Wednesday, June 11, 2003
SIP AND SUP Thursday, May 29, 2003
The work ethic runs through my family with a vengence. Nothing is given, everything must be "earned". My dad was always "at work". When he did finally come home some nights for dinner, if he talked at all, he talked about work. Transmissions gone bad, leaky gas tanks, over heated radiators, my dad was an auto mechanic. I tried to act interested, I wanted to curry favor with my dad so I tried to understand what a piston was. I would actually have conversations with him about these things and have no idea what I was talking about. My mom was always "at work" too, even though she was home. Ironing, cooking, cleaning, shopping, and lots more cleaning. Even though we had all those ash trays around, they were never allowed to have ashes in them for long. Mom was on top of it.
I lied about my age on my first job application. You had to be at least 14, I was almost there, but not quite. I wore roller skates and waited on cars in the parking lot of SIP AND SUP, a drive-in restaurant on the busy corner of Route 10 in Parsippany NJ. In those days the cars, lots of convertibles in summer, would pull in to the parking lot, park and roll down their windows (unless it was a convertible). I had to roller skate over in my short little pleated skirt, take their order, skate back to the order guy at the service window, give him the order from my note pad and on to the next car. Picking up the orders (usually hamburgers and fries-this was before McDonalds)on a tray that hooked on the outside of the car. I'd have to check to make sure that they didn't drive away with the tray when they were done. The atmosphere was similar to a David Lynch movie.
When we moved to Dover I got a job at Dick's Dinner on Route 46. It was a busy place for summer people on their way up to the lake areas for vacation. It was also a favorite stop over for truckers. They loved the rice pudding. It was advertised as a special. What I knew and what the truckers didn't know was that the chef smoked cigars. He would make these huge vats of the stuff in the back of the kitchen and one day he called me back to show me his secret. I watched in horror as in the last few moments of stirring, he took the stub of the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it in the pudding. He kept stirring till it disintegrated and looked like nutmeg.
I liked waitressing. I flirted and learned how to talk to get the biggest tips. Families would come in. I'd be as nice as I could be. The dads seemed to do all the talking. More often then not, they would leave a big tip and the wives would take it back and leave little or nothing. I worked every summer and sometimes after school.My mom was the keeper of the money. I'd have to empty my pockets on the kitchen counter as soon as I got home. My mom would start counting my tips before I could even take off my waitress uniform. Piles of change mounted up on that counter, to be wisked away to some bank for my college education. I never had any money of my own unless I asked my mother for it. She would decide if the request was deserved.
In my junior year of high school I decide to apply to early admission programs for college. I did pretty well on my Junior year SATS. I knew I wanted to go to art school, or major in art at college and definitely a college in a big city that was not within easy driving distance of home. My Dad went bonzo. No way was he going to pay for any artsy fartsy education, I'd never get a job and would never be able to support myself. He said if I didn't go to Montclair State Teachers College, or go to nursing school, he would cut me off, no money for college, no living expenses, no nothing. So of course that clinched it for me. Art Now, Art Forever. I applied to Boston University School For The Arts, early admission, with an art portfoilio I'd worked on for years. I got accepted, got a scholarship and kissed New Jersey good-by. After a visit during my Freshman year summer, I never went back. I majored in Fine Arts, studio art. I was a painting major (click here to see some of my art). So far I've been employed, doing one exciting thing or another, in an unbroken stretch, for the last 45 years.
The work ethic runs through my family with a vengence. Nothing is given, everything must be "earned". My dad was always "at work". When he did finally come home some nights for dinner, if he talked at all, he talked about work. Transmissions gone bad, leaky gas tanks, over heated radiators, my dad was an auto mechanic. I tried to act interested, I wanted to curry favor with my dad so I tried to understand what a piston was. I would actually have conversations with him about these things and have no idea what I was talking about. My mom was always "at work" too, even though she was home. Ironing, cooking, cleaning, shopping, and lots more cleaning. Even though we had all those ash trays around, they were never allowed to have ashes in them for long. Mom was on top of it.
I lied about my age on my first job application. You had to be at least 14, I was almost there, but not quite. I wore roller skates and waited on cars in the parking lot of SIP AND SUP, a drive-in restaurant on the busy corner of Route 10 in Parsippany NJ. In those days the cars, lots of convertibles in summer, would pull in to the parking lot, park and roll down their windows (unless it was a convertible). I had to roller skate over in my short little pleated skirt, take their order, skate back to the order guy at the service window, give him the order from my note pad and on to the next car. Picking up the orders (usually hamburgers and fries-this was before McDonalds)on a tray that hooked on the outside of the car. I'd have to check to make sure that they didn't drive away with the tray when they were done. The atmosphere was similar to a David Lynch movie.
When we moved to Dover I got a job at Dick's Dinner on Route 46. It was a busy place for summer people on their way up to the lake areas for vacation. It was also a favorite stop over for truckers. They loved the rice pudding. It was advertised as a special. What I knew and what the truckers didn't know was that the chef smoked cigars. He would make these huge vats of the stuff in the back of the kitchen and one day he called me back to show me his secret. I watched in horror as in the last few moments of stirring, he took the stub of the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it in the pudding. He kept stirring till it disintegrated and looked like nutmeg.
I liked waitressing. I flirted and learned how to talk to get the biggest tips. Families would come in. I'd be as nice as I could be. The dads seemed to do all the talking. More often then not, they would leave a big tip and the wives would take it back and leave little or nothing. I worked every summer and sometimes after school.My mom was the keeper of the money. I'd have to empty my pockets on the kitchen counter as soon as I got home. My mom would start counting my tips before I could even take off my waitress uniform. Piles of change mounted up on that counter, to be wisked away to some bank for my college education. I never had any money of my own unless I asked my mother for it. She would decide if the request was deserved.
In my junior year of high school I decide to apply to early admission programs for college. I did pretty well on my Junior year SATS. I knew I wanted to go to art school, or major in art at college and definitely a college in a big city that was not within easy driving distance of home. My Dad went bonzo. No way was he going to pay for any artsy fartsy education, I'd never get a job and would never be able to support myself. He said if I didn't go to Montclair State Teachers College, or go to nursing school, he would cut me off, no money for college, no living expenses, no nothing. So of course that clinched it for me. Art Now, Art Forever. I applied to Boston University School For The Arts, early admission, with an art portfoilio I'd worked on for years. I got accepted, got a scholarship and kissed New Jersey good-by. After a visit during my Freshman year summer, I never went back. I majored in Fine Arts, studio art. I was a painting major (click here to see some of my art). So far I've been employed, doing one exciting thing or another, in an unbroken stretch, for the last 45 years.
