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I once had a job washing dishes in the
Blue Bird Tea Room in Carmel, California.
I worked twelve hours a day in the
kitchen. I washed all the dishes,
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 in the back yard to
chop up some 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.
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