Me and Ms. R (and Rambo and some lovely cowboys)

I don't know why I thought of it tonight, but I did. It was the time when I was only 17 years old and working as a waitress in a steak house in a rural portion of the Southeastern U.S. It was Cowboy Country for sure. I was quite intimidated by the lady who owned and managed the joint. She was a very stern looking woman whose orders came down only from the head waitress. She had also been in prison for killing a man, though it really did sound like self-defense to me. But, yep. I was still scared half to death of her just from her silence, the stone set of her face and the steely look in her eyes.

One night, when Ms. R was not on the premises, a rowdy bunch came in and sat at my station. I tried to be okay with them, but they were a nightmare. Maybe they were drunk or something, but it was no excuse. I snapped (Rambo) when they became clearly and very crudely sexually harassing. I dumped iced tea on the lap of the mouthiest of them and told them to get up, pay their bill, and get the hell out and not come back until they learned some manners. I tried, but I could not say such things quietly (Rambo). When they got loud as well, telling me they did not have to leave, the sound of chairs being pushed back and boots hitting the floor was deafening and a silence fell over the place and every eye was on the miscreants. I briefly surveyed the gentlemen who would come to the aid of a young girl and then I informed the sexual harassers that they appeared to be wrong and leaving might be the wise move. (And I LOVE me some real gentlemen. I JUST DO. Some folks might think the south is backward, but we still got some good stuff here.)

Later, I was scared for my job, which I badly needed. I worried that the stern Ms. R. would be displeased and think I had overstepped my bounds. I was truly scared to go to work the next day. Not only did I not want to be fired, I certainly did not want to have to witness Ms. R's face getting harder than normal when she fired me. Somehow I still had the balls to show up for work. As usual, Ms. R. did not communicate with staff directly. When she did not get in my face to berate me for my gall, I asked the head waitress what was going on. She took me aside and told me that Ms. R. had been informed of the incident, and that she had asked, "LYNN???!!! Are you sure it was LYNN who did that??!!" And when she was assured that it was me (the quiet, mousy girl), she laughed and laughed uncontrollably until tears began to roll down her cheeks. I still don't know what exactly she made of the whole fiasco, but she didn't fire me. And I was really grateful to her and to the head waitress who was good at communication. And to cowboys who ain't afraid to put their boots on the floor and offer up a good old-fashioned throw-down.