Baked or Fried?

I picked up a part time job waitressing at the diner that’s just a half a mile down the road from where I’m staying in my camper for the summer. Mind you, I’m almost fifty eight years old and it has been a few years since I last waited tables at the Lodge in Alaska.
I trained for two days, doing the morning shift that starts at 6:30AM. The morning shift is perfect for me, as I’m usually awake by 4:30AM and out in the garden.
Prepping for the day, the morning shift is responsible for shredding cabbage and carrots and making dressing for cole slaw, filling catsup and syrup bottles, making tartar sauce, etc.
We wash pots and pans that the cooks have been using to make their soups and specials for the day and carry five gallon buckets of ice from the ice machine in the basement to fill the soda fountain machine. Suffice it to say, carrying heavy buckets up the stairs, then standing on a chair to reach the top of the soda machine and lifting the buckets to pour into the top of the soda machine gives me pause to consider what the heck was I thinking!
The first day was a bit overwhelming, one of the busiest days the restaurant has had in three months. One waitress, and one trainee, a very busy day to say the least. I worked until 3:30PM the first day, totally exhausted and worn out. I did fine and waited tables without incident. When in training you’re not allowed to keep any tips, they all go to the girl training you. Okay, so that’s the rules, I can deal with that. The second day was a bit easier, although I was still exhausted from my first day.
It was now my third day, my first day on my own and able to keep my tips. The other waitress and I took turns taking tables. It was extremely slow. There were the few regulars, coffee and muffin and a few folks in for a full breakfast. It was fine, I actually got to chat with the people for a while and I thought, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
One couple came in, they looked very familiar, and I asked where they were from. They said from Clinton, Connecticut, my home town. At the time, the woman worked for the Clinton Recorder, the local paper, and after thirty years we caught up on all the people we knew in common.
The morning went by and it was a nice steady pace. Around 11:15 an older gentleman, maybe in his early seventies, came in, alone. I assumed a farmer, wearing his blue Dickie work clothes. He had a full beard, a dark tan and large hands that showed many years of hard work. I handed him the lunch menu and placed a cup of hot, Green Mountain coffee down on the table in front of him. He looked up at me and asked what the lunch specials were. That’s when the trouble began............
Usually, the lunch specials are printed out by the cook by 10AM, not today. I asked the other waitress if she could print them out, she said no. So, I went to the kitchen and asked the cook. I won’t mention his name, he’s a very tall fellow and in the three days that I had been working, I never saw him smile once. As a matter of fact, he seemed like a very angry man, slamming pots and snarling. Everyone else that works in the restaurant is very pleasant, says excuse me, or behind you, or pardon me, when they walk by you, not this guy, he just huffs by. I asked the grouch, nicely, if he could take a moment and please, print out the lunch specials, that we had a customer that was asking about them. I received no answer, as a matter of fact, he never even acknowledged me. I went back to the table with the elderly gentleman and said that it might be a few minutes, he was fine with that. I then asked the other waitress if she could help. She went to the kitchen and asked the grouch if he would please print out the specials.
He came out, sat at the counter where the computer and cash register are and started to work on the specials. Mind you, it’s a full page of specials, about twenty of them. I felt bad for the gentleman that was waiting and looking over the grouch’s shoulder, I tried to remember the long list of specials, walked back to the farmer, and could only remember two. After two trips, I gave up. The cook got up and walked back to the kitchen. I walked behind the counter and could hear the printer working but no paper was coming out. I read the screen and it said the printer was out of ink! It had been about twenty minutes since this poor man sat down to order his lunch and still no specials. He decided to order from the regular lunch menu. He ordered a large haddock dinner. He mentioned that he only came to the restaurant once every three or four months as a special treat to himself. I asked if he wanted mashed or french fries, and told him the long list of vegetables that he could choose from that I had written on the back of my order pad. Squash was his choice of vegetable and he requested extra tartar sauce. I remembered to put the price on the order ticket and thanked the farmer for his patience.
I walked back to the kitchen, put the order ticket up on the nail for the cook, and said “order up”. I turned and walked back to take care of the other customers. After seven minutes or so, I heard “Mary Ellen”, and walked back to the kitchen, the cook had the farmers order in his hand and asked me “baked or fried?” Oh my goodness, I hadn’t asked the farmer, now I had to go back and ask.
The farmer said, “fried”........now, I was flustered, this poor man had been in the restaurant for over a half an hour and his food still hadn’t been started! I turned and walked back to the kitchen and stared at the cook, who said “Well?”.........Oh no, I had forgot! I couldn’t believe it! He said, “go back and ask him how he wants his haddock cooked, baked or fried.” I was so embarrassed and was starting to shake. I turned and walked back to the farmer with a sheepish look on my face, and apologized profusely, and told him, I had forgotten what he said, baked or fried? He calmly looked at me and said, “fried”. Back to the kitchen and yikes, I drew a complete blank, nothing, not a clue, I had no idea what that man had said to me! I had a brain cramp and couldn’t remember, baked or fried. I turned and went back around the corner, and looked at the farmer, he was staring at me and just mouthed the word “FRIED”. So after an hour of waiting, I finally brought the farmer his lunch. He enjoyed his haddock, and after finishing and walking towards the door to leave, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry Mary Ellen, your memory will get better”. I thanked him and said no, that it probably wouldn’t but as long as people have a sense of humor about it, and weren’t on a time schedule, we would all be fine. He left me a very generous tip.
I don’t know if I’m cut out for waitressing at this point in my life. I enjoy talking with people and don’t mind the work. It’s my brain that I’m concerned with. Too bad our brains aren’t like computers, that you can clear out the hard drive and reboot. I’ve decided from now on, when I ask, “baked or fried”, I’ll be sure to write it down, even if I have to write it on my hand...........”IF”, I can remember.