>>> Item number 15853 from WRITERS LOG9308B --- (252 records) ---- <<< Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1993 17:57:02 JST Reply-To: WRITERS Sender: WRITERS From: Mike Barker Subject: SUB: An Education on Wilshire Boulevard I'm not sure about the title. Matter of fact, I'm not sure about the whole thing. Let me know what you think. tink An Education on Wilshire Boulevard Mike Barker 2,100 words Wanda looked at the old-fashioned hotel taking up most of the block on Wilshire Boulevard, then at the plate glass windows of the old restaurant on the corner. She shook her head, but there was a sign in the window saying they wanted part-time help, and she sure could use some kind of work. Working in a restaurant never went anywhere, but at least the welfare people would quit claiming she never tried to get a job for a while. She took a minute to look around. In toward the center of the city stood a taller building, with huge figures playing basketball. She wondered how much money they'd wasted having someone paint those lying, laughing figures having fun. She looked at the sign again, then pulled the door open. She had to push a screen door in, hearing one of those old bells tinkling. Inside, the restaurant had cheap white formica tables, with plastic chairs, almost lonely in the high-ceilinged room. The ceiling fans turned slowly as she looked around, blinking at the heavy tile-faced bar. The big plate glass windows on two sides showed the outside with little wavers, like a television that wasn't quite on channel. The pink walls seemed to stretch upward, even with the crack in one. The man sitting at the bar wore white. He folded his newspaper, set it on the bar, and stood up. "Are you looking for work?" She gulped. He was short, gray-haired, and wore an apron. Still, she was sure she knew what the answer would be if she admitted she was looking for work. He was some kind of oriental, and her dark skin could never be mistaken for one of their kind. "What if I am?" He pursed his lips, then shrugged. "I need a waitress. I'll give you a uniform, meals, and regular pay. A dollar an hour more than the fast food places pay. If you want, you can learn something about restaurant work during slack times." She thought it over. "How much you charge for the uniform and meals?" He laughed. "Free. You want the job?" "Well... Hey, maybe I just wanted something to eat, you know?" "I'll fix you something to eat just as soon as you admit that you want the job. You stood outside for five minutes looking at the sign, then came in. Haven't looked at the menu, didn't try to sit down, didn't really object when I asked if you were looking for work. Do you want to play games or do you want the job?" Wanda sucked her cheek. "Yeah, I want the job. My name's Wanda." He nodded and picked up the paper. "OK, Wanda. I'm Kim. Uniform's in the back. Change, then tell me what you want to eat and we'll talk while I fix it." # Kim stopped Wanda as she was about to toss the potatoes she had chopped for practice in the trash. "What are you doing, Wanda?" She leaned back, set one hand on her waist, and rolled her eyes. The pink waitress uniform gaped as the fabric fought to tear loose from the buttons, small diamonds of black skin and white slip winking and blinking as she moved. The small apron seemed to be an accessory hung across the front by accident. "What does it look like? Throwing out the garbage, Kim." He reached out and took the cold potatoes out of her hand. "Don't waste it, Wanda." "What are you gonna do with cold potatoes? Kim, just throw it away. I was practicing, like you told me to, and they're cut for french fries. You told me yourself, you always cut french fries fresh for the customer, and there ain't anybody.." "Isn't" "Alright. There isn't anybody out there right now." He shook his head, opened the refrigerator, and found a plastic bowl. "This is my business, Wanda, and I don't waste anything if I can help it. Think about it, work with it a little, and make something out of it. I can use these some other day to make potato soup. People like potato soup, and I can use old potatoes in it. You'll see." She swayed as she walked slowly out of the kitchen. "Yeah, I'll see. Kim, you worry too much, and pinch every penny. Throw out that trash and relax." # Wanda yawned, leaning against the bar. Monday nights always seemed slow, but Kim insisted she stay in the main room during the evening, just in case someone came in. "Why don't you dust the tables, if you're sleepy?" Kim had come out of the kitchen and was standing at the end of the bar, watching her. "Dusted them already." He waited. "Well, I did. I dusted them this afternoon, and we haven't had enough people to get them dirty again." Kim pursed his lips. "If you're bored, there are things to do. That is all I meant." He went back into the kitchen. She thought about it. Then she fanned herself, pulled the uniform out and let the air puff inside it, and relaxed again, waiting. # Wanda watched the old couple sit down. When they walked in, she asked what they wanted, and they answered her in some foreign talk. Kim came bustling out of the kitchen, talking the same stuff. He sat them down, and kept talking. She listened, but didn't recognize it. Still, maybe Kim would talk to her about it now. She drifted into the kitchen behind him. He was already opening the refrigerator and getting out bowls and plastic bags marked in something besides English. As he opened one, she got a whiff of something. Smelled like days-old leftovers to her, and when she looked at the bag, it looked a little like it too. "Kim, ain't you Korean?" He turned and looked at her. His voice was flat. "I'm American, Wanda. How about you?" She felt herself blush. "Well, yeah, but aren't your parents or.. I mean, you look.." He looked down at his hands, then at her. "Yes, my parents grew up in another country. Perhaps some of your ancestors also came here from another country?" She laughed. "Kim, I'm black! Or hadn't you noticed?" "I had noticed." "So, yes, some of my ancestors came from Africa. Most of them, if you want to know the truth. What's it to you?" Kim opened another bowl, slowly. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But I thought perhaps since we are both the children of immigrants, we should not be too concerned about where those ancestors grew up. We've got work to do now, and I have never found my ancestors especially willing to do that work for me. Are African ancestors more helpful?" She shook her head, holding back giggles. "Kim, you are something else. No, my African ancestors don't help much with work either." He nodded. "Then would you mind getting back to work? I have to fix a special meal for some friends of my parents out there." She went back out to the main room, still chuckling. # The bell on the front door tinkled, and Wanda turned her head. Just what she needed, a walking pile of discards. "Kim!" He came bustling out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. "What do you want me to do with that?" She tossed her head and rolled her eyes. "Let me take care of him." Kim walked over to the man. Greasy long hair, knotted in a few places, and covered with a bandanna. Surplus store jacket, pants that might have been white once, belt rope, toes with black toenails peeking out of the remnants of shoes or maybe sandals under the ragged cuffs of the pants. Piece of cardboard on a string around his neck, hand-lettered "I am deaf and dumb." Wanda looked around the restaurant. The pair of college kids had quit laughing over their hamburgers, and were carefully not looking at the scene in the doorway. The two young oriental girls in the back corner were watching, eyes wide. Kim stopped a few feet from the beggar. He spoke in a normal tone of voice, a little slower than usual. "Can you read lips?" The beggar nodded. "Good. How are you on sweeping? Sweep the place out, and I'll cook you a good meal." The beggar licked his lips, then nodded again. Kim turned around, then motioned Wanda towards him. She took a deep breath, let it puff out her mouth, then leaned forward and stood away from the bar. She walked over, slowly. "Wanda, this man is going to sweep.." "Kim, I did that this afternoon. What are you.." "Wanda, we've had a lot of people in since then, and the place gets dusty fast. So he's going to sweep the place, then we'll fix him a meal. Get the broom out and get him started. Call me and I'll check after he's done. You got it?" She shook her head. "Yeah, I got it, I guess. Come on." She turned and started walking. After the man swept the room, and re-did one part that Kim thought wasn't as clean as it could be, he pointed to what he wanted on the menu. He held up two fingers after pointing to cheeseburgers. Kim fixed everything with the same care he used for all customers. She had walked into the kitchen a few times to see, then shook her head and went back out to keep an eye on the main room. Afterwards, she brought the dishes in and set them in the sink. She bit her lip, then looked at Kim. "What was that all about, Kim? That floor didn't need sweeping. And you sure didn't have to give that bum a double serving. I don't understand." Kim's gaze swept the kitchen, but there was nothing cooking. Then he went to the refrigerator and got out the bowl he had put the potatoes in. "I told you, Wanda, I don't like waste." "Yeah, that's what I mean. You wasted good food on a bum. He's just street trash." "Did he sweep the floor?" "Yeah. So what?" "Which is worth more, Wanda, a man or some food?" "That kind of man? He ain't worth nothing." "He isn't worth anything, you mean." "That's right, he isn't worth anything." "Neither are cold potatoes cut at the wrong time, are they?" "You said you'd make potato soup or something out of them." "That's right. And maybe 'that kind of man' can be put to use somehow, just like the potatoes." Her forehead creased, and she wiped it, feeling the ridges there. "Kim, you can't just give every bum something." He shook the bowl, the soft thumping as the potatoes hit the top and rebounded into the bottom loud in the kitchen. "I don't. He did the job I asked him to do, and I paid him with one good meal." "But that ain't the way.. I mean, the government ought to do something about them bums, not people like you." "Wanda, I am not doing anything about bums. I run a business. Sometimes I have work to do, and I find people to do it. Then I pay them. That's all." She scratched her head again. "Well, it's your business. I don't care if you give away everything, just so long as you got enough to pay me." He set the bowl down. "Wanda. 'just as long as you have enough to pay me.' Say it." "This is stupid." "Say it." "Just as long as you have enough to pay me. Happy now? What difference does it make, anyway?" Kim turned and leaned against the range. "Did you ever wonder about my last waitress?" She blinked. "Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?" He chuckled. "I promised I would teach you about restaurant work, right?" "Yeah." "Well, I taught my last waitress about restaurant work, too. And now she has a better job with one of the big hotels. She didn't like the way I corrected her English, either, until that interview. They told her one of the reasons she got the job was that she spoke good English." "Oh. But aren't you afraid that I'll leave, too?" He turned back to the range again. "If you work hard, I will be very upset when you get a better job. As I have told you, I don't like to waste anything, Wanda." She thought about it for a minute. Then she straightened up. "Kim?" He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Thanks." She turned and went into the main room. She started to lean against the bar, then stood straight, and picked up the soft cloth. Might as well dust the tables again while she waited. ---------------------------