Waffles and Chicory Coffee

 Most of you don’t know this about me, but out of the various jobs I’ve held (very loosely) in my life, at one time I worked at a bed and breakfast. I worked at the Inn of the Shenandoah in Luray, Virginia, my hometown. It was short lived, but it is memorable and I thought I’d write about it :)

I graduated from college in the winter of 2015. I missed a semester so I had to make up for it and graduate a semester late. Whatever. My plans were just to move back home (whatever). Really I didn’t have a plan. But I wanted to get a job like asap so I wouldn’t be one of those post college sloths eating all their parents cereal. So I dressed up and walked around town with my shiny new resume, the fancy kind on thick cardstock that the career planning lady at my college made for me. I gave one to the local newspaper office, The Page News and Courier. I had good intentions. 

My resume scheme wasn’t working and honestly I don’t know how many jobs I actually applied to. My dad mentioned that there was an inn in the middle of town and maybe I should try there. I gave it a shot. I knocked on the door and an elderly lady named Ann Merrigan answered the door. And the rest is history…just kidding, I’ll keep writing. 

“Do you have any experience?” she asked me as I sat on one of the beautifully upholstered couches. I didn’t have any experience, except the common sense nonsense life gave me. She told me the job entailed prepping for breakfast very early in the morning and cleaning rooms. She assured me it wasn’t rocket science and she could teach me, as they dearly needed help. I couldn’t believe she was going to give me a chance. I had a job, and all I had to do was knock on a door!

The next day I showed up in dark colored clothes to help prepare breakfast. The strong smell of sizzling sausage filled the room, mixed with the potency of chicory coffee. It was very cold outside, and this kitchen seemed bright and cheery. I wasn’t exactly going to work yet; I was going to shadow an employee named Nicole. She was short with dark brown hair and brown eyes. She went out for a cigarette every now and then. 

Breakfast entailed cutting fruit and arranging it in a nice pattern on a plate. A bit tedious, but satisfying. Always keep a fresh pot of coffee. Number one rule: never run out of coffee! And always check the guests cups so they always have warm coffee to drink. Ask the guests what kind of syrup they would like on their waffles: strawberry, blueberry, or peach. Make sure cream and sugar is available. Slice oranges for a garnish on the plate. Go outside and pick fresh mint. Yes, I’m serious!

Breakfast seemed like fun and the kitchen smelled so good, but soon I would have to waitress myself and I was nervous about that. It was awkward at first. I couldn’t believe people came to our town to stay in this 3 room house and eat scrumptious waffles, like it was a secret and now I was privy to it. Some of these guests had real  money, like from real jobs in real cities, and Luray was their escape. It was peaceful until the fire stations fire bell rang at 6 am. Yeah, we got a lot of complaints about that. One guy thought it was a bomb siren. Oh, and the train tracks were a block down the street. Some people, not so happy. 

These not so happy people, dosed up with complimentary wine, did not tip. No tip of real money. And I was making very minimum wage. I got used to it. One time a couple stayed for four or five days and left me one hundred dollars. That was a treat.

Nicole taught me how to clean the rooms, and soon she quit working because she got pregnant. I think she thought the cleaning supplies would be bad for the baby. We used a lot of lemon Lysol, or as my mom calls it, lemon lift. Every room had a jacuzzi (still in disbelief that there’s a house here where people eat waffles and soak in a hot tub). That was the most arduous thing to clean. The standup glass showers had to be spotless. No hair left behind! We used a lot of paper towels which I thought was wasteful. Oh well. Ms. Merrigan picked on me because I re used paper towels. I never got used to the waste. I guess it was for a good cause. But I wasn’t any richer.

This job was satisfying at first, because I got to eat leftover waffles in delicious syrup and drink as much chicory as I liked. But the cleaning started to wear me down. All the laundry had to be brought down stairs and washed ourselves. Then back upstairs with clean sheets and iron the pillowcases. Seriously. With starch. I got a tinge of accomplishment when I finished cleaning a room, but ms Merrigan told me I was taking too long. It took me and hour and a half. Especially the suite with the king bed. Everything had to be wiped, the vacuum was heavy, I ran out of paper towels, etc etc. Ann hired Stephanie who was a master cleaner and she taught me how to save time. Life hacks. She mopped with a lovely smelling purple pine sol (aahh). 

There were two other rooms out back in a separate apartment building. Cleaned those too. I walked and cleaned so much I lost weight, no matter how many waffles I ate. I liked to bulk up on protein by bringing bagels or beanie and weenies to work. I couldn’t eat enough. I was a working woman. I was proud of that, but depressed (like I always am). I didn’t have a life and I only socialized with people at work and my parents. My hands were dry from all the windex and lemon lift. I thought I deserved a better job, like in a real office using my English skills. Like Langston Hughes said, a dream deferred shrivels up like a raisin. There were raisins in my sad bagels and I washed it down with chicory. Ho hum.

So I quit after a year. I felt bad leaving Ms Merrigan short handed. She was a very interesting woman that I had gotten to know quite well. She was from Louisiana and she married a DC lawyer who worked for one of the presidents. She opened the first b and b  in Luray in the 80s. She had fair skin and blue eyes. She had mouth cancer but she beat it, which is why she was missing part of her tongue and talked kind of funny. She used to joke that she wasnt drunk, she was missing part of her mouth. But she did like her wine. I shared a glass with her a couple times, but it wasn’t my thing (can you believe that? I can’t). 

I quit that job in November of 2016, and the next year I found myself in Florida. I got a job as a pool monitor that summer. I went from a fast paced hard job to the most boring job in the world. I guess I earned it. Life is funny. Where’s my office? lol. I think I found my job: writing these stories for you. But I don’t get paid. Some things are priceless.