OK. I was making some music, but in a
hobbyist sort of sense. I needed
to make money to keep going. Sure,
the rent on my apartment was under $300 at the time, but still. . . I surely had
to find me one of them good ol’ “survival jobs.”
Because
I’d been waitressing in London for the best part of a year and a half, I
figured it made sense to find a waitress gig. I can’t recall how I found it -- probably my ex or some
other friends suggested it -- but I came to work at a really hip restaurant/bar
in the heart of the NYU-ville Greenwich Village. Just north and east of Washington Square Park, One
University Place was the address of “One U,” or Chinese Chance, as it was also
called.
“One
U” had three owners: Mickey Ruskin, from Max’s Kansas City; Richard Sanders
(who’d served in Vietnam and suffered from Agent Orange poisoning); and a less
colorful guy who was possibly the most functional, a middle-aged man named Va
Hagen. They were quite the
trio. Are three bosses better than
one? Hard to say. . .
I
started out there on the bottom rung of the waitress ladder, with the worst
shifts. The 3rd and
latest shift went from 8 PM to 4 AM, the 2nd shift from 6 PM to 2
AM, and (probably) the best shift, the first, started at 4 PM and ended at
midnight. I didn’t really care how
late I stayed out because One U was only about a ten-minute walk from my
apartment. I was young and
energetic -- strong enough to carry a massive 3 by 4 foot tray with six dinners
stacked on it, then grab a tray stand and whomp! the tray on it, to serve those
dinners.
I’ve
not seen that done in years; I doubt many who are now “servers” could do
that. It was indeed tricky, but I
never dropped anything from that big tray. We also had to carry all drinks on a serving or bar tray,
and place coasters under the drinks.
There really were rules, ways to do things.
Musically,
the jukebox at One U had lots of cool singles from that time. The most played song I can remember
from the time was by the Pretenders, “My City Was Gone.” How apropos for me, really. . . because,
in a way, I’d returned to a place that was a whole new city after spending 18
months in London.
At
the end of 1982, I spent New Year’s Eve alone and in tears, wondering why I had
no boyfriend, no love, a crazy waitressing job, and wasn’t making music.
That
was to change in February 1983.
Meanwhile, there are still tales to tell about my server stint at One U.
. .
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