First job

When I was younger and in high school, I had it made. I lived rent-free at home, and my meals were taken care of. Only thing required of me was I get a job.

Ugh, I remember the first job all too well. My senior year in high school, I was a waitress at a local pizza joint and hated every minute of it. To begin with, my uniform shirt was an ugly, motley-colored number that stretched too tightly over my chest. The uniform pants were black, made of the same material as the shirt, and fit me like a second skin. I had an athletic build in those days, but was self conscious about my body, and extremely unhappy about the way the uniform fit. I should have known I was in for trouble the first day of work.

I was met at the door by the assistant manager, a weasely-looking character with slicked-back hair and glittering beady eyes. He took me by the arm and turned me around. "Oh yeah, you'll do fine," he said licking his lips. I remember a feeling of revulsion go through me as he looked me up and down. It was like I was a pork chop and he was a half-starved dog. I couldn't wait to break away and wash my arm with hot water.

When Weasely--I'm going to refer to the assistant manager as this--and I worked together, I was miserable. I spent half the time ignoring lewd remarks by half-drunken male customers, and the other half keeping my backside away from weasely's groping hands. I was too young to know any better, and allowed myself to be convinced it was my personality that warranted these actions. I never told Mama. I thought it was my own problem and I could handle it.

I loved working with the manager. He was a no-nonsense family man, and stood up for me against the obnoxious drunks. One Saturday night, while Manager and I were working together, things got ugly. A party of four rough-looking, muscular guys walked in, already smelling like a brewery. I seated them and asked them what they wanted. I shivered as one of them, obviously the leader, boldly looked me up and down.

"How about you on a plate?" he sneered as his buddies laughed loudly. I'd heard comments similar to that the three months I'd worked there, but I was able to ignore those; this one was different, the look in the creep's eyes told me he was serious, and that scared the crap out of me. I was able to ignore the group until their pizza was ready. I was setting the hot pizza on their table when the leader took full advantage of the situation by grabbing my rear. Something in me snapped; that creep had crossed the line by touching me. Unthinking, I grabbed his wrist and said, "Do that again and I'll snap your hand off and feed it to you." I yelled.

"Oh, I like 'em feisty," the leader chortled, grabbing at me again. The manager came to the table, told me he'd handle the situation, and for me to work the cash register. A few seconds later, the unruly bunch left, but not before the leader sneered and told me he'd be back at closing. The manager, without a word to me, walked to the back, and reappeared a few minutes later, telling me he'd called the police dispatcher and asked for an officer to escort me to my car after closing.

Still shaken, I went home and told my mama everything that had happened that night and in the past three months. Understandably, she was upset, and told me to quit my job the next day, which I happily did.

Sometimes we bury unpleasant occurrences deep within the recesses of our mind, which is what I did with this one until I dined at a restaurant with a friend a couple of days ago. __________ went outside to take a cell phone call, leaving me to sip my tea and "people watch". A young attractive waitress was standing nearby, trying to deal with a table of young unruly men. I could tell by their raucous laughter and her body language as she walked away what was happening.

Nothing ever changes, I thought, shaking my head in disgust.