The China Doll
Noel Laflin
4-13-18
(condensed from longer original post)
Located on the corner of Sycamore and East
Street, he China Doll was all of a three-minute walk from my house.
The proprietress, Sal, with whom I’d interviewed just the
night before, was a large woman. Like a super tanker idly adrift at sea,
she dwarfed Lily, the petite waitress flitting about the establishment.
Upon seeing me, Sal
reached under the hostess’ stand and threw an apron my way.
“Put it on, kid,” she hollered, “I’ll give you the lowdown around here. Chop, chop. Let’s go! Time is money, ya know.”
I struggled with the strings behind my back, trying to get the thing tied as Sal slowly navigated us toward the kitchen. Before we got to the swinging door, however, she made a slow right turn. I followed, at a safe distance.
“OK, kid, aside from the scraping, rinsing, washing and drying in the back, as well as dumping the trash, you’ll also be responsible for keeping this area well stocked with clean plates, platters, tea cups, glasses, etc. You won’t be busing any of the tables, that’s Lilly’s job.
“Since we’re back here,” Sal paused, “I just wanted to warn you about the cookies.”
“Cookies?” I asked, a tad confused.
“Yeah, cookies. These things right here.” She was pointing to a large pink box filled with fragrant almond cookies sitting next to the beer cooler. She grabbed one and shoved it whole into her garishly made up mouth.
“Now,” she mumbled, “I know it will be tempting to swipe one or two of these when you’re back here stocking things,” she croaked, spitting almond dust my way, “but don’t even think about it,” Sal threatened. “They’re too expensive to be wasted on the help.” She palmed one more as she did an about face, forcing me to back out of the tight area.
“You can have any broken ones you find. Touch these good ones though, and I’ll break your arm.” She tossed the second almond cookie into her wide mouth and pulverized it with a smile.
Now that we got that clear,” as she dusted her hands, “come on back and meet the cooks.
“Put it on, kid,” she hollered, “I’ll give you the lowdown around here. Chop, chop. Let’s go! Time is money, ya know.”
I struggled with the strings behind my back, trying to get the thing tied as Sal slowly navigated us toward the kitchen. Before we got to the swinging door, however, she made a slow right turn. I followed, at a safe distance.
“OK, kid, aside from the scraping, rinsing, washing and drying in the back, as well as dumping the trash, you’ll also be responsible for keeping this area well stocked with clean plates, platters, tea cups, glasses, etc. You won’t be busing any of the tables, that’s Lilly’s job.
“Since we’re back here,” Sal paused, “I just wanted to warn you about the cookies.”
“Cookies?” I asked, a tad confused.
“Yeah, cookies. These things right here.” She was pointing to a large pink box filled with fragrant almond cookies sitting next to the beer cooler. She grabbed one and shoved it whole into her garishly made up mouth.
“Now,” she mumbled, “I know it will be tempting to swipe one or two of these when you’re back here stocking things,” she croaked, spitting almond dust my way, “but don’t even think about it,” Sal threatened. “They’re too expensive to be wasted on the help.” She palmed one more as she did an about face, forcing me to back out of the tight area.
“You can have any broken ones you find. Touch these good ones though, and I’ll break your arm.” She tossed the second almond cookie into her wide mouth and pulverized it with a smile.
Now that we got that clear,” as she dusted her hands, “come on back and meet the cooks.
I could hear a commotion coming from the kitchen, in both Cantonese and English. Pots and pans were being slammed about. A metal trash can lid clanged into place. I inched closer in order to hear better as well as align myself with that pink box.
I snitched a cookie, broke it cleanly in half, and hid it in
my apron pocket.
I was beginning to take to the place already.
I was beginning to take to the place already.
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