Take A Look At Me Now

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘Yes, I did. You have a long morning ahead of you. It’s going to be demanding and you need to eat something to keep you going. Also, while I love Annie and revere everything on her menu, her tea is awful and you need a decent brew.’ She handed me a mug of tea.

  ‘You’re a star. Thank you.’

  Lizzie picked up a plate of toast and her own mug and shuffled through to the living room behind me. ‘Are you excited?’

  ‘I am. I hardly slept last night.’ I looked out of the bay window. Haight Street was still dark and empty, save for a few lazily moving cars and a light coming from Java’s Crypt, where Ced had arrived to open up. People began their days early in this city.

  Lizzie grinned. ‘Might be worth getting an early night tonight then. What time do you finish?’

  ‘One o’clock. I think I might try and catch a couple of hours’ sleep afterwards.’

  ‘We’ll have a quiet night then. I’ll be home around five p.m. and we’ll order pizza.’

  ‘Sounds amazing.’ I checked my watch. ‘Right, I’d better get going.’ Panic suddenly took hold of me and I stared at my cousin. ‘What if I can’t do this, Lizzie? What if I get there and discover that running a diner is the last thing I should be doing?’

  My cousin hugged me. ‘Stop worrying. It’s just work experience, after all. I know you’re going to have a fantastic time. I’m so proud of you, Nellie!’

  I hadn’t expected to find many customers at Annie’s, having seen only two other people on my short walk there. But the diner was three-quarters full, Laverne already running around taking orders from the busy tables.

  ‘Hey Nell, welcome to the team,’ she grinned. ‘This is so cool!’

  ‘And here’s the new recruit!’ Annie clapped her hands and hurried to the front of the counter.

  Marty and Frankie turned from their triple stack pancakes. ‘You hired the Brit?’

  ‘Technically, no. She’s my intern. Who knew this place would get an intern, huh?’

  Frankie sniggered. ‘Move over Donald Trump.’

  ‘If you think you’re getting staff discount, think again,’ Marty warned me. ‘I’ve been eating here thirty years and I never so much as got a bagel on the house.’

  Annie gave his ear a swift cuff and Marty almost fell off his stool laughing. ‘That’s because you don’t work for me.’

  ‘So hire me already.’

  ‘If I did we’d go out of business in a week, Marty.’ Annie rolled her eyes as she handed me my staff t-shirt. ‘Did I mention some of our clientele are knuckleheads?’

  I smiled. ‘I expected as much.’

  ‘Good. You’ll fit right in. Come through to the kitchen and we’ll get started. Laverne, you good to hold the fort?’

  ‘I’m on it,’ Laverne replied.

  The long, narrow galley kitchen ran the length of the diner and connected to front of house with a small hatch where plates of Annie’s delicious culinary delights would appear. To see behind the scenes was a real treat and inevitably turned my thoughts to what a diner of my own would look like some day. The stainless steel work surfaces were spotless, lined with rows of steel containers stuffed with ingredients – huge slices of beef tomato, freshly cut lettuce, stacks of square American and Swiss cheese slices, onion rings, blueberries in deep purple syrup, large pickled gherkins, soured cream, a bank of mayonnaises and sauces, and a whole vat of maple syrup. As I watched, Dominic and Karin, the chefs, effortlessly assembled orders, moving seamlessly between the preparation area and the large ‘flat-top’ grill, where thick pancakes studded with peanut butter chips, blueberries and banana slices were cooking.

  ‘Karin, Dom, you know Nell?’

  They looked up briefly, never missing a beat with their deftly choreographed routine. ‘Hey, Nell.’

  ‘These guys have been with me ten years,’ Annie said. ‘This place wouldn’t work without them.’

  ‘Does that mean we get a raise, Annie?’ Karin smiled, flipping six pancakes in quick succession on the flat-top grill.

  ‘Sure. When I get one.’ She winked at me. ‘You can change into your staff t-shirt in the staff restroom over there. I’ll get you an apron and we’ll begin.’

  For the next thirty minutes, I had the privilege of a personal Annie Legado tour of her diner. Every piece of equipment, every method and every custom of the neighbourhood diner was patiently described and I tried my best to make mental notes of everything she said. Seeing that I was becoming overwhelmed by all the new information, Annie stopped and half-smiled at me.

  ‘Hey, don’t sweat it, kid. It all makes sense eventually.’

  After the tour, it was time to make my debut behind the counter. My first job was filling the ingenious orange juicing machine with fresh, sweet Californian navel oranges from a crate. Tipped into the top of the clear, box-like machine, the oranges passed between rotating plastic cogs – peel and all – and the juice was collected in large jugs underneath. Almost every customer ordered the orange juice and I already knew from my previous visits to Annie’s how delicious it was. What it meant for the diner staff, however, was that refilling the orange squeezing machine was a regular part of the day’s tasks. As was my next job – the coffee refill round.

  Annie’s instruction for this was straightforward: ‘If it’s empty, fill it. If it’s not empty, top it up. Don’t ask permission and don’t be offended if they refuse. Bottom line, there’s always coffee.’

  A great thing about the coffee refill round was that it gave me the opportunity to meet all the customers. Marty and Frankie were very complimentary on my newly acquired ‘top-up technique’.

  ‘It looks like she was born to do this, eh Frankie?’

  ‘She sure was, Marty. Good job, Nell. One thing you gotta know about Annie’s – as long as you keep the coffee coming, the customers will love you.’

  An eclectic mix of customers had ventured to Annie’s at this early hour. City workers in sharp suits relaxed over Eggs Benedict with sides of crispy American bacon; the bookstore owner and his assistant manager were tucking into enormous slices of pillowy Cinnamon-Walnut French toast before work; while a group of clocking-off security guards chowed down on spicy Mexican breakfast huevos rancheros, trading banter as they ate.

  ‘So you’re from England?’

  I smiled at the man sitting at table twenty, who looked as if he’d moved into Haight during the Summer of Love and never left, his crocheted waistcoat, embroidered Indian shirt and long, straggly hair the unmistakable signs of a hippy uniform. ‘Yes, I’m from London.’

  ‘I went to London once,’ he grinned, revealing an impressive set of gold teeth. ‘Carnaby Street and Covent Garden blew my mind. You live near there?’

  ‘Not far.’

  ‘Man, those were some good times. Your Underground system is intense.’

  Not knowing how else to respond, I accepted the compliment on behalf of my home city, hoping Boris Johnson wouldn’t mind the impertinence.

  Being constantly busy meant that the time passed quickly and before I knew it the nine-thirty breakfast queue was waiting out of the door and onto the street outside.

  ‘This is where the fun really starts,’ Laverne grinned at me as we narrowly avoided a collision delivering meals to customers. ‘You ready for it?’

  I was exhausted already and the prospect of the mammoth line was daunting to say the least. But I wanted to know if I could manage during one of Annie’s busiest times. Feeling a rush of adrenalin, I nodded. ‘I’m ready.’

  Within minutes it was as if a switch had been flicked and everything went into hyper-drive. Suddenly, every customer wanted something and nobody was willing to wait.

  ‘Hey, can I get more coffee here?’ a gruff-faced woman barked at me.

  ‘No problem. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

  A harassed-looking mother with three small kids grabbed my elbow as I hurried back to the counter, nearly causing me to lose my balance. ‘Miss? Could we order another side of bacon?’
/>
  ‘Of course.’

  Bacon – table eight … Refill – table four …

  ‘Can I get three more English muffins and a refill?’

  ‘I’ll be right with you.’

  Bacon – table eight … Refill – table four … English muffins times three and more coffee – table … table … Crap, which table asked me for that?

  Panicking as the requests stacked up in my head, I ducked behind the counter, avoiding the irate couple who felt their wait in the breakfast queue was unacceptably long and were consequently hijacking any member of staff who passed close enough to air their grievances.

  ‘Nell, the juice machine needs refilling,’ Annie called over her shoulder, not looking up from her order pad as she served the customer at the front of the queue.

  ‘OK.’ I grabbed the crate of oranges from the kitchen and tipped them into the hopper at the top of the machine.

  ‘Short stack, three eggs over easy, table fifteen, order up!’ Dom shouted, sliding a plate into the hatch. Beginning to panic I tipped the orange crate at a steeper angle sending oranges bouncing off the top of the machine and skidding across the floor.

  ‘Orange stampede!’ Marty yelled as Frankie guffawed loudly.

  ‘Nell – watch the angle!’ Annie shouted back, kicking a stray orange out of the way as she collected the food order from the hatch to deliver it herself.

  Feeling like an idiot, I stammered, ‘Sorry!’

  ‘Deep breath, Ms Brit!’ Frankie called out. ‘This ain’t the busiest this place gets.’

  ‘Give her a break, Frankie,’ Annie growled as she headed back behind the counter. ‘Kid’s new.’

  ‘I give her a week,’ Marty grinned. ‘No offence, Nell.’

  Laverne appeared by my side. ‘Hey Nell, did you take the order for table twelve already?’

  Flustered, exhausted and my brain now flailing, I stared at her. ‘I – er – Oh heck, I’m not sure.’

  I must have looked incredibly pathetic because she burst out laughing. ‘OK, welcome to first day panic! Table twelve is the one with the three fat tourists – in the middle there?’ She pointed into the heaving interior of the diner.

  ‘Did they ask for English muffins?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Relief flooded through me. ‘Great. Yes, I took their order and yes I’m sorting it now.’

  Laverne patted my shoulder. ‘Good job. Just remember to breathe, OK? This next hour is as crazy as it gets. Your feet will hurt, your body will start to ache more than it ever has and all you’ll want to do is curl up and sleep somewhere. But you just have to push through it. Get through this and then you’ll be coasting to shift-end.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  The adrenalin was astonishing as we reached Annie’s peak business hour. There was no time to think, my actions and reactions becoming almost automatic as I moved from one order to the next. After my bumbling attempts I followed Laverne’s lead and for the last twenty minutes found a rhythm of sorts.

  ‘Hey lady, this ain’t what I ordered,’ yelled an overfed man with a scowl no amount of Botox could fix as I passed by his table.

  Panicking a little, I checked my order pad. ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. What was it you ordered?’

  He stared at me like I’d just sprouted wings. ‘You’re British? They’re hiring foreigners here now? Sheesh, this place has gone down the pan.’ He raised his voice louder, enunciating each word as though I couldn’t understand him at normal speed. ‘I – ordered – two – eggs – over-easy. These – ain’t – over-easy.’

  The sour-faced woman sitting opposite him sucked the air between her teeth. ‘Is she stupid or something?’

  ‘Yeah. Stupid and British …’

  Their rudeness took me by surprise and I stared back impotently, torn between telling them where to go and remaining professionally polite. Tears threatened my eyes and I blinked them back, determined not to give the abusive customers the pleasure.

  ‘And dumb,’ the man continued. ‘What? You ain’t got nothing to say?’

  ‘Is there a problem here?’

  I turned to see Annie beside me, her eyes fixed on the angry guy.

  ‘You’re too right there’s a problem. She got the order wrong.’

  Her face giving nothing away, Annie turned to me. ‘What was the order, kid?’

  I handed her my order pad, where I had written the customer’s order exactly as he’d given it. Annie nodded and gave it back.

  ‘Your order is correct, sir.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? These ain’t over-easy.’ His raised voice had attracted the attention of customers at the nearby tables, who were now watching the unfolding spectacle with interest.

  Annie’s voice remained quiet but firm. ‘I would respectfully ask you to keep your voice down, sir. You’re disturbing the other customers.’

  ‘Like I give a crap about that …’

  ‘Clearly. But if you continue to be abusive to me and my staff I will have to take the matter further.’

  ‘Your food stinks. I want a refund!’

  ‘You appear to have eaten most of it, so maybe it doesn’t stink as much as you say.’ There was a growing threat in her tone even though her expression didn’t change. It was like hearing the rumble of approaching thunder and several of Annie’s regulars began to smirk as if they knew what was coming,

  ‘This is unbelievable! You send a foreigner to serve us, she stuffs up and we’re in the wrong? This ain’t customer service, lady, this is a joke!’

  And then, I witnessed the reason Annie Legado’s customers held her in such high regard. In a flash she had the man’s collar in her hand and was marching him bodily towards the door as his wife screamed abuse in their wake. Seeing the tiny Puerto Rican lady frogmarching a man almost twice her height and several times her width was truly a sight to behold.

  ‘I don’t need your attitude in my restaurant,’ Annie growled, ejecting the onerous individual onto the street. ‘Don’t you ever come here again, you hear?’

  The man’s wife rushed over to confront Annie, but clearly thought better of it when she saw her expression. Once the abusive couple were out of the building, Annie slammed the door and walked calmly back through the diner as several of the regulars cheered. She patted my shoulder as she passed me.

  ‘You did great, kid, don’t let numbskulls like that upset you. Now, the orange juice machine needs filling again. You good to handle it?’

  A little shaken but relieved by what I’d just seen, I smiled at her. ‘I think I can manage it. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  For the next twenty minutes service continued at pace and I quickly forgot the incident as I raced around fulfilling orders and topping up coffee mugs. Just when I thought the busy period would never end, the queue to the street became a queue to the door and eventually dwindled to four people waiting to be seated. I felt proud of myself for surviving, but the reality of day-to-day work in a diner was hitting home hard. When I had daydreamed about running my own place, I’d seen myself serenely floating around the tables, taking orders and laughing with customers in slow motion – no pressure, no demands. Now, in the relative calm after the breakfast rush, I reflected on how different the reality of it was. My feet hurt, my brain hurt and I ached all over. And this was just being a waitress: the fleeting glimpses I’d had of Annie Legado during the craziness had revealed how hard she worked. She never stopped: serving at the counter, doing the refill rounds, bringing out new boxes of ingredients from the cold store, mixing batters and slicing mountains of fresh fruit in the prep area. All the time she knew exactly where everybody was, often calling out to us without looking up from her tasks. And she was always steady – calm, collected, in control. Of course, this was the benefit of thirty-seven years of diner management, but it was still impressive.

  If I decided to pursue my diner dream, this would be my reality. Not to mention all the other work that happene
d unseen out of business hours. Accounts, stock ordering, wages, menu plans, staff rotas … It would be a complete life change, overhauling my understanding of the word ‘work’ and quite possibly taking over my life. Was I ready for that kind of commitment and sacrifice?

  At eleven o’clock Annie tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Hey kid, you did good. Take thirty and get something to eat. Dom’ll prepare whatever you like.’

  I ordered a breakfast crêpe with ham, onions, cheese and green bell peppers and found a seat by the window to take my break. Laverne brought me a large mug of coffee and a glass of orange juice and it was only when I started to drink them that I realised how thirsty I was. My head was beginning to throb and I kicked my shoes off under the table to rest my burning bare feet on the soothing coolness of the tiled floor.

  ‘Mind if I sit here?’

  Keen to enjoy my precious thirty minutes, I was about to say no when I saw the owner of the voice. ‘Oh, hello. Please do.’

  Max Rossi slid onto the bench seat opposite me, looking as lovely as he had the last time we’d met in Annie’s. ‘Breakfast by yourself?’

  ‘Just taking a break. It’s my first day.’

  Max frowned until I pinched out the fabric of my t-shirt to indicate the Annie’s logo. ‘Oh, I see. When were you hired?’

  ‘Last night. And technically not hired. Annie’s invited me to be her intern during the rest of my stay.’

  ‘Wait – let me get this straight – you’re on holiday but you volunteered to work? Are you out of things to do here so quickly?’

  I laughed. ‘Not at all. But Annie found out that I’d love to open a diner one day and she suggested I get some work experience here.’

  ‘Wow. So you’re working every day?’

  ‘Nope. Just Mondays to Thursdays, six a.m. till one p.m. The rest of the time I’ll be sightseeing and making the most of my stay.’

  ‘Or sleeping.’ The sparkle in his eyes was irresistible.

  ‘Yes, definitely sleeping. Especially after today.’ I wondered if I looked as tired as I felt inside.

  ‘I don’t doubt it. So, I hope you enjoy working your butt off for zero pay.’