A Monday memory....

With diploma in hand following my college graduation, I headed back up to Boston in September of '76 in search of a job. Not a career.  A job. I don't think we thought about it in any other terms in those days.

First order of business was to find living accommodations.  My freshman roommate and I found a basement apartment just outside the city, halfway between Boston University and Boston College, off Commonwealth Ave.  That turned out to be the easy part.  A job?  A bit more challenging.  

After a month's searching, I finally landed here.  The center building of the Quincy Marketplace in downtown Boston had just reopened after a major refurbishment.  Up on the second floor was a brand new restaurant and the source of a paycheck - The Proud Popover

  Popovers. 

Appetizer.   Main course.   Dessert.

All served on popovers.

What are popovers, you ask?

Well, according to the blurb written in the menu:

"The Popover is a uniquely American invention, a speciality from the hearths of New England."

(I suspect the Englishman would take issue with that statement.

In reality, a popover is merely a small, round version of Yorkshire pudding.

From the hearths of Yorkshire, England. Not New England.)

It is a batter made up of milk, flour, eggs, and the drippings from a roast pan.

And it is delicious.

Anxious to attract business, the managers were keen to spread the word of the impending grand opening of the restaurant. Bear in mind that this was back in the dark ages, long before social media existed. So how exactly does one spread the word in '76?

Why with pamphlets, of course. 

And how does one put those pamphlets in the hands of potential customers?

Why you send out a recent college graduate dressed as a Colonial girl.

  (My uniform was comprised of a cap, such as the one above, a white peasant blouse, black laced cummerbund, mid length gold skirt, thick black stockings and white apron.) 

Embarrassing? Absolutely.

Did I mention I was in need of a paycheck?

There I was, standing outside the State Street T Station, handing out papers and urging people to come to The Proud Popover.

Business men, in particular, seemed to find it quite amusing.

A few struck up conversations with me. Oh yes, I said, my father was quite proud after having spent thousands of dollars on my education that I was now passing out leaflets.  

Well, not really.

As an added bonus, there was a parade planned to mark the occasion of the Marketplace's reopening.

The managers sent me to that, too.

I was on the evening news.  Shame my parents back in New Jersey couldn't see it, right?

I worked at the restaurant for the next four months as a "hostess" - the person who brings customers to their seats.  Overall, it was an interesting experience.  If nothing else, it certainly motivated me to actively search for another line of work.

But that's a story for another memory.....