedule to work during the week.  It made it easy for those who were moonlighting other jobs.  Breakfast and dinner staff never intertwined.  If a server worked Friday then they would have Saturday off and next weekend the server would work Saturday and have Friday off.  The restaurant was closed Sundays.  The schedule was fair to all.  On occurances if someone needed their time off they would post a note on a bulletin board in the break room.  Servers wanting more hours can look at the board and pick up other server's hours.  It worked out quiet nice. 

     Upon my hiring I told my manager that on Thursday nights that he had me scheduled I would have to change it because I was already scheduled to have an evening class Thursday nights.  He was wonderful about it and said when the time got closer that we would be able to switch it around.  I was thrilled working there with a set schedule and a great staff.  I waitressed at a previous restaurant, Apple Blossom Family Restaurant, and I really enjoyed it. 

     During my break, one day, I was in the mood for a bowl of cheesy broccoli soup.  I went to another waitress to ring up my order. 
 
     "You don't want a bowl."  she replies back to me.
    
     I give her a strange look, "Yes, I do."  I say politely yet firmly back.
 
     "Trust me, " she says, "Let me ring you up a cup of soup then I will show you why."

     She leads me over to where the soups are kept.  Several keg style containers held a variety of soups.  The waitress dips the ladel in the cheesy broccoli soup and pours it into my cup.  It filled the cup.

     "Now watch this."  she says.  She dips the same ladel into the soup and pours it into the bowl.  It fills up that as well.  "The presentation of it plays with your mind.  The cup is smaller but taller than the bowl whereas the bowl is wider giving the impression of having more."

     I was shocked by the revelation.  How sneaky!  I wondered how many other restaurants do that same trick.  From then on in my life when I order soup I order the cup, never a bowl.

     Things were going smoothly for a few more weeks until one weekend night.  It must of been a hot evening because the customers who were coming in were wanting sundae's.  Part of our job as a waitress was to make the sundae's.  I have never been good at scooping ice cream.  It's cold and hard and if you don't watch your grip your scoop can go flying across the room.  Somehow as I scoop, the back of my hand would touch the sides of the container getting the back of my hands all full of ice cream.  I just didn't like the added mess.  But scooping was part of the job so I didn't mind it too much having to scoop now and then.

     I had two masterpiece large hot fudge sundae's on a tray that I was about to take out.  The 3 scoops of ice cream was layered with hot fudge, topped with whipped cream, nuts and a cherry placed perfectly on top.  It was so beautifully made that it should of been a picture.  I pick up the tray and begin to take it out.  The manager comes around the corner and stops me looking concerned. 

     "Did you measure those sundae's?"  he asks.

     "Measure?  I didn't know we had to weigh them."  I replied back. 

     He lead me back over to the dessert station and in the back corner he pulls out a small scale.  He places one of the sundae's on the scale.  It was way over the recommended weight for the sundae's.  He told me to give these sundae's to the dishwashers to eat and he would show me how to make a sundae within the recommended weight.  He drops two small scoops of ice cream into the tall dessert glass.  He drizzles a scoopful of the hot fudge over the top and lightly adding the whipped cream, nuts and cherry.  He places the sundae back on the scale.  It was the recommended weight.  It was sad looking.  All the sundae pieces were within the sides of the glass.  It was nothing like picture perfect.  I would be disappointed if I was served this.  But he made me serve it anyway.  With a sad heart I delivered my pitaful sundae's. 

     Shortly later another table orders sundae's, both large and small.  I was annoyed how the small and the large sundae held the same amount of scoops yet I had to make it look like the large had more.  Sure enough as I was about to serve them the manager comes around the corner and wanted to see the weight on my sundae's.  It was still over the recommended weight.  This time he wanted me to give them to the cooks and do it again.  I was getting very frustrated over this.  I did like he said but I guess my scoops held more than his did. 

     More and more tables were ordering sundae's.  It seemed like a cruel joke.  I just couldn't get them right.  The manager was getting more and more upset with me.  When a customered ordered them I would wait to make them until I knew the manager was either in the back room harrassing someone else or on the floor checking up on other tables.  I was about it tears.  At one point I had to grab another waitress to make them for me because I didn't want to get yelled at again.  She left them on the counter for me.  I grabbed my tray and the sundae nazi of a manager came around the corner.  He looked at my sundae's.  I looked back at him with a confident smile since I knew they had to of been right since the other waitress made them for me.  He picked one up and placed it on the scale.  It was over by a few ounces.  He told me to make them again.  Seriously?  A few ounces over!  I was ready to toss the sundae at him.  At one point I was so nervous making the sundae's that as I was delivering them to an elderly couple the tall glass tipped over and accendently dropped one in the lap of the elderly gentleman.  I was so shocked.  I never dropped anything before and of course it had to be on this day with the hot fudge sundae.  I offered to pay for their desserts and I went back to make another one for him.  I wanted to crawl into a hold after that moment. 

     After when customers were through eating I would stop asking them for dessert.  I purposely was rude to customers and not go back to check on them because I didn't want them to order sundae's.  I would walk by acting like I was extremely busy and place their check's down on the table.  I just wanted my hellish night of sundae making to be over with.  Some customers just came in for dessert and I would cringe when they would order the sundae's.  I wanted to tell them that the sundae's were not impressive, that they were lacking in every which way but I couldn't.  I wanted to let them know that they would be disappointed in my sundae's as the manager made me make them look pitiful and not delicious looking like the picture in the menu.  Then I would turn and enter the kitchen of doom to prepare their lousy dessert. 

     The night finally ended and I was more than glad to go home.  I don't think that manager ever bothered me about the desserts ever again.  I don't know if he was having a bad day and taking it out on me or what his deal was that night.  I just let it go and put that bad day behind me. 

     College was starting up soon and I talked with him about changing my schedule around like he promised when I first signed up to work at the restaurant.  He changed his story around and said it was my responsibility to find someone to work my shift.  I was upset by that.  I asked around but servers either needed that day at home or they worked another job and couldn't do it.  That Thursday afternoon, when I knew my manager would be there, I called in and said I wouldn't be coming anymore.  He asked me why.  I told him my class was more important and I couldn't find anyone to switch a day with him.  He was upset with me.  I reminded him what he said when he first hired me and he tried to apologize but it was too late.  It was time for me to move on and start another chapter in my life.   

A Unique Dining Experience.

     It was around the year of 1984.  I was 7 years old and we took a trip to Tulsa, Oklahoma to visit my Aunt.  I don't remember much of the trip.  I remember it was my first time out of Michigan and it was my first time flying on an airplane.  But one event I do remember and that was eating at Molly Murphy's House of Fine Repute. 

     Molly Murphy's House of Fine Repute was started in 1976 in Oklahoma City, Ok.  A second one was built in Tulsa a few years later.  The whole atmosphere was something out of the ordinary.  The waiter/waitress staff was dressed up in costume.  It looked like it was Halloween in this building.  It was such much fun watching different characters walking around, playing the part they dressed up as.  Our server was Raggedy Andy.  I used to have stuffed dolls of Raggedy Ann and Andy so seeing him walk around in person was a real treat. 



I was standing in front of our waiter. 
My brother is just behind me wearing the Bacchus Feast bib.





Here I am again with our server, Raggedy Andy, and my brother.


     In the middle was an old car that was transformed into a smorgasbord of wonderful tasty foods.  There was another salad car (that while doing background on the place I found out was a 1963 red Jaguar XKE) for diners who didn't get the Bacchus Feast could use.  The Bacchus Feast was the meal most people came to the restaurant for.  You had to have at least 4 people in your party to order it.  This wasn't just any regular trip to the buffet either.  You HAD to wear a plastic bib while you ate.  I don't remember exactly what foods they served but I don't remember complaining about anything either.  When you ordered the Bacchus Feast the server isn't quiet about it either.  He chants and yells out that another table ordered the Bacchus Feast and other servers will chime into the chants as well. 

     At one point I had to use the bathroom.  I asked my aunt where it is.  She laughed and said I had to ask the waiter.  The waiter came up and I mentioned I had to use the bathroom.  He shouts out as loud as he could, "POTTY TRAIN!!!!  POTTY TRAIN!!!" 

     Being a kid I thought it was thrilling.  As an adult I can see the embarrassment in it.  Raggedy Andy grabbed me by the hand and started walking me up and down every row of seats shouting out potty train.  Other servers fell in line behind us like a long locomotion all shouting, "POTTY TRAIN!!!!"  The bathrooms where in back of the restaurant so you couldn't use them unless you asked. 

     The restaurant made the top 100 resturants in America.  Sadly, on January 1, 1996 Molly Murphy's closed forever.  Poor managment with money and an arguement with a news reporter made Bob Tayar, the owner, decided to abruptly close. 

     I am glad to have the opportunity to experience a restaurant like this.  Never again have I been there, nor have I came close to a dining experience like this one.
    

My Encounter With The Pimp

In 1995 this was the Apple Blossom Restaurant

     In my senior year of high school I worked as a waitress at the Apple Blossom Family Restaurant.  The restaurant was located across the street from Sara Lee Bakery on 28th street just east of Division in Grand Rapids, Michigan.   The New Beginnings Restaurant now takes the place of Apple Blossom.  In 1995 there was a hotel next door with a reputation for prostitution.  Not too often we would see a prostitute walk over with her suitor to get a bite to eat.  Sometimes when the hired women wasn't dressed properly our assistant manager, Debbie, would kindly have them leave the restaurant and remind them the establishment is supposed to be family friendly and they can return after they change their wardrobe.

     One day during the slow hours Debbie was the hostess and I was the only waitress handling the floor.  She came into the back room where I was prepping some food and told me that I had a party of 3 at a table.  I started to make my way out there and she quickly pulled me aside.  "They are from the hotel so be careful."

     Right away I felt dirty.  I didn't want to serve them.  I round the corner and there was a black man with a black woman and a white woman.  Both women were barely wearing modest clothing but since it was slow Debbie let it pass this time.  I remember the white woman was wearing an open lacy vest with a bikini top underneath.  The black woman has a tube top on with and long earrings.  The black guy was just wearing a plain t-shirt.  I put on my happy face and proceeded towards the table. 

     I was polite and took their orders and even came back and gave them refils on their drinks.  I didn't have much communcation with them because I didn't know what to say.  Do I ask how work is going?  Nope.  I don't want to know.  Do I ask them if they are having a nice day?  I don't know what they would consider a nice day so I don't want to know the answer to that question either.  It was better if I seldom opened my mouth.  They eventually left and I went to start bussing off the table.  As I removed some plates I noticed there was not a tip.  Figures!  Shortly afterwards Debbie came up to me and said they left the tip, as they were checking out, with her to be given to me.  I look and Debbie was handing me a $10 bill with a huge smile on her face.  They were overly gracious with the tip.  I slowly raised my hand up and took the $10 from her.  I didn't want to know what was done for this $10 bill to be earned. 



This is exactly what the Caddy looked like.     



     Weeks had passed and the black man came into the resturant by himself.  I was his waitress again.  He asked me who owned the Cadillac in the back.  I told him it was mine.   It was a 1984 Cadillac Eldorado that my grandfather bought brand new and died a few years later.  My mom still owned the title but allowed me to drive it.  I did not like the idea he was inquiring about the car.  "By any chance are you willing to sell it?" he asked.

     "No.  It's my mom's car really and I know she wants to keep the car."  I replied back.  

     "If she ever wants to sell it let me know.  I can pay her cash for it."  I just smiled and walked away thinking I will never come looking for you to buy this car with your dirty money!  

     Some time has passed.  I didn't give the pimp guy a second thought.  I had the day off and I was driving across town to pick someone up from work.  He worked over at Kenny Rogers Roasters on the far east side of 28th street.  Traffic was heavy that day.  I was nearing the intersection of Eastern and 28th street.  I had to wait for the light at least twice already.  I remember I was in the left lane, music pumping, minding my own business.  Then my passenger side door opens.

     It started me.  "Did you talk to your mom about selling the car yet?" It was the pimp.  I was shocked!  He enters the car and shuts the door.  I was holding my breath and looked around waiting for the candid cameras to pop out from behind a tree or from another vehicle.  "You wouldn't mind dropping me off at the hotel over by the Beltline would you?"  he asked.

     "I am on my way to pick someone up from work now.  I really don't have the extra time."  I said politely. 

     "It won't be that much trouble." the pimp said as he was fastening his seatbelt, "This is as nice on the inside as it is on the outside."  he said about the car. 

     The light turned green.  It was all surreal.  As I took my foot off the break and started pressing down on the gas.  I told him I would only take him to the corner of the Beltline and 28th street.  He can walk to the hotel.  We drove on.  He kept mentioning how he loved this car.  I kept thinking this is not normal.  People don't just walk into other people's car and demand for a ride.  Then he started mentioning how nice I looked with my hair down.  Resturant policy has us wear our hair up in a bun to keep it off the collar.  When I am not working I kept my hair down and it was just over my sholders.  I smiled and lit up a cigarette.  I just concentrated on the road and ashing out my window.  That way I didn't have to glance in his direction.  My foot pressed down on the accelerator a bit harder. 

     We neared the intersection of the Beltline and 28th street.  He thanked me for the ride and asked if I wanted to come meet some people inside.  I reminded him I was dropping him off at the corner and I was not entering the hotel/bar parking lot.  There must of been a firmness to my voice because he didn't debate with me on the issue.  He left the car and I drove down a bit and turned my car around in another business parking lot and drove west to Kenny Roger's Roaster to pick up my friend. 

     I have learned to drive more aware of my surroundings and to keep my door locked.  He never came back into Apple Blossom that I have known of.  I am so thankful that nothing more had happened.