As I said - To be (or not to be) continued

Restaurant owners on the whole tend to be crazy, alcoholic or both. Pierre was a screamer. He screamed at everyone. His favorite battle cry (with thick French accent) was:

"THIS IS NOT A COFFEE SHOP! I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR THE PLATES HIT THE TABLE - IF I HEAR THE PLATES HIT THE TABLE, YOU ARE FIRED!"

Needless to say, I was fired in about six weeks. But I had entered into a new sisterhood. A coven if you will. A group of women mostly without claws, supporting one another in this cruel, humiliating world of indentured servitude with the fleeting hope we would soon be vindicated in the arms of fame and fortune.

As I said I was "really young" - eighteen - definitely the youngest on staff. Plus, I had NO experience except a brief encounter with a cash register in a deli. The girls tried hard to protect me, they really did, but it was hopeless. Even though they were hired for visual appeal, most of them actually knew how to do their jobs. One woman could carry four plates while balancing a fifth on her head. After twenty years I can still only do three. On my first day out of training I managed to spill a drink on the same woman three times. I must have looked truly pitiable because she kept saying, "Oh, you poor thing, it's okay." When the third glass of iced tea hit her lap, her eyes had begun to glaze over as she said this, but she continued to treat me like a lost kitten on the highway. I would never encounter this level of patience again.

"The Moustache" was a hot spot in the eighties for Hollywood. Folks like Prince or "strange mystic symbol," whatever the hell his name is now, Mick Jagger, and Morgan Fairchild, were among the now washed up celebrities that were reported to have dined there. OK, so Mick Jagger isn't washed up, but he should be.

In my second week a certain new wave rock star named after an insect, came in for lunch. He was hot even without the war paint. I was mesmerized. Why not? Hot rock star, hormone afflicted teenager, what do you expect? I was salivating in the kitchen when one of the waitresses suggested we go to his table and ask for his autograph. He was engaging and as I said, cute. He was wearing those little round wire-rimmed glasses. I LOVE THOSE! I still have his autograph, he signed a menu for me. It is on the red meat page. My waitress friend told him that he had made my day. He told her that I had made his day too, and that he was single.