Brick House – The Commodores

I worked my way through high school busing tables at the local restaurant/diner.

There were lots of regulars that came in for Saturday morning cups of coffee and the latest town gossip.

Mostly they were old men. Cranky old men.

During the evenings the men that came in were often middle-aged men who were on their own. Perhaps because their wife was working a 3 -11 shift or because their wife had left them and they still needed to eat, or in the case of one man, because he had an unrequited love for one of the waitresses. Her name was Anna and she was an incorrigible flirt. She worked hard for her $1 tip!!

One night, as I was clearing off a table, one of these middle-aged men made a comment about me being built like a “brick shit-house”. This hurt my tender, seventeen year old sensibilities. I went storming in the kitchen, complaining to the cooks.

They had to explain to me that it was a compliment. I was pleased and yet a little skeeved that this man who was older than my father would say that to me. Now of course, I would pay good money to hear those words aimed in my direction!!