My sister was a waitress all through high school. She began as a Harvey Girl in the big old depot in La Junta, but this was during the war and shortages had caused problems for the outstanding reputation of the Harvey House Restaurants so she quit and went to work at the Kit Carson Hotel. My sister was pretty and outgoing, an excellent combination for a waitress and she made fine tips. She bought all her own clothes, paid her expenses through high school and was still able to save quite a bit of money. We all put our money in those days in the "Miller Family Bank." Because of the failure of banks during the depression my parents didn't trust them. My grandfather had a safe in the basement of his house and that was our "bank."

I figured being a waitress was a good job. When I was a sophomore in high school a girlfriend told me about the opening and I was delighted when I was hired as a waitress at the Bluebird Cafe in La Junta. From the first day I loved being a waitress but I wasn't very fond of my boss, Barney Minch.

I liked wearing a crisp white uniform and you can tell by looking at me that I love to eat. It was fun working around a lot of people and serving them food. I was paid 35 cents an hour and that seemed like a lot of money to me.

I wasn't as outgoing as my sister and the Bluebird Cafe wasn't as ritzy as the Kit Carson dining room so I didn't make the kind of tips my sister did but it was always exciting to look under a dirty plate and find a quarter or even once in a great while a dollar.

Barney Minch was quite a boss, he was loud and I got in trouble right away.

We had one cup that had a red spot on the side. On one of my first days on the job I grabbed the cup and gave a customer a cup of coffee in it.

"This cup is dirty," the woman snapped at me.

"No, it isn't," I answered.

"Yes, it is," she said. "Look, there's lipstick on it."

"It's not lipstick," I tried to explain that it was a spot in the cup that wouldn't wash off, but she cut me off.

"Yes, it is," her voice was getting loud. "I want another cup."

"But --," I started to say.

About that time a third voice was heard. It was Barney Minch.

"Dotty," he motioned for me to come over to where he was standing. He asked what the problem was, told me, "For goodness sakes give her a different cup" and informed me in no unquiet terms that "the customer is always right." That's how I learned that a waitress cannot insist on getting in the last word.

So now I knew that the customer was always right, but my problems were not over because a couple of days later I pulled another interesting trick.

There were swinging doors from the kitchen to the dining room.

"Go in the door on the right," I was told, "and come out the other door."

It was a busy day and I was hurrying. I've always been a slowpoke type of person so when I have to hurry I get a little befuddled. I was really befuddled that day because I made a fatal mistake. I went in the out door and met a waitress carrying a tray full of glasses.

I was immediately surrounded by the startling music of breaking glass. What a mess! While I helped clean up the clutter Barney was explaining in thunderous tones that you don't go in the out swinging door. My paycheck was short that week. Paying for a tray full of broken glasses is expensive.

Shortly afterwards I had a chance to go to work in another restaurant, the Santa Fe Cafe about two blocks from the Bluebird Cafe. My boss was a pleasant woman who actually seemed to trust me. The tips weren't as good but the wages were better, 50 cents an hour. Best of all there were no swinging doors.