Authors: Alle Wells
I agreed. “Pretty much.”
“Nikky, do you have any references to prove that you worked at that truck stop?”
I reached into my bag and gave him Carlos’
s
number. “Sure. His name is Carlos Ramirez. He owns the Waffle Stop, where I worked in Daleton, Florida.”
Larry grabbed the piece of paper from my hand and pointed
a finger at me
. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I picked up the menu stuck in the front flap of the notebook. I’d never heard of most of the entrees. I didn’t know
a caper from a canapé or
the difference in an entrée and
á
la carte.
Larry bustled back to the table, smiling. “Well, Mr. Ramirez assures me that Miss Nikky can tackle anything. Little lady, you have a job!”
I nearly jumped
out of
my seat. “Oh, my gosh! Thank you! Thank you!”
Larry looked as happy as I felt
,
as he welcomed
me. “
Welcome to Primmosa! The morning shift runs from six until two.
You can work five days or six. It’s up to you. We’re closed on Sundays.
You’ll need
white pants, white shoes, and
a
basic
navy blue
uniform top. The girls usually make from
ten
to
fifteen
dollars a day in tips. It depends on how much the customers like you. Do you have any questions?”
The self-confidence that had carried me through the day faltered, as I gave him a weak smile. I’d never been in a restaurant as fancy as Primmosa and wasn’t sure that I could pull it off.
“Wow, that’s twice as much as I made at the truck stop. I was looking
at the menu. I have a lot to learn.”
Larry waved his hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You’ll catch on in no time.”
Listening
Primmosa, a popular breakfast and lunch spot for businessmen of all ages, was a man’s world. They wore blue suits, starched white shirts with s
hiny
cufflinks, and various styles of red striped ties. The breakfast crowd savored their Maxwell House coffee while reading
T
he
Tennessean
or
The Wall Street Journal
. Many of the same customers returned at lunchtime. They met in pairs, shook hands, and closed deals. Private dining rooms were opened for large luncheons focused on marketing strategies in a struggling economy. I served them unnoticed and listened to their conversations. I’d steal a glance at a lapel pin or a business card and guess which one would have the most
influence and come out on top.
I don’t know if Maude and Sue,
the other servers on my shift,
shared my interest in business. Most of the time, I felt as invisible to them as I was to the customers. My co-workers didn’t cut me any slack. Their eyes dared me to cross the imaginary lines that divided the dining room into separate workstations. Maude was middle-aged. She wore a cold smile like a shield against the world and took care of the older men who gravitated toward her section. Sue was in her thirties, petite, attractive, and flirtatious. She sashayed around the big tippers and drew them in. I took the leftovers who were young collegiate-types, and lousy tippers. I never made fifteen dollars a day, and I wondered if the others did. But working on Saturdays when customers brought in their wives, girlfriends, and mistresses
made up for the everyday tips.
One busy Saturday morning, I slipped on the wet
t
erracotta floor as I
ran
through the kitchen door.
Sugar packets flew everywhere as
I surfed across the slippery floor
.
I grabbed onto the ed
ge of a stainless steel table.
Willy, the cook, cracked up. “Oh man, that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all day!”
I laughed with him. It felt good to connect with someone my age. The big smile
that
spread across his light brown face told me that he may have felt that way, too. “Hey, I’m Nikky.”
He threw his head back slightly. “Willy.”
“You been working here long?”
Willy talked while slicing tomatoes. “Too long! I’m gettin’ outta here, soon as I finish my education.”
“Are you in college?”
“Gettin’ my G.E.D. right now.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“My high school diploma.”
I forgot about the sugar packets I’d dropped on the floor and leaned across the table.
“For real? I didn’t know you could do that.”
Willie fanned the tomato slices. “Uh-huh.”
I sighed. “Man, I really need to do that.”
Willie put the knife down and looked up. “Just go over to the community college. They’ll set you up in classes to prepare you for the test.”
“Okay! Thanks a lot, Willie!”
He laughed. “Now, can you show me that move one more time?”
As I left, I made an unsuccessful attempt to recapture my surfing move.
***
As I walked across the
community college
campus
for the first time, I had no idea how many hours I’d spend there over the next two years. I admired the new academic buildings with tinted glass windows
,
as I pressed the bar that opened the door
that led
to the continuing education building. I had written G.E.D. five times on my goal list. But my head was full
of doubt when I faced the
sour-faced lady behind the glass.
I sucked in a breath of air, hoping that it would wipe away my fear. “I’m here to apply for a G.E.D.”
The woman slid a packet through the small opening in the glass. “Come through the door on your right. Have a seat at one of the desks and fill out this form. You can take an evaluation exam today. The class fee is sixty-five dollars.”
I completed the application form
. Then I
answered the questions that covered the basic subjects I had studied in high school
, and
stood at the window and waited.
The woman looked up impatiently. “Did you change your mind?”
“No, ma’am. I filled out the form and answered the questions.”
“Oh. Well, have a seat. A placement counselor will be with you shortly.”
A large, round gentleman wearing a blue polka-dot bowtie stuck his head out of an office door. “Miss Harris?”
“Yes,” I answered. I had decided not to let people know that I was married, preferring to pretend like it never happened.
“I’m Jim Karriker. Please come in.”
My claustrophobia kicked in as Mr. Karriker loomed over me in the tiny office. I slid into a plastic chair opposite his desk and fought the urge to bite my nails. Taking tests had always been my greatest weakness. I focused on the ceiling tiles and waited to hear the verdict.
“Miss Harris, you answered all of the questions
correctly
on the evaluation test
.”
I felt my shoulders relax a
nd my mouth drop open. “I did?”
His lips curved up. “You must have been a good student in school.”
“No. Not really. But I guess I learned more than I thought I did.”
“You’re eligible to take the General Education Development test. This is a more advanced test than the General Equivalency Diploma. It will also serve as an entrance exam for enrollment
here
. Are you planning to enroll in classes?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
He gave me a handbook. “Take a look at the programs we offer. You may find something you like.”
I accepted the book out of respect more than interest. “I might like to take a business class.”
Mr. Karriker leaned back and folded his hands over his large belly. “Would you like to take the General Education Development test today?”
“Yes, sir.” I felt like the small room was closing in on me as I turned the doorknob.
“Miss Harris,” he called after me. “Remember what they say
:
a mind
is a terrible thing to waste.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
I left his office and took the
test
that day. Later, the slogan that I’d seen on so many billboards between
Tennessee
and Florida haunted me. I had always thought those words were meant for someone else. But Mr. Karriker had spoken directly to me. Maybe it was time for me to listen.
A new man walked into my life in 1975
. He was very different from
Jack
. His
inspiration
and guidance would
pave the way to my future
.
The Invitation
I was
completing
the
requirements for
an associate’s degree in
Business Administration
.
Not much had changed in my life other than becoming more educated. I drove the same car, lived in Mrs. Wilkerson’s carriage house apartment, and had the same job. Magazines and TV shows talked about women’s liberation, but nothing had changed in the world I
knew
. Men were still in control, and a woman’s beauty was her only influence over them.
T
wo
years
flew
by
qui
ck
ly, and I had no plans for the future.
T
he small goals I
had
set for myself
had been accomplished, and I had
run out of ideas.
I rolled my eyes when the four young attorneys walked in. They were my regulars because Maude and Sue refused to serve them.
Cockiness and rude behavior was their game, and they played it well
.
The
y
were
busy,
l
augh
ing
at
a dirty joke
,
when I filled their water glasses.
E
xhal
ing
a
hopeful
sigh
,
I
hoped that I
woul
d skid through
the service
unnoticed.
T
wo
plates
had been served
.
O
ne of the guys reached in
to
his pocket and
used their favorite name for me.
“Hey, Cucumber! Boy, have I got a tip for you!”
He paused until his buddies tuned in
,
and then
held up a quarter
.
“Get a nose job!”
“
Woof! Woof!” t
hey
b
ark
ed
and howled
with laugh
t
er
.
I quickly gathered the full plates
and loaded them
back on the cart
.
“Oh! So you gentlemen want doggie bags? I’ll be right back
!
”
I wheeled the cart into the kitchen
,
stood against the wall
, and waited
for my heart to stop racing.
Willie eyed me.
“You all right?”
I
looked at him through wet eyes. “Willie, when are we going to get out of here?”
He shook his head. “I d
on’t know
. Beats me.”
Knowing that I’d have to face the
m sooner or later
, I
returned
to the dining room
and
caught a glimpse of their backs as they walked to the door. I looked at Larry, standing to the side.
“What happened?”
“Ah, I told them to scram. It’s about time I stood up to those guys, anyway. Take a break. I’ll cover for you.”
I poured a glass of tea and walked through Sue’s big tipper section
toward the break table.
“
Excuse me, do you have a moment?
”
I turned instinctively at the sound of the man’s voice. “
D
o you need something? I’ll get Sue.”
A diamond pinky ring sparkled as he waved his hand.
“No, no. Don’t do that.
But may I have just a moment of your time?”
Seeing that Sue was nowhere around, I joined him at the table.
He
offered his hand. “I’m Tom Harris.”