Women

Five Women Gone From This Life Who Linger in My Heart

Hold on to those seemingly fleeting relationships

One day you realize what was normal in the past appears bizarre in the present. As we go about our daily lives, we fail to recognize the significance of the memories we are creating and the people who will eventually fade away from our lives, but not our memories.

In 1974, there was talk in the news about lowering the drinking age in Washington state from 21 to 18 years old. The new law would also allow those now underage to serve alcohol in bars and restaurants. Being almost 20 years old, I saw this as an opportunity to apply for a job at my favorite restaurant, The King’s Table. I’m not referring to the homonymous smorgasbord-style restaurant chain, but a locally owned steakhouse, known for fabulous food pleasing to the working man’s wallet.

Back in those days, we cold-called our job search by walking into an establishment and boldly asking for a job. Keep in mind, I looked 16 years old even with my heavy eyeliner and Mulberry-colored lipstick and blush.

I arrived at the restaurant mid-morning, before the busy lunch hour. There was no hostess on duty yet, so I approached a waitress sitting at a table folding red napkins like paper airplanes.

“Hello. I’d like to apply for a job,” I said.

Looking me up and down with a smirk, she replied, “Sure honey,” and then disappeared into the kitchen.

That was my first encounter with Pearl, a woman I’d come to know well. She returned shortly, asking me to sit at the table where she was folding napkins.

Soon, a man with a square, solid build, joined me at the table.

When he asked me what I wanted, I campaigned for the job like a seasoned lobbyist. I told him with the new law coming up, it would be in his best interest to hire me now. I explained that I was certain all restaurants would be expected to hire the younger servers, this way, I would be trained and ready to go. He listened patiently as I shared the details of my extensive résumé. When I finally took a breath, he gave me a broad smile and responded.

“Well, Debbie, I’ll tell you what, when you turn 21, come back, I guarantee you a job.”

In retrospect, he made a sound decision, since the law did not pass that year.

The time passed quickly.

I married the day before my 21st birthday. Three days later, I returned to The King’s Table. To my surprise, he remembered, and kept his promise, hiring me on the spot.

It’s not that I didn’t have a job, I often had two. I’d worked at the best restaurants in town, working my way up the ladder of fast food, greasy-diner, and fine-dining. I wanted to work at The King’s Table from the first time I dined there.

I confess it was the waitress’s black and red polyester hot pants uniform that caught my attention. Until then, I’d worn uniforms that needed to be hand-starched daily. One of those uniforms came with a ridiculous cotton hat, huge cuffs, and cufflinks.

The King’s Table gals alternated between black and red polyester uniforms, consisting of a button-front top with puff sleeves and a pair of matching hotpants. To me, the King’s Table was like the grown-up version of waitressing. They looked cool and were not expected to approach the table with silly hats or introduce themselves by name.

“Hi, my name is Debbie, and I’ll be your server.”

Believe me, that line evoked lots of verbal abuse, from the late-night crowd, after the bars closed.

On my first day, I entered the restaurant dressed in the red hotpants uniform, black stockings, and Espadrille platform shoes. I looked like all the other waitresses there except I was the youngest by two decades.

Disclaimer: Today, I realize how degrading the uniforms were. All the servers were women. Chefs and bartenders were male and not asked to wear a uniform. It was the norm back then and I didn’t give it much thought.

The quirks and idiosyncrasies of the restaurant’s cast of characters.

Pearl, Hard Shell, Soft Filling—

I’m nervous Pearl might pop up from the grave and bop me on the head when I say that she was probably the oldest. If I had to guess, I’d say she was in her late fifties or early sixties. I could be wrong. Maybe she just had a lot of wrinkles and a bad wig.

Pearl was known for trying to snag the best tippers and for giving poor service to anyone she felt would stiff her. Back then a big tip was $5 usually given for a table of ten or more.

Once on prom night, all the waitresses collaborated to prank Pearl. When she would go to the kitchen to pick up an order, we’d place $10 and $20 bills on the prom student’s tables that needed to be bussed. She had avoided serving the students all night, leaving them for us to take care of.

When Pearl eyeballed the big tips we were raking in from the kids, she began grabbing all the sparkly dressed students with corsages. If she caught on, she kept quiet about it.

Although Pearl sported a hard shell, she had a soft filling.

Once, after work, we teamed up and hit the bars together. Somehow Pearl managed to find a guy to buy our drinks at every bar we visited. After the drinks were served, she’d shoo the men away, focusing her attention on the advice she felt compelled to share with me. It was as if she wanted to protect me from the world. Looking back, I believe she’d had a pretty hard life.

Alice Was a Hoot!

She’d worked at the restaurant the longest, owning the coveted dayshift. Alice and Pearl were rivals who took turns hissing catty remarks across the aisle at each other. I never did find out the source of their bickering. Alice was a little younger than Pearl, and highly regarded by the other employees. Customers loved her because a seat in her section came with entertainment.

She referred to herself as a Space Cadet. I would like to argue, but it does fit her personality and adds to her charm. We all loved her for it. She had so much going on in her mind. When the phone would ring up front, she’d call out from the back of the restaurant —

“Kings Table, Alice speaking!”

Once while standing by and visiting at a customer’s table, she absentmindedly began eating the croutons off their salad. When she realized what she was doing, she just giggled and brought them a new salad.

I suspect Alice had a crush on the owner. Whenever he showed, she’d light up, chattering off a detailed list of tasks she’d taken care of that day.

Bev, Known as Rotten Bev —

Bev, lovingly nicknamed, Rotten Bev, was the most popular by far with the customers. People would request to sit in Rotten Bev’s section and were willing to wait in line if needed to be abused by her.

Bev’s style of abuse is hard to describe. She’d hurl insults at people that if I or anyone else said them, would be taken as offensive. She might polish a guy’s bald head, make fun of his tie, or tease them for the type of drink they ordered. You had to witness it to believe it.

Being young with thin skin for insults, I admit to being a little afraid of her. It took me a long time to bond with Rotten Bev. When she died of leukemia a few years later, we were all devastated. My last moments with Bev were by her hospital bed, sharing tokes off her medical weed while dissing Pearl and Alice.

Doris, Keep an Eye Out for Flying Cups —

Doris was the owner’s wife, occasionally the hostess, and always the self-proclaimed boss. One busy night I had to explain to the customers I couldn’t do anything about the woman throwing cups at them because she was the owner’s wife.

This and other comparable Kodak moments were normal for Doris, who drank the house Rosé all night in the above-mentioned cups. Once inebriated, she tossed the cups for various reasons of agitation. Perhaps a customer mentioned her drunkenness, or at times, Doris would get it in her head one of the waitresses was sleeping with her husband. It was dangerous because she did not have much of a pitching arm.

Rosie, Grandma in Hotpants —

Rosie was everything you would expect from a grandmother, just add hotpants and large bobble earrings. She was round, sweet, and gooey like a good sticky bun. Rosie had an endearing voice. If she’d cussed like a trucker, no one would take offense.

If cups were flying across the restaurant or Pearl and Alice were having a nasty spat, Rosie would let out squeaks like an innocent mouse being chased by a cat.

At our Table —

Customers were greeted by a hostess at the door. Since the restaurant and bar were always busy, a line of hungry people down the hall to the bar was common. To the left of the hostess podium was the break table.

That table was where we waitresses calculated customer receipts, folded napkins, and took official breaks. Often the front area of the restaurant would be blue from our cigarette smoke. The table was also where we laughed, complained about the rude chefs, and cried tears of joy and sorrow for new babies, grandchildren, divorces, and deaths.

I loved these women, and they loved me.

When pregnant with my first baby, I continued working in my hot pants uniform through the seventh month. Had I stayed longer I could have balanced at least one more plate on my belly. I did return for a few months after the birth.

Somehow, we all drifted apart. Some of us went back to school, built careers, had more children, and became grandparents. Others moved away. On occasion, we’d run into each other, catch up in the produce section at the supermarket, and promise to get together again.

But we never did.

When you are blessed with a long life, you end up with a collection of sweet regrets. They’re sweet because you lived them, but you know if given the chance you would love life better.

Look around.

The people in your life today are not permanent structures. Say the words now. Hugs and words of encouragement have expiration dates. Don’t let them spoil.

Disclaimer: All the women in this story are gone now. I did use their given first names. I’m comfortable that anyone who recognizes them just longs to experience their character again.

Check out our book about God’s love for two looney-tune drunks.