What You Don't Know Doesn't Hurt You?

I have been telling you about my little house, in the little town called Cleghorn. I also worked part time in a little restaurant. We were desperately poor so what little I could make really helped. I generally did the dishes, cleaned tables, bussed dishes from the dining room and made salads and salad dressings for the dinner crowd.
One day the restaurant called and said that someone could not come in and would I come in and be the fry cook. Well I have never been scared of anything in my life especially when I was eighteen, so I told them ,“sure, I will be right there.”
Oh, I forgot to tell you it was on a Friday night. The little restaurant became a zoo on Friday nights. The little village of two hundred suddenly became the hangout for “old” people all two hundred of them. Old people have this habit of ordering steaks, “Ah let’s see, well done, medium well, medium, medium rare, rare, and if it bellers it is just right.” There were three Picks one for well that was brown, the pink was for medium and the red was for rare. I want to explain when you get the business men and their wives in to pay a good five dollars for their meal you had better get it right. All I can say is that it was a virtual nightmare. I was totally alone in the kitchen, cooking, salads, dishes, etc. Then the worst thing I can imagine happening to someone else let alone me, was that as I was putting a steak on a platter, it fell on the floor. I had only a split second to think. I ran water over it, put it back on the grill both sides for two seconds, slid it on the platter and out it went. No one said a thing about any grit, so it must have been alright. I wonder if I have ever gotten a steak at a restaurant that that could have happened to. Hmm probably.