Anniversary of a Horror Story. Thirty years ago this week,

Dec 7, 2022, 4:07 PM

things were not going very well for The Mole. I had gotten into some serious litigation with former employers and severely underestimated their power to destroy my life. Christmas was coming and I was concerned about the mental state of the previous Ms. The Mole.

I saw an ad in the local paper for evening help in a new restaurant that had opened in the Clemson area. It's closed now and I still won't call the name, but it was something weather-related and we have four of them each year. (Sometimes, all four in the same week in this area!) I applied and went to work the following evening for the lofty sum of $6.50 per hour. That was tough to accept after making $150k and perks the previous year but, see paragraph #1.

After "Chef" gave the three new people our "training" which amounted to identifying the "Today's Featured Plate" based on what was in the cooler that was starting to smell bad, I was introduced to a young lady from Walhalla that would be teaching me how to make the salads. She was a pleasant enough girl. And even though I'm not big city, she was definitely from a little farther back in the woods than is myself. As the diners arrived and the salad orders came back to our station, I was introduced to a salad that was topped with a roll of ham, and two slices of cheese, also rolled to match the ham. My trainer got to the cheese part and said the following: "I've had a lot of trouble keeping the cheese rolled up. But, I've learned a trick." With that statement completed, she looked to her left, then to her right to make sure no one was watching. She rolled up the cheese and stuck it in her armpit. She mashed down "real hard" and held it in her "warmth" for about 30 seconds. She placed the perfect cheese rolls on top of the salad and sent it down the line. I assured my trainer that her armpit was far better suited for that operation than my own. She just gave me that country girl smile and said she would be glad to make any rolls I needed if she wasn't busy. At that moment I was happy that the restaurant prices there were out of my budget.

Moving on to Night #2. The restaurant was apparently run by that BIG food service company that runs most hotels and universities. Because the next night we were making 350 spaghetti plates for a Christmas party for a Baptist College out of Georgia. I inquired as to why a Baptist college from Georgia would come all the way to Clemson to have their Christmas party and was told "because they want to drink". I did not believe that until the 28 cases beer and liquor was/were delivered.

The supervisor heading up the assembly line was placing the garnish on the spaghetti as the last step before putting the plates in the holding heated carts. He was a drinking man and in just my two evenings there I saw him out behind the dumpster several times turning up a bottle. The kitchen/packing area was steamy HOT. That, along with the alcohol content of the supervisor, turned him into a dripping fountain. Each plate got several drops of sweat that ran off of his nose each time he stooped to apply the garnish. He would just smile and say "Free salt!".

Thirty years later, I am proud to say this will be a better Christmas for The Mole family. And I know that whenever/wherever we go out to dine...it's a crapshoot...regardless of how highly rated the establishment!