The Wreck

The no nonsense, 75 year old cook ran the kitchen with a cast iron fist. We were a bunch of unruly teenagers that saw our summer on the guest ranch as more of a working vacation then a job. She didn’t like it when we got rowdy and would only allow a few boredom breaking activities. One that she tolerated was singing. We sang show tunes, country western ballads, and our favorite – TV show theme songs to pass the time. She only drew the line when we started making up our own lyrics because well, let’s just say they may have been a bit off color at times.

She would not put up with any horseplay like food fights or chasing each other around. If we started any of that she would come out from behind the work table wielding a large spoon or rolling pin and threaten to let us have it. She couldn’t have weighed more than 97 lbs. soaking wet, but nobody dared find out if she really meant it.

One day we walked in to see her standing at the top of the basement stairs, shaking with laughter with tears rolling down her cheeks. We ask her what happened and she pointed down the stairs and choked out the words “We’ve had a wreck”. We all ran to look and there at the bottom sat someone, almost unrecognizable, covered in flour with clouds of white still billowing around him. It was our dishwasher who, when trying to carry a 50 lb. bag of flour downstairs, had missed the last step. We all laughed so hard we cried, not just because of the wreck but because of the sight of her complete loss of composure.

Eventually she pulled herself together and told us to get it cleaned up and get back to work. Still feeling lighthearted someone started to hum until everyone burst out singing “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas”. Out of the corner of my eye I caught her quickly turning to stir a pot so we couldn’t see her smile. Still fighting to maintain order she grabbed a large metal spoon but when she turned to threaten us, couldn’t keep from laughing and ended up using it to direct the choir instead.