by Dyan Sheldon
I reminded him that I am one of the guys.
“Yeah,” said Vinnie. “But the other guys don’t wear skirts and polish their nails.” Then he gave me a wink, too; which was yet another groundbreaking event for the morning. “So how come you’re dressed up? You got a date after work?”
I didn’t want to complicate things. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, and it’s also the quickest way to tell a story. I said yes.
Vinnie grinned as if he’d just had a piece of incredibly good news. “Well, what do you know? Ain’t that great.”
He sounded like he meant it. For the first time, it occurred to me that my workmates, like my best friend – and, possibly, my mother – had been worried that no one would ever ask me out.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah, it’s great.”
It also had never occurred to me to wonder how the men I worked with would fit into my sociological experiment. I hadn’t given much thought – or any, if I’m being honest – to how they’d react to the new me.
For instance, Mr Chelusky. Mr Chelusky was old enough to be my grandfather, and as set in his ways as a pole is set in cement. Which meant that although he was used to having me around the store, he wasn’t used to having a girl around. Mr Chelusky has three daughters – one is married, one is in college and the third one, the one he calls “the big surprise”, is in middle school. He always refers to them as “my girls”, and jokes about the drama and the tears and the fights, but he treats them like princesses. Me he has always treated the same as everyone else who works for him. If we’d been birds, his daughters would be golden parakeets and I’d be a sparrow. He’d never expect them to help unpack boxes or unload a truck; never expect them to carry ladders or run the forklift. Now, it seemed, he didn’t expect me to do those things, either. I was a sparrow no more.
The other employees at Chelusky’s – besides Vinnie and the injured Leroy – are Ernie, Mick and Horst. One by one that morning, they came into the store to get something or ask Mr Chelusky a question, and one by one they did a double take when they saw me – or took a few seconds to make the synaptic connection; Good God, that must be Lou! Unlike our boss, they did make the connection; none of them thought I was a customer who had wandered behind the counter by mistake. Ernie said I looked very elegant. Horst said I looked ace. Mick said I really cheered the place up. “You don’t expect to see a good-looking girl in a room full of drill bits and paint,” said Mick. Then, realizing that that wasn’t quite the compliment he’d intended, he said, “Not that you weren’t pretty before, Loretta, but you know what I mean.” I said I knew; for definite I was starting to know. They were all happy that I had a date – a piece of news that had spread faster than fire on a parched prairie. No one said, “God, we never thought that would happen,” but I could tell that they hadn’t. They kept mentioning it and joking about it. Mr Chelusky even asked if “this young man” had met my parents. I felt like saying I wasn’t marrying this young man – it was only a date. But I didn’t say that, either. Mr Chelusky hadn’t met my parents – they’re not exactly lumberyard people – so I felt safe in saying yes to that question, too. “Of course they met him. They like him a lot.”
I could have told them the truth. I could have explained that the reason my hair looked like somebody spilled bleach on it, my nails were coral, my eyelashes like awnings and my legs visible for the first time since I was in primary school was not because I had a date but because I made a bet. I could have said, “You remember my friend ZiZi?” That would have made them smile a little sheepishly – because of course they remembered her. Whenever ZiZi came by to pick me up from work, every one of them would find some excuse to come into the store – grinning at her like happy jack-o’-lanterns and bumping into things – no matter how busy it was in the yard. Every so often, especially if she hadn’t been by for a while, they’d ask about her. How’s that friend of yours? What’s her name again? She seems like a really nice girl. “I made a bet with her,” I could have said. “That’s why I look like this. Because I made a bet.” Only, I didn’t tell them that. I let them believe that I was the kind of girl who dressed to please guys – or, in this case, a guy. I said I had a date and let them be glad for me.
Aside from that, I did my best to act as if nothing had changed – which it had. The men I worked with were all a little different around me; sort of cautious bordering on solicitous. As if they thought I wasn’t feeling well or was going through a bad time. Whenever I looked up, I was facing a smile. Whenever I got to a door, it opened. Whenever I reached for something heavy, someone else picked it up first. I figured this would pass. It was just that they weren’t used to me like this. Like when you get a new saw; it takes some getting used to; you have to break it in. I thought that all they needed was a little time.
As for me, by the end of the day I was beginning to understand why ZiZi smiled so much; you more or less have to when everyone is smiling at you or doing you small favours. The other thing that had happened by the end of the day – maybe because it was mentioned so much – was that I almost believed I did have a date that night.
File under the heading: Go figure.
ZiZi
It turned out that I’d changed more than my hairstyle
Sunday night, to combat feeling kind of discombobulated because of being invisible (and because I had lots of spare time since I didn’t have to spend hours deciding what I was wearing the next day or doing any preparation), I messaged Shona and Isla to see what they were up to and if they wanted to chat, but they didn’t reply. (I didn’t bother with Marilee because I wasn’t sure what time it was for her. Plus, my father would have a heart attack and then kill me if I started texting Europe. He is so twentieth-century sometimes.) Loretta was out as a distraction because she did have to choose her outfit for the morning. And because I knew she was going to bed early so she could wake up early to get ready for work. So then I wasn’t just invisible, I was also bored. I was so bored I came close as a barber’s shave to asking my brothers if they wanted to play a game or something. What saved me from this humiliation was that they were deeply absorbed in some dumb movie that had a lot of helicopters and guns in it, and probably wouldn’t even have heard me ask. Normally, if I had nothing else to do, I would’ve gone online and checked out some fashion blogs and vlogs, but now I couldn’t really see much point in that. It would be like someone who had no money for food staring in the restaurant window. And anyway, I figured that I had to channel Loretta and try to get into a different mindset from my usual one (the nobody-cares-what-you-bought-at-the-mall-or-what-you’re-going-to-wear-with-it mindset). So I did something I would usually never think of doing in two trillion years. I started reading a novel. It was one Loretta had loaned me, even though I never asked to borrow it. It had been sitting on the shelf in my room for a while. Maybe a year. I was wary of it because it was one of her feminist books that she was always pushing on me. Plus, from the title, it seemed to involve eating, so I was afraid it was going to be about women and dieting (one of Loretta’s favourite rants, even though she totally knows that I don’t go on diet after diet; I’m just careful most of the time). Here’s the thing: this book was written like nearly fifty years ago and it’s pretty weird, but it’s also interesting (in a weird way). It’s not about dieting at all. It’s about this girl in Canada who, as far as I could tell, is having a kind of identity crisis. Something I could totally identify with! This girl thinks that she’s being eaten. Metaphorically, not literally. (I figured that’s worse than thinking you’re invisible, but maybe not. I mean, being eaten was all in her head, but me being invisible was in everybody else’s head.) I didn’t put the book down till after midnight. That’s a record for me. Usually, I don’t read anything longer than a magazine article, unless it’s for school.
Because I’m always running late, and because it’s a meal I usually skip, I’m hardly ever in the kitchen when my brothers are having breakfast. At least, not on a weekday.
But that Monday I was. The advantage of being like Loretta (if you can call it an advantage) is that it doesn’t take an hour or more to get dressed, and one of the advantages of being a waitress is that you don’t have much choice about what to wear (black slacks or skirt and a white shirt). So, even though I’d slept later than usual (nobody ever tells you how tired reading makes you, do they?), after I’d had a shower and caught up on all my Internet stuff, I still had over an hour to kill before I had to leave for the Inn, so I figured I might as well sit down to have my coffee. Plus, I was hungry. I blame the stress and having extra time and nothing to do in it. Those are things that wreck your willpower.
The parents had already left for the day, but Nate and Obi and Obi’s best friend Parker were all at the table. (I was pretty sure Parker had already eaten at home but that never stops him from eating with us.) Nate and Obi didn’t pay any attention when I came in, but Parker stopped shovelling cornflakes into his mouth to stare at me. “Wow,” said Parker. “What happened to you?”
So maybe I wasn’t as invisible as I thought.
“Vampires,” Obi mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. “They sucked out her blood and chewed off all her hair.” At least he’d given up on the zombie idea. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
“Nothing happened to me.” I put a slice of bread in the toaster. “I had a haircut. Like millions of people do every day.”
“You kind of look like a squirrel.”
I poured a cup of coffee. “You mean except for the bushy tail?”
Parker made what would’ve been a thoughtful face if there hadn’t been milk dribbling down his chin and if he were capable of thought. “But Obi’s right. You do look really pale.”
“I still have blood.” I put my toast on a plate and sat down. “I’m just not wearing any make-up. So all you see is my porcelain complexion, the envy of women all over the world.”
Still looking almost thoughtful, and still dribbling, Parker said, “You used to be pretty.”
Only a complete fool would listen to the opinion of a twelve-year-old boy who believes he saw a spaceship fly over his house.
“And you used to have a future, Parker. You know. Thirteen.”
“Ouch.” Nate pushed back his chair. “I think it’s time for us to go.”
“I’m only saying,” said Parker. “Everybody said you were pretty.”
I smiled extremely sweetly (especially for a really pale squirrel who’d lost her looks). “And everybody said you had a brain, Parker, but they were horribly wrong about that, too.”
Nate stood up. “Okay, you guys, let’s get this car in gear before blood is spilled.”
“I’m still eating,” protested Obi.
“No you’re not. If you want a ride to day camp you have to come now or I’ll be late for work.”
After they left I made another piece of toast and poured another coffee. I sat there, sipping and nibbling and thinking. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, I was just letting my mind wander around like a shopper at the mall. Everybody said I was pretty… Now I looked like a rodent… Marriage… Book covers… Children… Frontier prostitutes… Women as food… I was still thinking as I cleared the table of the dirty dishes, juice and milk.
When I was done cleaning up, I put on my work clothes, got my bike from the porch, and cycled into town. Usually, I’d get a friendly honk or a wave or at least, a big smile as I rode along (at the really very least I’d see guys look twice), but, of course, there was none of that now. Loretta would be thrilled. She’d single-handedly rid my life of even a hint of sexual harassment.
The Old Clipper Inn is run by Mr and Mrs Schonblatt. Mrs Schonblatt manages the hotel part of the Inn. She’s the smiling, friendly person at the front desk who gets you an extra towel or tells you where to rent a boat and stuff like that. Mr Schonblatt manages the restaurant part. He’s the unsmiling, unfriendly person in the office who doesn’t tolerate sloppiness, mistakes or anything going wrong. Mr Schonblatt says they divided it up like that because his wife is better at dealing with beds and sheets and that kind of thing, and Mrs Schonblatt says it’s because she doesn’t have the head for the complexities of the restaurant. By the second day I’d worked there I’d figured out that the real reason is that Mrs Schonblatt is easygoing and good with people, and Mr Schonblatt is domineering and great with menus. As Mr Schonblatt likes to say (all the time!), the Clipper is a ship and he runs a tight one. He loves rules and giving orders, and he believes in efficiency the way other people believe in God. “This isn’t some chicken shack,” Mr Schonblatt also says a lot. “We have standards. Some very important people dine here.”
So Mr Schonblatt isn’t everybody’s boss of choice. But I’d always got on okay with him. Because of my positive and pleasing personality, he liked me right from the start. And I made sure I kept being positive and pleasing. Mr Schonblatt is a control freak (the brotherhood of dictators lost a star when he decided to go into the restaurant business), but I had no problem with that. Unlike the other waitresses and the guys in the kitchen, I always agreed with Mr Schonblatt and never talked back. I listened to his endless instructions and complaints like he was explaining the meaning of life. I was the smile that always said “Yes, sir”. (Loretta would have lasted about three and half minutes with Mr Schonblatt before she shut him in the walk-in fridge.) There must be someone, somewhere, who thinks Mr Schonblatt’s an okay guy, but you can be sure that person never worked for him. Even he must know that if the staff had to vote on who to sacrifice to the alien invaders, he’d be the unanimous choice.
But he was pretty nice to me. He gave me the best section to work, and he didn’t charge me for breakages or have a meltdown if I forgot the water glasses, like he did with everyone else. I know part of the reason he favoured me was because I was the prettiest waitress at the Inn, but there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s how the world works. It’s not just the rich who get preferential treatment. And it’s not just the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
So anyway, on that Monday morning, Mr Schonblatt had no trouble recognizing me, but he did look pretty taken aback. It could’ve been because I was ten minutes early, and he was used to me being a few minutes late (“Time, Giselle! Time! You know it waits for no one!”). But I figured from the way he was gazing at my legs that that wasn’t the reason he looked so surprised. I’d always worn a skirt before. I could tell he was disappointed.
“Well, Giselle,” said Mr Schonblatt. His eyes moved to my face. “What have we here?”
The other thing I could tell was that Mr Schonblatt also thought I used to be pretty.
“I decided to cut my hair for the Summer. You know, because it’s so much cooler.” My smile was still the same but it didn’t have the effect it usually had on Mr Schonblatt.
He didn’t smile back. “Um.” You know how cats can stare like they see something no one else can? Mr Schonblatt can do that, too. “And no make-up, either? Is that because you were making an effort at punctuality and didn’t have time to put it on, or is that also cooler?”
“It’s my skin,” I explained. “I really try to take care of it, but it’s kind of sensitive right now. Because of the heat.” My smile was philosophical and brave. “Sometimes you have to let it breathe.”
“What about your legs? They don’t have to breathe?”
I said that trousers are more comfortable, especially with all the walking we do.
“It seems to me you’ve decided to hide your light under a barrel,” said Mr Schonblatt.
It was more like I’d turned my light off, but I didn’t correct him.
He humphed. “Well, at least you look very efficient.” It didn’t exactly sound like the compliment you’d expect from the captain of such a tight ship.
I smiled sweetly enough to be a danger to any diabetic in the vicinity. “Thank you, Mr Schonblatt.”
And what do you think he said? “Just make sure you’re as efficient as you look.”
I’ve never
had this great ambition to be Miss Efficiency. I mean, why? Machines are efficient. Totalitarian governments are usually efficient. And robots can pretty much do no wrong. I didn’t want to be any of those things. Plus, even if I’m not the most efficient person who ever lived, I’m a pretty good waitress. Maybe sometimes I forget things or drop a fork. And maybe I can’t read minds so I don’t always know when a customer wants more water or bread, or when he’s done eating and not just taking a break. But I’m always friendly and helpful, and never rude or surly. Customers like me and my banter (I was known for my banter), and no one ever complained about me being disorganized or anything like that. Including Mr Schonblatt. Only now he seemed to think a nice personality wasn’t enough, I should be efficient too. Robowaitress.
Quel pain in the butt!
Loretta
New me, new world
ZiZi and I made it to the end of Week Two of our bet with no indication that either of us was about to call it quits. Which isn’t to say that I wasn’t tempted. In my head, I’d imagined that – once I was accustomed to being physically impaired and ogled all the time – it was all going to be smooth sailing on a dead calm sea on a cloudless, sunny day. That was what I’d imagined. The reality was different. It was more as if I was lost in space, hurtling through the universe in a tiny capsule, trying not to be hit by anything and to maintain contact with mission control – and not to cry because I was homesick.
As it turned out, the clothes part was the least of my problems. Getting used to wearing uncomfortable shoes wasn’t as difficult as I’d thought – they slowed me down some but I even mastered riding my bike in ZiZi’s pumps. Wearing dresses limits your ability to climb too high, vault over counters or heave yourself up onto the backs of trucks without people looking up your skirt, but I easily dealt with those things, too. I made sure that when I had to do any climbing, vaulting or heaving there was no one else around.
