CHAPTER TWENTY
From what I can remember, it was the fall of 1992 when, after being unemployed for over six months, I finally got a job at Kentucky Fried Chicken in Sonora. I have only vague memories of working there, so it could not have lasted long. My strongest impression of it was how hard the work was — I had to scrub gigantic pots and pans that were covered in thick chicken grease and the breaded coating. (No, I don’t know what the secret herbs and spices were.) That was the hardest dishwashing job I ever had, almost painfully arduous labor that never seemed to stop. I continued my job search while working at KFC, as I had been doing ever since moving to Sonora.
During my time at KFC, I enjoyed visiting Coyote Creek, a popular restaurant in downtown Sonora. It had a diverse customer base and a friendly atmosphere. I liked sitting at the bar observing the people and drinking water or, if I had a dollar, an iced tea.
The bartender, a friendly man named Ralph, reminded me of my mom’s younger brother back home. I really wanted to work there; I could tell it was a friendly and relatively easygoing place, certainly as compared with Kentucky Fried Chicken, so every time I went in, I would ask Ralph if there was anything I could do there.
The two owners, Charles and Doug, were also the head chefs, and Ralph would always go back into the kitchen whenever I asked him if they were hiring, to see if there was a job for me. For a long time, nothing came of it. He would always come back with a disappointed expression and say, “They are not hiring right now.” But finally, one day, he returned from the kitchen with a smile and the good news that they needed a dishwasher.
I was thrilled. “When can I start?” I asked, my voice full of excitement.
I officially had a job as a dishwasher at Coyote Creek and started my training in the kitchen toward the end of 1992. This was another new beginning for me: the Coyote Creek chapter of my life.
I washed and carried dishes and glasses for forty or more hours a week, earning $4.25 per hour. When I wasn’t standing over a steaming hot sink, I was carrying racks of clean glasses from the kitchen out to the bar. It was always a nice break to get out of the hot kitchen, even for couple of minutes.
Just like at Kentucky Fried Chicken, the big pots and pans were the hardest things to scrub, and it was not easy work by any means, but I was very happy to be working at such a popular restaurant. I was meeting new people, learning more about American culture and society and, as always, earning more than I ever would have back home. I was a dedicated and hard worker. I took pride in anything I did for a living. Having a job and a consistent paycheck put a smile on my face and gave me a sense of security, and I never wanted to jeopardize that, mainly because I didn’t have a choice since I had no one to rely on.
I became good friends with Ralph during my time working there, as well as a cook named Jeff and his girlfriend, Chantilly, who was a waitress. I will always picture Jeff and Chantilly in the “Beauty and the Beast” costumes they wore one Halloween — they looked amazing in them.
The whole group took me out to a Huey Lewis and the News concert one night at the fairgrounds in Fresno. Ralph drove us there in his truck, with three of them up front and me in the bed, the cool California evening air blowing through my hair as the road flew by. I remember Ralph saying he was good friends with the lead guitarist’s father. The band rocked that night, singing many of my favorite songs.
This was my first time visiting Fresno. Ralph had ties to the city; he had attended Fresno State University and had a very good friend who worked for the post office there. I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings, though; I was focused on the swirling, thrilling atmosphere of the fair and the concert. I had no idea that the city I was visiting would eventually become my home for many years.
Comments