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Restaurants/Serving

          Everyone has gone to restaurant at least once in their life and noticed the servers running around like crazy. Has anyone ever wonder why they depend on tips? My journey on this trail of finding out the true meaning behind tipping a server at a restaurant began in March of 2017 when I was observing my mentor teacher, Mr. Holmes, for an observation class I was taking. He was in the process of teaching his students 4 th grade math and how to count money and take percentages of money when he started to talk about the importance of tipping people at restaurants. Not only were the fourth-grade students learning something new, so was I because I always thought one had to tip the server because it was part of the restaurant policy. I didn’t realize that servers depended on that tip in significant ways.             Since my curiosity for this subject had increased significantly, I ended up getting a new job weeks later at a restaurant. I have been at Olive Garden for approximately
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A secret for the perfect lasagna

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                       I was about six years old when I realized how much fun it was to make a mess into a masterpiece. After school, I would run off the school bus and get into my mother’s car to go home. I dashed into the house and I heard my mom shout, Ready to make a mess in the kitchen? Now what six-year-old child doesn’t want to make a mess? I shouted back, Yes!           I know everyone is thinking we were about to make cookies, but we were making a pasta dish called lasagna. My mother had everything set up and prepared to make this messy masterpiece. She had one 13 x 9 pan, a one pound bag of mozzarella cheese, one 16-ounce container of large curd cottage cheese (must be the 1% in our household), two 6 ounce cans of tomato paste, one box of lasagna noodles, one pound package of ground beef, and two packets of the thick and zesty spaghetti seasoning made by McCormick. She had out the measuring cup for the two and half cups of water that is also needed for the recipe.   
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True Love

            I was fourteen years old and my brother, Richard, and I were playing outside with our bright blue kick balls. I remembered Richard’s voice saying, Ew what are those? Are those pimples on your legs! My legs were covered with these bright red little bumps that looked like dots that started from my ankle and ended half way up my thigh. I never knew what they were but that day I began to worry about them.             Richard always picked on me for my red dotted legs. I would go swimming or go for a walk in my favorite pair of shorts and my brother would point the dots out to all his friends and then before I knew it, they all would be screaming names out. Hey, polka dots, come here. Hey, you shaved your legs today, Miss Razor Bumps! I would run home crying, and I never wore shorts in the summer. I always wore black leggings or sweat pants no matter how hot it was outside.             My friends (Cody, Riley, and Natalia), would also talk to me about my legs and ask what
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The Beginning of Adulthood

Aggravation My eyes are open to nothing but darkness with a slight orange color coming from the window. The songs of the birds fill my ears. The rustling of bags and slamming doors are heard in the background. The boys are late as usual, I think to myself. As I pull the covers back slowly, the feeling in my arm returns. I pull over my olive-green work shirt with sleeves that stop 3/4 th down my arm over my head and down to my waist and then jumping into my dark blue jeans with the flower designs on the back pockets I start thinking, It’s time to get to work. I grab my pink pom-pom keys and sluggishly walk to my car. Arriving at this place with a green roof and a bright red GIANT sign, I start to walk in. Chattering of people, beeping of the registers, rustling plastic bags, and metal smashing into each other is all I hear as I walk to the black and green time clock. I took care of customers, one by one, and I begin to stare at the clock. The hour and minute hands are flying a
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Hard Work Pays Off

On August 26 th , I not only had to be awake at 6AM to get ready to attend my first day of junior year but I also turned 16. I woke up and got ready for school. I was wearing bright blue jeans with a pink and white tank top and a black flowery cardigan. Off to school I went. While at school the thoughts of “what car I want” and “asking my parents for a car” filled my head. Sitting at my desk looking straight at the wall and my thinking face on, my teacher knew I was daydreaming. I was, I was picturing going home and having a Chevy Camaro sitting in the drive way. Yellow and black, like the bumblebee in the movie transformers. The bell rang and I snapped out of it and boarded the bus. The whole time on the bus I was thinking My dad was going to say no, he hates spending money, that’s just how Richard is. My mother might say yes, she always spoils me, I mean that’s how Bonnie is. I ran up the hill to the dark red brick house I called home. My heart was racing, my face was on fire, and my
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