Mary’s First Job at Her Father’s Hotel (PASSAGE 3)

MARY'S FIRST JOB

When I was just fifteen, my father purchased an old hostel in the country where we lived and decided to turn it into a luxury hotel. At the early stages of the hotel, he experimented with everything. None of us had ever worked in a hotel before, but my dad had a vision of what guests wanted. His standards were extremely high and he believed that to reach those standards the most important thing was work.

For a month that summer I worked as a waitress at breakfast and dinner. As part of the job I had to lay the tables in the dining room beforehand and clean up afterwards. This gave me the middle of the day free for studying because my school report predictably had not lived up to my father's high expectations.

Like all the other waitresses, I was equipped with a neat uniform and told to treat the guests as though they were special visitors in my own home. Although I felt more like a stranger in theirs, I did not express my feelings. Instead I concentrated on doing the job as well as, if not better than, the older girls.

In the kitchen I learned how to deal with Gordon, the chef, who I found rather daunting. He had an impressive chef's hat and a terrifying ability to lose his temper and get violent for no clear reason. I avoided close contact with him and always grabbed the dishes he gave me with a cold look on my face. Then, as I walked from the kitchen to the dining room, my cold expression used to change into a charming smile.

I found waiting at breakfast was more enjoyable than at dinner. The guests came wandering into the dining room from seven-thirty onwards, staring with pleasure at the view of the sea and the islands through the dining room window. I always made sure that everyone got their order quickly and I enjoyed getting on well with the people at each table.

In the evenings it was funny how differently people behaved; they talked with louder, less friendly voices, and did not always return my smile. However, that all changed when Dad created a special role for me which improved my status considerably.

I started by making simple cakes for guests' picnics and soon progressed to more elaborate cakes for afternoon teas. I found that recipes were easy to follow and it was amusing to improvise. This led to a nightly event known as Mary's Sweet Trolley. I used to enter the dining room every evening pushing a trolley carrying an extraordinary collection of puddings, cakes and other desserts. Most of them were of my own invention, I had cooked them all myself, and some were undeniably strange.