Watermelon

I have not felt like writing in awhile and the last few stories have been so serious that it is time for something that is humorous- at least this one makes me laugh!
Matt reminded me of this one as we were sitting here eating watermelon..... so here goes.

Back in 1980 at the tender age of 18 I was waitressing at a restaurant in Pasadena on Arroyo Parkway, a recent newlywed, and I actually thought I knew what was up. Hmmm....
My oldest sister and I worked together, she was the manager and we worked the morning shift.  She came in at five a.m., me at six fifteen. I was the laziest sloth imaginable to mankind at that age. I probably crawled out of bed at five thirty, powdered my greasy hair ( because I am sure I  allowed no time to take a shower) and I bet I put on a wrinkled uniform. We had to wear our hair in a braid, bun or pony tail- (pretty sure that is why I still wear my hair back to this day)

I lived about twenty minutes away, so I was always late-  this did not go over well with my sister/boss. It would get very busy in the morning,  and with only two gal pals working the whole place, you had to get going. That is where I learned my people skills, how to juggle many things at once,  and deal with hungry, angry people. It still comes in handy, especially now.
 
I never appreciated the skill it took to work half of a restaurant  the first  four hours of our shift without a hostess, while my sister took the other half. (It was a large place. ) It is a well oiled machine when it works, when it doesn't it is complete chaos. We liked it because we made most of our tips that way, before the other gals came in to work, but the hustling was intense.

We would have fun in the mornings and crank up the tunes. Disco was very in at the time, so we would just rock out as it made our mornings very entertaining and fly by. When the Restaurant Manager came in by ten, we would turn it down again. We had many regulars that came in once, twice, sometimes three times a day.
Some we didn't mind.... others, hmmmm.

The lingering gents always sat at the counter, and somehow had a "sixth sense" when we were the unlucky waitress working that section. Such a thrill to pour seven thousand cups of coffee to the same person all day. And no way-they would be back four times by noon, not to mention the afternoon. You're kidding.....

There was one special gent that took a liking to me.  I was  just a year out of high school, and as I said newly married. This fellow had a Gas Station next door to the Coffee Shop, and I would gas my lovely blue pinto up every week there. He started coming in more than usual it seemed, but I didn't really pay attention, until  he started parking  himself on my station everyday.
He was a rather interesting looking fella. I can't say he would have ever been my type, married or not.
It wasn't just because it appeared he didn't bathe frequently, or sweat profusely. Or..... stare constantly.
That didn't throw me off. Did I mention his breath? Or hair?  Oh, guess not- maybe later.
Maybe it was the way he would seductively shout my name..... "Cuuuuhhhhlllaaayyyrre."
All the while trying to get close to me with the smell of patchouli oil, B.O. and other stuff going on .

But alas,  there was one constant with this sexy beast- he ordered watermelon everyday, rain or shine.
He was watching his waistline..... but this is just a guess, I am pretty sure he may have been partying on something else other than watermelon when not at the Coffee Shop.  He was a  bit of a big fella,
and not on the tall side. I am pretty sure I was a few inches taller than him- which made it even worse when I was near him. It was okay when he was sitting down in the booth, but at the gas station he would get as close as humanly possible to me and  be level to me and my neck, or quite possibly a little lower. I could feel his dragon breath on me.  At this point of the story you are saying, "So why didn't you just beat feet and get gas somewhere else?" Well, I was still a very good obedient Catholic Girl, and he was a pushy,  strange as hell man that I just felt like I was supposed to get gas from and fill my pinto.

One day "Watermelon" decided he was going to leave more than his buck or two tip.
He left two- one hundred dollar bills. Well, that watermelon must have been pretty darned good I guess.
He said I deserved it- I felt a little uncomfortable, but okay Mr. Watermelon whatever you say.
Next time I go to get gas..... by this time I usually had to pay some type of penance like sit in his office and hear him talk and stare- this time he decides he wants to tell me something. Hmmmm.

He cuts to the chase. I know I hadn't eaten nearly enough rice pudding yet, or was it tapioca?
"I want you to be my vwoman." No I didn't add a "V", that's how he said "vwoman."
I wanted to snarl, chuckle,  yelp, gasp......

"I give you credit cards, apartment,  car, money... you come to me two, three times a week."
Okay, I really have not described this dude. He was wider than he was tall...... with the greasiest  hair slicked back. Yum.  I just sat there in disbelief wanting to laugh so hard.  I am friggin' eighteen.  He has to be in his late thirties at least, not to say that by twenty I didn't go out with a forty five year old-  but that was different.  He wasn't Watermelon, and he wasn't proposing I be his what?  What was he going to be my Sugarmelon? I tried reminding him I was married, with my plush pinto ride and all. That didn't sway the fox, he was married too. Things were starting too get a little uncomfortable and a little too real.

He gave me a really hideous gold necklace  and   some other jewelry that I threw away.
 Consequently I didn't go into Watermelons Gas Station anymore.  The final  joke is when his wife drives up in his big, red corvette. She hands me the keys and asks me if I want the Mercedes or the Corvette for the weekend.  I said neither- but they would not take no for an answer. It was the most uncomfortable situation I can tell you. I gave my brother-in-law the keys and  I am sure he had a rocking weekend.
The humiliated look on this  woman's face.... the horror on mine.

Watermelon gave it one more shot when he brought this older, very freaky man with bulging eyes staring me over like I was a steak dinner. I didn't get what was going on- Maybe in retrospect they had a thing for waitresses and wanted a harem.  Couldn't I at least have had a looker?  These fellas were an interesting crew, I just couldn't get into their style anymore. They knew it wasn't happening-some secretaries across the street I now noticed were sidling up to them. They were older gals.....
probably in their thirties,  but when you are eighteen they may as well be one hundred.

I think I will write more about some of the interesting customers-  had I not worked there I would not have met Ray two short years later. By then I am sad to say I was pinto-less. I sold that beauty to my sister, had to keep that gem in the family. I did have a fine brown Monte Carlo right after that- that I actually picked out and thought was as cool as a cadillac. Hmmmm. The next story must  be written by Ray, because that car got sold back and forth between my parents and us..... and he ultimately inherited it.
Now that story can only be told by him and it is pretty funny.
Memories are good.... we can look back and see how far we have come and have a good laugh at the ridiculous!