I once had a job washing dishes at the
Blue Bird Tea Room in Carmel, California.
I worked twelve hours a day in
the kitchen. I washed all the
dishes and pots and pans, scrubbed
the floor, washed the vegetables,
crates of spinach for instance;
and if the owner came along and found
me resting, she sent me out to the
back yard to chop up wood. She
paid me a dollar a day. One day
I noticed that some famous concert
pianist was coming to town to give a
recital, and I decided to finish my
work as quickly as possible in order to
get to the concert without missing too much
of it. I did this.
As luck would have it, my seat
was next to that of the lady who owned the
Blue Bird Tea Room, my employer.
I said, “Good
evening.” She looked the other way,
whispered to her daughter.
They both got up and left the hall.