In 1966, I responded to an ad in the paper that said Tex and Shirley’s Pancake House was looking for a waitress. Miss Shirley and her husband owned the pancake House. I don’t know why I was attracted to that particular job. My family and I never ate at any dining establishment for three reasons.
First, there was segregation, so we weren’t welcome in many places. Second, my mother preferred cooking her own food and thought hers tasted better (and so did I). And third, it was just less expensive to eat at home.
However, I went over there and applied for the job. I’d heard about waitresses and tips, and tips sounded like a good thing. When I met Miss Shirley, I liked her right away. She was a really nice-looking white woman wearing, what I thought then, was a stunning red and white checkered dress. She had jet black hair that was teased and sprayed in a manner that made it stand up in a big round pile on her head and a natural, southern, friendly, soothing way of talking. I guess Miss Shirley liked me too. I was hired on the spot.
She told me she was happy to hire me as a busgirl for now because they had just filled the waitress position. However, I would be first in line when another waitress position opened up. Well, I was the best bus girl ever! I was the only bus girl there. I was faster, cleaner, neater, and more polite than all the busboys. Over the next few months, I saw several new waitresses come and go. I was friendly with all the waitresses. I didn’t say anything the first few times, although it bothered me. I thought Miss Shirley would say something to me, but she never did.
One afternoon, while wiping down a table, I overheard a conversation Miss Shirley had with a woman that let me know this woman was about to be one of our new waitresses. I wanted to cry. I went to the bathroom to get myself together and then went to Miss Shirley’s office. “Miss Shirley,” I said. “I thought I was going to be a waitress next time you needed one.”
Miss Shirley didn’t say anything for a while, she just looked at me, and I just looked at her. Then she stood up from her desk and looked up at the ceiling and down at the floor as if trying to find the right words. Then finally, she said in a very soft tone and heavy southern accent, “Some of my customers won’t understand. Some of my customers won’t like it.”
I don’t remember if I cried. I wasn’t angry with Miss Shirley. I was mad at the world. That was my last day working at Tex and Shirley’s pancake house. I never went back.
A few days later, I was a waitress at Hot Shoppes. And that is where I spent my last summer in Greensboro before going to New York City. The 6.00 a.m. to 2.00 p.m. shift. And, just as I had suspected, getting tips is beautiful.
