THE MAROSAN’S WAITRESS (PART 2)

September 10, 2023 Opinion

The chicken mami of Marosan’s was legendary, making budgeting easy for the cash strapped to avoid hunger. The dish comes with one piece of crispy fried chicken placed on top of a bowl of
piping hot noodle soup laden with cabbage and spring onions. For the wise, an order of extra rice will be made and then split the order becomes a meal for two, with one eating the rice
and fried chicken and the other feasting on the vegetable noodle soup.

For the hungry, the two meals will fill cravings and become an indulgence. As the accidental waitress of Marosan’s, I found this genius, marveling at how an order can be stretched into two
meals but after the marveling, I found this kind of order irritating, as I had to navigate the tables carrying an almost overflowing bowl of piping hot noodle soup, topped with veggies and a substantial piece of chicken while carrying a plate of rice, serving trays were in low stock at the small familyowned resto and so I had to do service the traditional way.

I learned was a klutz early on in life, but had no qualms diving into tasks that required balance or even grace. So, when I signed up as a waitress, I knew in my heart I was headed for disaster. Days start slow in the small university belt resto, and most of the time, the orders of chicken mami would be most in demand in the morning, when it is still a bit chilly, making the hot soup compensate for the lack of warm weather gear or absence of a significant other. So I take the orders with my fake and trying hard Ilocano accent and dread the time I have to deliver it to their tables.

Why? Because I take a misstep in the balancing of soup and rice plate, with both hands occupied, I sometimes fail to see where I am going. Safe to say, there were many helpless people who I spiled soup on, enough for them to complain to management that I was a walking hazard. Some were more violent than others, of course this was hot soup and was not a joke to be spilled on you, I understood the anger, but managed to get away with it most of the time.

Until there was one boisterous group of Physical Education coaches who began frequenting the small student populated resto. These were the type of male coaches who had machismo enough to make you vomit, making side comments and basically being arrogant chauvinist pigs. They immediately noticed I looked different from all the waitresses, (my colleagues were waaay older than me), with my traying hard Ilocano accent and lowlander features, it was enough to illicit, playful comments and funny smiles from the group. I found them unappealing, so, one time, when their chauvinistic jokes were a little too much, the bowl of piping hot soup landed on their laps. Suffice to say, they never bothered me again.