When Colony Kitchen came to town and advertised for waitresses, hostesses and line cooks, it seemed that every available, unemployed teenager within a twenty mile radius was standing outside the front door.  For most people, this wouldn't be a big deal but in a small, Central Valley town in the early 70's, this was HUGE.

After standing in line for what seemed like four days, my number was called and I confidently went inside for my interview. I knew I was prime material because, after all, I had experience ... The summer before, I had worked at the local Woolworth's lunch counter.  I was golden!

The manager was a young, studly guy we'll call Bob (because I don't remember his real name), who I soon realized was basing his selections not on experience, but on body type.  It certainly helped my chances that I was skinny, blonde and tanned ... three things I haven't seen since then except in old pictures, but I digress ... and I was hired on the spot.

As soon as the restaurant opened, it was a huge success and we were swamped daily!  Since I was still a high school student, my shift was evenings and weekends.

Among the regular customers was an obnoxious, rude, demanding jerk that continually harassed the waitresses, complained about everything, left miserly tips, and was hated by everyone.   If this wasn't bad enough, he usually brought his bratty kids and bitchy wife with him, the kids obviously being trained as little monster clones.  As soon as they walked in the door, there was a collective groan throughout the restaurant.

Of course they usually came in for dinner.  Or lunch on the weekends. My shift. And for some ungodly reason, he zeroed in on me.

One Saturday afternoon, right on schedule, he strutted through the doors, family in tow, and headed directly to my station.

They ordered. He complained. He bitched. He was verbally abusive.

I smiled. I apologized. I made things right.

But when he grabbed my ass, that was it!

When I went back to the kitchen to get the hot fudge sundae the jerk had ordered, I stopped by Bob's office on the way out and said "You may fire me for this, but it's gone far enough."

As I banged through the swinging doors out to the dining room, I glanced back and saw Bob and about five other sets of eyeballs following me.

When I dumped the hot fudge sundae on his lap, the jerk screamed for the manager.  I told him the manager was unavailable because he was on the floor laughing and as soon as he changed his pants, I'd send him out.

I went back to the kitchen, ready to hand in my name badge and gather my final paycheck.

Instead, I was promoted.

Yeah! I knew I was golden!