I was 17, spending a few months in Miami Beach to escape the bitter cold New York winter weather. Not yet having been to college or acquiring any job skills, I saw the sign in the window of the big Jewish Restaurant, and applied for a job as a Hostess. They did not offer me that job, but instead asked whether I wanted to be "The Cake Cutter."

The Cake Cutter's counter was positioned in the restaurants' huge window....and thereby viewed from the street by the curious and hungry throngs...and from in the restaurant by the fortunate and patiently, drooling customers. Inasmuch, as I had gotten into the annoying habit of providing for my own expenses such as room and board, I accepted that very enviable position.

 When I started working, I found the Cake Cutter's station was positioned right next to the cash register......a place constantly visited and attended to, by the six owners. The owners consisted of 3 couples: Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, Mr. and Mrs. Greenblatt and Mr. and Mrs. Katz.

 I need to tell you, at this point that I had stopped growing at 10 years of age...and was 5'9" tall. My nickname was "KLUTZ" (clumsy) which was a very appropriate description. Sooooo, I started the job which may appear simple, but there were some major complications...primarily that each cake and pie had to be handled differently, depending upon which type it was and whether it was 'ON THE DINNER OR ALA CARTE."

 For example: If it was cheese cake, I had to dip the Cheesecake knife in a glass of water first, and cut it by starting with the point of the knife and then pressing heavily on the back of the knife as I sliced it. However, if it was Strawberry Shortcake, I didn't have to dip the Strawberry Shortcake knife in water. I had to cut it from the back-to-the front first. Then again, there was Angel Food Cake....that had to be sawed, gently, from the center-to-the-front and then from the center to the back.

 Well, all of this was indeed confusing because I wasn't even allowed in my kitchen at home but I knew I could master it all. However, there were still further complications: It depended upon which of the partners were watching me.

 When Mr. and Mrs. Katz were at the cash register, they were very generous with the sizes of their portions...but Mr. and Mrs. Greenblatt insisted upon very tiny portions....and Mr. and Mrs. Cohen were satisfied with average sized pieces. Also, ala-carte portions had to be twice the size as those ordered on the dinner.

 Now, I was ready to start....not only did I have to work very quickly, but I had to remember which of the partners were standing next to me in order to determine the size to be apportioned, and then, I had to remember whether to slice, point, dip in water or saw. To make bad matters worse, the partners were always complaining about me..in Yiddish. (I barely understood Yiddish because that was the language my folks used when they didn't want me to understand what they were talking about and I also was familiar with some of the colorful Yiddish curses)..

 I certainly understood when they kept referring to me as "The Klutzy Shiksa" (clumsy, non-Jewish female) I put up with that horrendous job for 2 weeks until I received my first paycheck...Mrs. Katz told Mr. Katz to give "The Klutzy Shiksa" her salary. I accepted it, announced that I was quitting, and in my best Yiddish, cursed them, using the appropriate gesture.

 "I HOPE YOUR BELLY-BUTTON GROWS A GREEN ONION!"

As I walked out of the door, with all of the haughtiness a 17 year old could muster. I turned around and saw 6 pair of wide-open, disbelieving eyes. Hah! So much for that "KLUTZY-SHIKSA" stuff.