If you’ve had food-service jobs, you probably aren’t surprised to hear that people are quitting them due to poor working conditions, abuse from patrons and low pay.
Minimum wage in 1974 Tulsa was $2 an hour. To get a job, you had to pass a Tulsa County Health Department class. Some of the material: wearing hair nets, disinfecting tables between patrons, not coming to work sick, washing glassware in hot enough water and filing for Social Security.
We seven sisters attended Catholic schools in plaid skirts and knee socks, so weren’t fluent in fashion, let’s say. Until I got old enough to know the difference between Levi’s and house brand jeans available for less at JCPenney, I was oblivious.
We had hand-me-downs, but that old adage, beggars can’t be choosers, is incorrect. We wanted bell-bottoms, halter tops, maxis and tunics that Mom tried to afford. Now that I’ve been a parent for more than 30 years, it haunts me how we must have driven our parents crazy over clothes. I finally realized I needed to make more than babysitting money if I wanted to feel cool in my new public school.
On my 16th birthday, I bundled up and walked to the corner where pizza joint and a burger joint shared a parking lot, with Ray’s Hamburger stand tucked in the back.
I went into the the restaurant and asked to see the manager, but he was on a break. Over at the pizza joint, the manager, Wayne, invited me to sit at the little bar by the cash register, poured me a Coke and interviewed me.
He was...
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