Johnny Come Lately

A Bottle of Red, A Bottle of White

2006-09-14T09:28:00.001-05:00

It all depends on your appetite,
I'll meet you any time you want,
In our Italian Restaurant!

Billy Joel, Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

Long time, I know. Here is the deal. Opening a new restaurant is pretty hard. Most of my summer prime money-making time was spent in competition with other bartenders and servers. Now it is officially "fall" season and our little corner of the world has slowed considerably. I will officially have plenty of time off! That is a good and a bad thing. Our bar staff is now narrowed to the core, and I am right there. The four of us that are left are now going to fill every shift from here til spring break! Oh, and this place is beautiful. People walk around in wonder sometimes. Others pretend like they could care less. It is kind of funny. We have LOADS of rich people who don't care a thing about prices. Obviously freaking great to have. I have thought of writing about them many times, because they are very interesting and often funny. That is part of the problem, too. I love most of them, and would never want to violate their trust and in most cases extreme generosity. One day I will tell some of their stories as I have told some others.

Here is a couple that I feel like I can tell:

I am waiting tables one day, and am given my little computerized chit with the guests name, number in his party and any notes, such as anniversary or birthday. In the note section it says VIP party of six, Mr (so-and-so) wants to sit in the wine room (which had not opened yet, this was the second day that we were open.) and that Mr (so-and-so) was disappointed. A waiter peeks over my shoulder and says "Oh, great, Mr (so-and-so.)" I am a bit paranoid and it is only day two, so I inquire what does he mean. He tells me that Mr (so-and-so) is a big spender and a great tipper, but so fucking fussy as to almost not be worth it. As I approach the table, I see three 30/40-something couples, all seemingly nice looking and fit, etc. I'll make it quick: 4 pound lobster as a group appetizer ($130) 3 bottles of Cakebread Chardonnay ($330) 4 bottles of Silver Oak Cabernet ($520 Alexander, not Napa) and all have food that would make any king satisfied. Mr (so-and-so) is upset because every thing took too long. It is our second night open, and the kitchen was very slow. It has done nothing but improve since then, but hey, this was day two! He had a number of special requests, all of which we complied with. Like I said not majorly upset, but upset enough that when he finds out that we have no more cold Cakebread Chard, he starts spouting off. He waves me away imperiously and tells me to bring him the best that we have by the glass. I bring him a glass of Rosenblum Chardonnay, which we get $14 a glass for. He tastes it and waves it away. "Get me a manager!" I go find the boss, he comes over and he and Mr (so-and-so) go over the litany of mistakes that have occurred. The most serious of course is not having ample amounts of cold Cakebread. Boss simply and calmly states, "Can I buy you some desserts and a bottle of the Far Niente Chardonnay to smoothe things over?" Fine! I go and get the wine, which of course goes over well, they order desserts but he wants his creme brulee to go. I go into the schpeel of how the we can get him the creme brulee to go, but it will lose all of it presentational value, and will not look anything like creme brulee, etc. He looks at his wife, and I shit you not says "I ain't gettin' it for the presentation, I'm gettin' it to lick off of her!" They then begin kissing like they were in a porno, falling over into the plush booth. I have to walk away or else a "vomit in the back of my mouth" would have occurred. They down the last bottles of wine, some have dessert, Mr (so-and-so) gets the check, doesn't even look at it and tips 25%, over a $200 tip. A few minutes later they are kind of chilling near the entrance and chatting, waiting for the valet parking, and something gets said. What it was I will likely never know, but I wish I did for the funny value. The woman who was to have the creme brulee licked off of her storms off. Mr (so-and-so) is lost at this point. He pretends to play it cool, says goodbye to friends, and then sets out to look for her. We close down, noone is left, it is all just a matter of resetting the tables, cashing out, and then time to go home. When all is nearly done, 45 minutes later, in comes Mr (so-and-so) and he asks "Have you seen an angry blonde woman anywhere?" Nope. A couple of weeks later I am behind the bar chatting with another wealthy, self-employed, semi-retired regular who knows Mr (so-and-so) through another way, and also works for him sometimes in his business. Mr (so-and-so) and this dude spy each other in the restaurant and greet each other all friendly-like, chit-chat a few minutes and then Mr (so-and-so) and his wife(who is at his side despite whatever happened that night) leave. As soon as the valet gets their car, the bar guest begins to go on and on about what an asshole he is, and how "much I hate that fucker!"

Another time, I am bartending and in comes a 30-40's blonde woman. Nicely dressed and groomed, nice looking as well. She orders some nice wine, asks me what I think about Duckhorn merlot. I tell her that I am not much of a merlot drinker, but if I would make an exception, it would certainly be for some Duckhorn, and we carry three really good Duckhorn merlots by the bottle. Others arrive, and soon the party grew to six, all drinking premium stuff. I soon realize that she is waiting for a Dr, and he too soon arrives. Then she asks for their bill which is over $100. She hands me a corporate credit card (confirming my suspitions) for a major pharmaceutical company, doesn't blink once at the prices and tips 25%, thanking me. About two hours later they are all leaving, obviously tipsy, they are thanking her profusely as she walks them out. Their server was Dave, a hilarious server who won't stop cracking jokes. It is kind of in his nature to be funny. Dave is probably 40, salt-and-pepper hair, and is known for having a "car-bar" in the back of his truck. He and anyone around go after the shift is over and sneak a quick one in before heading home. I ask Dave if they had hooked him up at all, an he confirmed it with a "hell yeah! Duckhorn Napa Valley ($99 a bottle) is sold out!" A few minutes later the woman is back at the bar digging through her purse. In an attempt to appear attentive, I approach and ask her if she has stopped for an after dinner drink. She says no, and continues looking in her purse. After a few seconds she looks around for me and I make eye contact and re-approach her. She is pretty loaded and almost appears to be struggling with her words.

Do you...uhm
Do you.....have..do you...have...
do you have....any....any....uhm
coke
ME: "What?" Shocked look on my face
HER: "You know...some coke" she says the final word out the side of her mouth
ME: "Do I look like I could afford habits like that?"
HER: "You could probably get some, right?"
ME: "I don't know how!"
HER: "Can you ask someone?"
Just what I wanted to do! Geez, it's like she could read my mind. Lemme just get George Jung from my speed dial! So luckily it was late at night and there wasn't anyone else left at the bar, and only a few left at all in the restaurant. I can pretty much avoid her until she gets the point. I leave the bar entirely and head for a different section of the restaurant. I run into Dave her server and he is jovial as always.
ME: "Hey Dave, your girl needs some coke..why don't you hook her up!?"
Dave: a little bit nervously "What...What do you mean?!"
ME: "The pharmaceutical rep chick. She came back to the bar and is looking to score some coke. You wanna hook her up?"
Dave leans around the corner, looks her up and down, big smirk arching accross his face. Without missing a beat quips "Great. Just what I need in my life...another coke whore." He walks away shaking his head and laughing. "Lemme' make a call" he says laughingly when he is almost out of range. I can't tell if he was for real, or just being Dave.

And that brings up my final thing. I am not a druggie. I am not inncoent, and don't judge people who are or are not. I have tried enough drugs in my 36 years to ultimately find them pretty lacking. I last got high when I smoked some weed before a big football game with some friends in 2001. I can't see doing it all the time. I know people who do the "wake-and-bake." For anyone who doesn't know, that is a peron who lights a joint or does a bong hit as they wake up. I have had a few opportunities to do some of the really hard drugs, but have never done them. No coke, heroin, crack, crystal-meth. Some pot, some acid, some mushrooms. Call it immaturity, call it experimental or whatever. These people are people with money, serious money as well as some problems. We have had people that drank three bottles of Chatuea Laffite Rothschild at $375 per bottle, and then soon after caught them in the bathroom doing coke. Or the ones that ordered some Opus One and then grabbed it from the server so that the host could pour it and spilled it all over the place. Did he get upset? No, he said "Fuck it, I'm rich, get me another one!" High. More than one of these people are local/regulars.
It makes me wonder how did they get their money? Our ends meet, but we live modestly. I feel like we make pretty decent money and all. How the hell do they have so much and are able to do so much drugs, booze and fine food. It almost makes me feel like for the first time like I work in a place that I can't afford. Is that right?
Alli and I went out to eat there, and even with my 50% discount, it was still about the third or fourth most expensive meal that I had ever eaten. It was a really great time, but one thing that I have learned that it isn't about the food for most people. It's is about the company. The service. The experience as a whole. I have had some really great meals for less than half the money because the company was so great. This meal was the best one though. A bottle of wonderful wine, some awesome food. A great atmosphere, and service enough to spoil anyone. Best of all, I had my best friend, Alli, and the daughter who shares my birthday with me (who behaved/endured through a two-hour fine dining meal on her [and mine] fifth birthday.) I couldn't have asked for more on a birthday. Thank you Alli and June Bug!

If you ever have any doubts what a fine meal can mean, please, I urge all of you to rent Babbette's Feast. It is slow at first, and a "gasp, shock and horror" a Foreign movie with subtitles! Any food lover will love it, and I often blame this movie and a place called Jaleo's in Washington DC for the marriage to my wife. These were things that I showed to her that she had never heard of before, and damn, but we had a fine time at each of them. I think that it would be difficult to have gotten Alli to marry me had I not known a lot about food and wine. I will always remember going to Jaleo's with Alli, and how we spent hours there drinking sangria and stuffing ourselves. Possibly the only better meal than the one we had at my new place. There was no June Bug back then, there was only two people realizing how much they knew about life without knowing each other. And it was a match. A real one. When I first watched Babbettes Feast, I really liked it. Alli insisted that I tell her nothing about the movie. NOTHING!! I tried to give her a little warning, about how incredibly happy , AND sad that this movie was. I almost insisted, but her will was stronger. About half way through, she began to sob...2/3 of the way it was almost blubbering. By the time the movie was over, she was so sad and happy at the same time that she was MAD AT ME, for not telling her how emotional it was. Her eyes were swollen from the crying for two days. We have watched it a few times since, always pushing it on som unseuspecting person. Alli's Dad, when the movie first came out (1988) actually went to a restaurant that duplicated Babbette's Feast! Anyways, more blubbering. When Alli's Dad came to DC, we took him to Jaleo's. He stared, mouth watering openly at the menu of TAPAS. He asked the server if he could bring us "THE ENTIRE SECOND PAGE." The server happily complied, and spaced it so that we never had more than three tapas on the table and they were always recharged when we were done. It was the perfect mixture of food and service, and if you ever go to DC and have the chance to go, please go! They are the best TAPAS this side of Barcelona. Anyhow, all that I know is that when we went to my place we spent $300 even with my 50% discount. We could have bought some stock? Put it away for a rainy day? Provided some school clothes for our daughter? Given it to Charity? No. We had a fine dining meal. We had USDA Prime, Bone-in-ribeye and some wonderful lamb-chops. We had some amazing potatoes, some uber premium veggies, fall of the face of the earth they were so great appetizers, and some of the most delicately prepared desserts ever. Not to mention, an exquisite bottle of wine. I have since asked my local wine retailers if they could get us some of this wine, and all agreed that the best way was to get it through the vintner, "if it was available." My restaurant had it. We loved it, and drank it as it slowly changed flavors over the course of an hour and a half...I have since had it a couple of more times. It was best when I drank it with Alli. She, and our daughter are the ones that I live for.

I ran down to the levee,

2006-05-01T15:22:00.000-05:00

But the devil caught me there.
He took my twenty dollar bill
And he vanished in the air!

"Friend of the Devil" The Grateful Dead

So in leaving one job and heading to the other, I have been slowly saying goodbye to all the friends who have made that old place bearable. That means (especially in the restaurant business) many beers. In having these many beers I have managed to piss off Alli quite a bit, for which I am sorry. The old place was OK, but since they often hired with only a marginal amount of experience, the caliber of employee has usually been lacking. Often times very young, often their first time in a restaurant job (going from hostess/busser into the server jobs after a few months.) In the new place, the servers and bartenders ALL have at LEAST 3 years experience, usually MUCH more, and with much of that experience at a fine or upscale level. I was there today stocking the bar with some of the bar staff, and we were noticably all pros. It will be fun to work in a place with a cast of characters like this. That wasn't to say that in my last job there weren't some really great people, there were many, in fact. Just more of the crappy type than I like to deal with. I will miss lots of the old crew, and I hope to see them all out there on the town somewhere or else even dining in each others restauarants. Now if only I can find a way to go hang out without making Alli so mad!!
I try and explain that it is just like Happy Hour for her, but all she sees is the hour at which I arrive home! Getting home at 1am is like getting home at 6pm in her 8-4 world! That of course is followed by the usual questions of "who was there?" and "how much did you sepnd?" Anyone female I guess would have to represent the devil, especially any single females. My twenty dollar bill just vanished in the air! Well I guess that 1am does not mean stumbling in at 4am after playing cards all night. It also probably doesn't mean going with all the gang to "The Block" (a night club, not a notorious portion of the area.) where all those sordid types go (even if it was for only an hour.) Sorry, Alli!

The new place looks to be very swank. Really quite beautiful so far. It isn't near finished, and already we are a week behind. Since we have no work for a week, and I (along with most others) have quit my old job, the new place is going to pay us all $500 for this delay. To vacation, basically. Nice, I guess, but I should really be working making a lot more than that.

I Like Food! Food Tastes Good!

2006-04-18T09:23:00.000-05:00

"Juicy burgers, greasy fries
Turkey legs and raw fish eyes
Teenage girls, with ketchup too!
Get out of my way, or Ill eat you
I like food, food tastes good!
I like food, food tastes good!
Im going to turn dining back into eating."

"I Like Food" The Descendants

An old 16 second long hard-core punk song from back in the day! Just a little something to get back into the swing of things. I guess that I have never been much of a diarist, but always wanted to write something. Every time that I would write a paper in school or for anything, I would always get comments from the teacher or professor. They would always give me an "A" (even though many times I had only written it the night before) and question me on the way that I wrote. I remember writing many weird things in college. There was the time that I wrote why the Clash song "Rudy Can't Fail" was really the best way to go through life. I got an "A," and had my 60 year old prof. listening to the Clash soon after. I also once got a "C-" on a paper, but that was a difference of "opinion." A geology professor of mine asked our class to write an "opinion" piece about "Earth Day." I told her (in 750 words) that it was nothing but a bunch of tree-hugging ex-6o's radicals trying to "foster awareness" and then raping the government for billions and trying to hurt capitalism. I used evidence to point out my case, and included articles I had clipped about Earth Day from the Washington Post. I wish that I still had that paper. I saved it for many years after I wrote it. Everyone else in the class toed the line and handed in gobbledy-gook, many of them hand-written. I am sure that there were some "B's," but I didn't see any of them, only "A's." I had the C-minus, and scribbled into the paper in green felt pen were dozens of comments to each of my statements, many of them quite nasty in nature. The double spacing, the margins, the indices, headers and footers were filled with green ink. The back of the paper, too. There was also a giant green "SEE ME AFTER CLASS" at the top. When I saw her after class she got all flustered, and could barely speak. I had touched a nerve with my writing, and then simply rubbed her nose in the assignement: "Professor, you wanted an "OPINION" on Earth Day and I gave you mine, backed it up wth evidence, and for THAT I got a C-minus?" I ended up with an "A" in the course, and always kept that paper as a source of pride. In my nomadic mid 20's it was somehow placed in a pile of old shit that got thrown away.

Anyhow, I have been working in the restaurant industry now for going on near a decade. I have worked at some upscale places, some middle of the road places and some REALLY cserappy ones. I have bartended, waited tables and managed in these places. As of late, I have been working again in casual dining. Not low end, actually kind of high end casual dining, but casual nonetheless. So there is this fine dining restaurant opening up here real soon and a few of the people I work with got it in their heads that they should go and apply. They asked me to go with them, and to my surprise wanted me to go with them "because we know that you (me) will be a slam-dunk/no brainer!" I was a bit surprised at that comment, and almost wondered aloud why they thought that. They figured that with "me" there, that they could ride my coat-tails into a fine-dining job without any experience in the fine-dining area of the industry. Well I got the job, and they didn't. I will now leave the casual dining scene behind me, and go into fine-dining. My friends were offered the job of "food-runners" which is a step below server, and a direct and natural step before serving. They passed. Since I had experience in upscale places, and lots of bartending experience, I will now take over a fine dining bar! 150-soon to be 250 different bottles of wine(we will be adding regularly until we get to 250, non-pedestrian wines,) every damn liqour-liqueur there is known to man, all served along with the freshest prime seafood, steaks and produce (and expensive) that the world can produce. Yup, this is the world of the $12 cocktail, the $18 appetizer, $30 glass of wine and $80 steaks. Don't get me started on the live Maine lobsters. Fucking fries will be $7.25! There are no sandwiches on the menu here! I am a bit stressed and nervous and happy all at the same time. I am stressed because my bartending knowledge is very rusty/pedestrian at this point. I went and bought a New York Baretnders Guide and it looks painful. There is so much to know, and as a fine dining bartender, it will be my job to know and tell it. There is also wine. Now Alli and I can drink some wine. We love to find good wine and match it to food. We nearly always buy a bottle when we go out and eat. Now I am expected to sell a $200 bottle of Meritage to the customers to "properly enjoy their rack of lamb." Well when you sell that bottle of wine, they practically expect you to know the vintner personally! Either that or at the very least know the rainfall for that area of the Sonoma Valley that year! That is simply out of my league! Now we will have a sommelier, and the owner is also a long-time sommelier, so that is all cool, but do you want to open a $200 bottle of wine and make a mistake in the Emily Post ettiquette of the situation? Me niether. I am excited about the learning aspect of it all as well. Once I have worked in a place of this caliber, it is unlikely that I will ever be turned away snootily at any other restaurant in the country. I could apply as manager, bartender, server or whatever. Two years at a place like this on my resume and I am in anywhere. I plan on taking this very seriously, and will be studying like mad for the next month or so to get my knowledge "up to speed." I will take the time on this blog to update when I can, but who the hell knows.

Well I know one thing:

I LIKE FOOD, FOOD TASTES GOOD!!

Acid casualty with a reposessed car

2006-01-10T10:40:00.000-06:00

Vietnam Vet playin air guitar!
It's just the shit-kickin' speed-takin', truck-drivin' neighbors downstairs.
Truck-drivin' neighbors downstairs (Yellow Sweat) by Beck

No kidding, I think that I have waited on this guy at least twice in the past month. Here is the thing: We are a tourist-based economy. No surprise. Destin, Florida. Awesome fishing, the most beautiful emearald green beaches with sand that looks and feels like granulated sugar. Golf courses galore, things for the kids, the parents, even a nice Outlet Mall, with all of last-years latest from Gucci, Coach and Brooks Brothers. Lots and lots and lots of restaurants. Pretty much every chain has a location in Destin (except for the real upscale ones, i.e. Ruth's Chris or McCormick and Schmick's) and there are many, many more privately held ones. Starting mid-spring and continuing straight through the summer is boom time around here. Boom time. People with crazy amounts of money, looking to spend it in exchange for services and a good time. Now is the time however for the "locals" of which the picture presents a perfect snap-shot of the ideal specimen. Who are the typical people that come to the Panhandle of Florida to vacation? Here are my prime examples with a little commentary on what it is like to wait on them working in a restaurant where the food is fresh, good and fairly expensive.

The Redneck Local (pictured above)

Drinks: Light beer or Bud bottle. Could care less if there is a happy hour on draft beer, drinks bottled beer, no exceptions. His woman may join him for one drink, something fruity and frozen, but more often than not will just have diet-coke. Someone has to take care of her man when he gets too intoxicated to function later in the evening.

Eats: Steaks, usually a porterhouse, though sometimes a ribeye. In any case, the steaks are usually the largest on the menu and are cooked well-done. If he gets the Ribeye, he will complain that it is fatty, even though most of the normal marbling has been cooked away.
She will get the small filet (pronouncing it feelett-miniown attempting to act like she knows it isn't pronounced like it is spelled and tries some sort of a southern-french type accent) and it is cooked well done. Since we are in the south, we have their prefferred sweet-potatos. Good thing, too.

Tips: $2 unless the chick has ever worked in a restaurant (he hasn't, that is certain) in which case the tip is 15%, but she will utterly piss off her dude as he attempts to convince her that it is way too much to leave.

Why they are in the pan-handle: Someone needs to build fences, roofs, and roads down here.

Uniforms/Habits: These days it is long-sleeve flannel shirts and jeans, but see above picture for the summer uniform. Often wears a hat for a Big Time Southern football school, but has about as much chance of NOT having attended said college as your chance to find some brand of smokes on them. Many times (if they are from out of state) they come in cigarette dangling from their mouths asking for the smoking section. In the summer time, be thankful you got the tank top on them. If you are a dude, then you are "Buddy" and a female is "Sugar."

The Snow Birds!

Drinks: Happy-Hour drinks! They come and though they have never been there before KNOW through word of mouth that our Happy Hour has many premium liqours, including their favorite, Beefeater Gin Martinis! At $2.69 a pop, you aren't making very much, but what the fuck, let them have fun!

Eats: Your cheapest steak, split, cooked medium. "Bring an extra bowl with the salad but we'll pay for an additional side." You're fucking-a-right you will! These people also have the annoying habit of not telling you what they want until they have finished their first round. They will converse happily with each other, just the two of them at your four or six-top, drinking $5 worth of good hootch. When they are good and ready, they will tell you what they want to order, though any of us could have guessed already. They will also stress to you several times that they aren't in any rush, and that they will be upset if things come out too fast. Great. So all in all, they will sit at your table for more than an hour and a half, and have a $35 bill. As long as they don't get dessert and coffee, you will survive. If that happens, write off that table for the night and concentrate your services elsewhere.

Tips: 15%. Almost no exceptions, although it will sometimes be 20%. Not because you were so great, or went our of your way, just because they always leave 20% at a restauarant. "Oprah told the woman 'that was what you leave these days'."

Why they are in the Panhandle: Because it is cheap to come off-season (they are normally here October to February only) and it is freaking cold in Cincinatti right now.

Uniforms/Habits: Absolute musts are the trucker-caps with their military affiliation or else a touristy one that may simply say "Destin" or where ever they may hail from. Females will always come equipped with a coat, since the AC is always on here in Florida. Habits are luring you into a conversation about yourself, which will then be followed by them telling you all about themsleves. CAUTION: If two Snow Bird couples sit near each other, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER expose them to one another. Life stories will ensue, followed by golf dates, shopping sprees and who the hell knows, maybe wife-swapping. Putting two sets of Snow Birds near each other is like sparks and gasoline. Your section goes UP IN FLAMES!! Two 15-20% tips on miniscule checks from two of your three table station, for HOURS worth of work. I have seen them dominate a section sitting at a table like love-struck teens AFTER they have eaten and paid their bills for two hours at a time. That means no turning that table, no new guests, no new tips. Do they realize what they just did to ruin your night? Uhm, the answer is no.

The Post Golf dinner.

Drinks: Note all the water on the table. They are dehydrated from playing golf, and may have had a beer or scotch already at the 19th hole. They will drink water and lots of it. One guy may be drinking beers, but he is an alcoholic and tolerated by these guys because he can drive the ball 300 yards every time.

Eats: Could run the gamut. Steaks, pastas, rack of ribs. They will usually add lobster tails, though.

Tips: A guy who golfs can score a brownie point or two by asking where they played, comment on the course, and chat golf for 30 seconds. This will get you exactly zero extra tip, since they are already tipping 15-20% judging you solely on keeping their ever-empty water glasses full and get their orders right. If an attractive female waits on these guys, she is going to act ditzy, get treated in a sexist manner, and tipped very well. They will often ask a male server about titty bars. Their wives are shopping.

Why they are in the Panhandle: Duh. Good for the local escort services, golf courses, and yes often restaurants. Usually loaded with cash.

Uniforms/Habits: Greg Norman gear, Nike Golf gear, khaki pants, stupid hats, and golfers tans. Habits are to act like they are going to hook you up with a fat tip, often boasting that "We'll be one of your best tables of the night" then leave, giving the "verbal tip;" "Hey, great job, every thing was FANTASTIC, tonight. Really super." $23 on $150 unless you are C-cup or larger in which case you had to endure 90 minutes of them hitting on you, bragging and showing off for $30 on $150.

The newly married Baptist Couple.

Drinks: Water or sweet tea.

Eats: Usually a modified version of one of your dishes, something tasty, until you take out the shitake mushrooms, sundried tomoates and red pepper. They may let you keep the Gouda cheese on there after a detailed explanation of what Gouda cheese is, but most often just want pasta, chicken and cream sauce.

Tips: Random. They are usually very young, therefore it isn't their fault, noone has told them how to tip yet. Daddy or Mommy has taken care of everything up to this point in their lives, and they are down here alone often for the first time. They have money, and if they knew how to tip would likely do so. Unfortunately they usually just leave a couple of bucks on a $45 check. Bonus Tip: This couple is most likely to leave you a "pass-it-on-card" as part of your tip.

Why they are in the Panhandle: Often times they are sent there on some sort of religious activity and come during off-peak season for the reduced prices. Sometimes they are honeymooning, but the only thing that is certain is the titty bars aren't getting richer with these kids around. Not that that is a bad thing, of course!

Uniforms/Habits: Uniform is a pinpoint cotton oxford and khakis on him, and frumpy dresses (even if she is hot) on her. Their habits are to act clueless and barely speak to one another, nor to you. They will be going to the movies after dinner, and even after that will barely speak.

There are many more types out there, and I will get to all of them in due course. Destin is nothing, if not predictable. People crazy from the heat! Please take no offense by any of these "stereotypes" if you recognize some of this in yourselves, just change what it is that you are doing and prove me wrong! I love exceptions to these rules.

I'm just gettin' back, but you knew I would,

2006-01-10T09:00:00.000-06:00

War is hell, when will it end? "What's happenin' Brother," by Marvin Gaye

Dedicated to the baby-bro, QuestingCat who is headed back to the "sandbox" at some still classified time in the near future. I also have to stress out when I hear crap like "Now that my airmen are returning from Iraq, there is a chance that I may be going there pretty soon" from Alli.
Not the best of news, but as a military family it is what we are forced to deal with in times like these. Obviously no dis to the GWOT, just a lowly military spouse/brother bitching about people so close having to suck up time away from all that they love, even if it is for a critical thing as a war against Islamo-fascists who could care less that you are a socialist or a capitalist. Off with your head, Infidel!

I guess that I am just extremely proud of them both.

Roam if you want to, Roam around the world

2005-12-28T05:10:00.000-06:00

Roam if you want to.... Roam, The B-52's

Well consider it official, for the most part. Hanging out with the baby Bro tonight, and he informs me that it is all but official. He is headed out AGAIN, for the desert. Couple of months left in the civilized world, and then back to the "Sandbox" for he and his unit. This time he will likely head out as an E-5 Sergeant. He is headed for the promotion board, and then to class. Expected to rejoin his unit in a "leadership" position, especially since there has been a literal "75-80%" turnover since their return in all positions. Literally, 4 in 5 guys, leader or private are gone since the units return from Iraq. What do they face?

Though it is nearly impossible to find it anymore, (I will have to find out how from the baby-bro) there are many excerpts from his worst day in Iraq last year still out there on the Internet.) Maybe he may one day let me mirror all of his crap that the Army has had him take down.

A tiny excerpt:

The army started a training system, a system to try and back up the combat medic. They call it the Combat Life Saver, or CLS. A line soldier given just that extra bit of first aid training, so that if the situation calls, and there is no medic handy they can leap into action, and administer the most desperately needed care. ...
My day started off so normal. ...
Very rarely does any shit go down in this town. It is quiet and we like it that way. ...
You want to know the most terrible moment of a disaster? It is that split second when it begins. When all of a sudden there is a bright flash, that is nothing special except that it is the big break with reality to the fucked up world you are about to begin. A split second of bright light, and for the briefest second, there is no thought in your head, everything in you braces for....for what?
[...]
Glass and sound rain down on me...I know it was bad, I have NEVER heard anything so loud and light debris is falling all around me. I get off the stairs, and get my fucking helmet on. wouldn't it fucking figure, walk around ALL THE FUCKING TIME WITH THAT THING ON AND THE ONE TIME I MIGHT REALLY HAVE NEEDED IT, I WAS RELAXING.
What happened?
IED? VBED? Mortar? Rocket?
The local leaders are in a rush to get out that door. Everyone is trying to run for safety. Above it all, I hear my CO say, "It is safer inside than out".
"GET INSIDE" I scream, I am shocked to see everyone pause at this...look at me...the CA chief takes up the call and begins shouting directions and we get everyone directed to a safe spot under the stairs...now we have to move out.
What the fuck happened?
We begin to move out, doing the infantry thing, moving betweens buildings and along walls to get back to our vehicles...everyone falls into sync as we try to get back to our vehicles, roll out and react. I make the dash for the humvee I am gunning off...no one is firing all the vehicles look to be where we left them...no one is rushing to attack.
What the FUCK happened?
VBED goes around in shouts around our perimeter, Casualties go around. Then MY name goes around. Our convoy has no medics and 3 CLS. 2 of those CLS are on the CO's Bradley crew. I'm the third. FUCK. My name is being screamed. Someone is hurt. You're on kiddo. FUUUUUCK.
I'm running...I'm trying to remember my training...and even as I move, some piece of me is awake and thinking without me. Some piece of me sees that I am going to a Bradley's drivers hatch. Some piece of me knows that Cowboy was driving one of these Bradleys. FUCK. My mind feels like it can't grasp anything. This is a very shitty day.
What the FUCK happened?VBED goes around in shouts around our perimeter, Casualties go around. Then MY name goes around.
[...]
WHERE THE FUCK IS THE CHOPPER?
[...]
CHOPPERS! FUCKING THANK GOD!
[...]
I ride the gun, because I want some time to think. I ride the gun so no one can look directly at me if I break. I ride the gun, so if the opportunity presents itself, if there is call, then I can cause the absolute maximum damage possible. I want to cleanse myself in fire. ...
[...]
UPDATE: Well, my buddy is still under serious observation. The swelling is too bad to accurately assess damage, but he can see apparently. They can't move him until they are sure. ...Also, he had a bruise on his chest. I didn't notice it at the time, but apparently a large chunk of metal from the VBED nailed him in the chest as well. But thank God I didn't have to treat a sucking chest wound. He like all of us out here has the trauma plate to our IBAs.What happened to him puts into perspective something I've been seeing all along. That fucking vest we wear has proved it's fucking worth. The damn thing adds like 10 degrees to every hot day, the plates limit your range of motion and add like 20 fucking pounds to your regular load. Those things are horrid, and they are killing my back, giving me pains I never had before. All sorts of soreness in our lower backs. If you watch the movie Black Hawk Down, you see a Ranger pull the plate out of his back saying he didn't want the extra weight. All I can say is that I am keeping mine in.
[...]
The only parts hurt on this kid were parts not covered by his IBA. That shit works, I'd buy stock in it. I will gladly continue to wear my plates and stop complaining.This shit has me so freaked out. I'm not scared for me; I'm scared of what could have happened. I am so glad this kid had his plates. Long before any of us got there, those things saved his ass. They save lives all over Iraq.

My Baby-bro and I have "roamed" all over many countries in the infantry/Army fashion. Luckily, most of my roaming has been sans live ammo. Baby Bros...not so much...Headed back there, I think! I will keep everyone updated as I can.

I hate to look into those eyes

2005-12-22T10:23:00.000-06:00

And see an ounce of pain "Sweet Child O' Mine," Guns n Roses

So my little girl has been pretty sick lately. She picked up a nasty cold in pre-school, promptly gave it to me, (I then passed it around the restaurant, including to the owner and her husband, which they really loved) and she has not been able to shake it. Last week we did what parents do, and took her to the Dr. No problem, she has an upper respiratory infection, here is some amoxicillin, keep her on the 'tussin. Yesterday she woke up and was COVERED in hives. She is cheery, even playful, but just covered in hives. Face, neck, trunk, legs and arms. Scary. As two people who have never had an allergy, neither Alli or I have ever been affected by such things. So we go to the emergency room, and the Dr took one look at her, another at her admittance record, and simply said "Hey, this little girl is allergic to pennicillin!" Looked her over, prescribed her some stuff, and off we went. Hopefully things will get better for the kid. She has been sick the entire month of December. Poor thing.

So the sweet tea and Dr. Pepper have been flowin' freely in my section lately! Lots of steak well dones. If it isn't that, it's the old fossils. Who in the hell drinks Grey Goose Gibsons and tips 10%? Old ass people, that's who! Then again, it has been pretty hit or miss. Monday, I could do no wrong. 20-30% from every table. Add to it I was training a new server, who I let greet and (kind of) carry most of my tables. She thinks that this place is a gold mine after that shift. Tuesday, was a completely different story. In fact, it was difficult not to take it personally it was so bad. I got at one point, a $5 tip on a $125 check. That's right, it was the ole' "Buck a head" rednecks theory in action. There were five of them. $2 on $60. I should have known when I saw the Marlboro 100's and flannel shirt. Last night I even waited on people who commented how great everything was going, and how perfectly I was serving them. She even confidently told me after I had bussed their salad dishes that she knew I was doing great because "I'm a Mom, my daughter here is a waitress, and her boyfriend there is a cook!" What did they tip? A calculated 15%. Jeez, thanks...I politely asked the the host staff for no more mullets in my section.

So a while back I was tagged for five random facts about me that not a lot of people know.

1. I met Alli online. Love@aol.com which is now defunct. It was free, and I had put my ad up and she saw it. We were matched from the start. Same interests, same opinions, same attitudes. The only problem was sorting through the CD collections and all the doubles we had. It was kind of a trip to find someone so similiar so quickly, but hey! Whatever works.
2. Alli is the only person I ever met online. I had tried previously, and have tried many times since. (not to get laid, but for frineds!) I consider it likely that I will meet one once things start to slow down a bit, as I have been in touch with a fellow Bostonian now down here on the Emerald Coast. He and I will likely tip a few, but I just need to get a day off that isn't Christmas for this to happen. I have tried to join online groups, offered to hang out, but was ultimately stood up or rebuffed numerous times.
3. I was suspended from high school for fighting after the Red Sox lost the 1986 World Series to the Mets. We lived in rural Connecticut, halfway between the two towns and I was constantly teased about being a Sox fan by one idiot in particular who even went so far as to come to my cross-country practice in order to tease me some more, throwing rocks in the proccess. I saw him in the hallway the next day, and I punched him once in the solar-plexus. He immediately passed out and sustained a concussion when he hit his head on the ground. These days I probably would have been thrown in jail for assault and battery...As an ardent Boston fan, I can safely say that most of us are idiots.
4. I was never "pinned" as a Sergeant in the Army. My orders were printed for me when I PCS'd to Fort Bragg. In the Army they like to have a little ceremony, read the NCO's creed, and then the senior Sergeants tag you, or smash your new rank into your shoulder blades. Well in leaving the Old Guard I was literally a CPL E-4 one day, and then upon sigining in to the 82nd an E-5/SGT. They had (back then, I have no idea if this still applies) a 100 point drop in the points that you needed to make rank, E4 to E-5 since I was leaving a "leg" unit and joining an "airborne" one. Instant E-5! I was handed orders that gave me my E-5, and told to wear the rank by the clerk "if you want to avoid a beating." I went down to a little sewing shop on Yadkin Rd and had the new ranks sewn on for 50 cents. As for my airborne, air assault, and EIB...well I took the beatings for all of those.
5. I was reduced in rank to E-4! Actually, I never even knew it! I was out of the Army in October of 1995, right in the heart of the Clinton Administration, major cutbacks all around for the Pentagon. I joined the Army National Guard and was given a team (while in the 82nd I had a squad) and was told my duties. No problem. I start school and bartending/waiting. Drills are all weekend long, once a month, usually starting on Friday night for infantry guys like us. So I basically miss out on the three best days of the week to work for what was back then like $125. Ends are meeting, no problem. I had the GI Bill and the Army College Fund. Making decent money...problem! The unit is totally tapped for funds, and every drill is more of a sleeper than the last. Most people consider it "free money" if they don't have to work. I consider it a waste of my time. ESPECIALLY when we go out to a tiny Fort in the backs of 2 1/2ton trucks in the dead of winter to practice "Squad attack" every single weekend. At one point we are having an AAR and our company commander had asked for any input. Little did he know that there was LOTS of input about the drill. All of the lower ranked people began complaining to me about many real issues. I become their de-facto spokesman. At the AAR, I bring up many issues that we all noticed, but everyone was afraid to say anything about. After like the sixth issue I bring up, the CO tells me to sit down and shut the fuck up. I never went to drill again. They administratively reduced me to E-4 for being AWOL...another year goes by and I get some official looking paperwork and it turns out to be my DD 214, giving me my honorable discharge for time served, 8 years total, at the rank of E-4. In the paperwork is the administrative reduction to E-4. Que sera sera.

What else could I write, I don't have the right...

2005-12-20T09:43:00.000-06:00

What else should I be, All apologies? All Apologies, Nirvana

We have been extremely busy lately. That is the good part. The bad part is everyone still tips like they just got back from fighting for the $300 lap-top at Wal-Mart. Crappy Tips. Amzingly difficult to get anyone to crack a smile. Super busy at home lately to boot. I have had two days off in the past two weeks, and one of them I called in sick, something that I never do. More than anything I called in sick to take care of the wife and daughter, the younger of which paid me back by vomiting all over the kitchen floor. Add to that not only did I not get to watch the game, but I never got a chance to give Tammi any shit about the Pats absolutely spanking her Bucs.

All apologies to anyone who has followed my rants and consequent lack thereof.

By the way, did you know that Kurt Cobain was murdered? Am I a total sucker for even wasting time reading Urban Legend rumors like this? For some reason I can't get over crap like that. Only one thing is certain. The guy was an amazing musican/writer who abused tons of drugs. Whether he was murdered or committed suicide seems a moot point, as he was clocking out anyways...

Turn me up!

2005-12-01T08:58:00.000-06:00

Trouble in paradise.
Not only that, but I went to post and vent about a lot of shit lately, and all that I can come up with is this.

NOT, Not only that, but I somehow deleted all of my blogroll. Not a happy day...For now, go and download or play an angry song.

I suggest Faith No More & Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. lyrics,Another Body Murdered

Play it loud, please...Very frustrating days...Sorry folks.

"Turn me up
Now I gotta murder da' murder ta' get away
The eyes gotta peer now the fool's gotta pay
And if they pay then they pay with they life
So watch another man try to hold on to his life
Cause' I keep lookin' and huntin' just like a lion
Let the sucka' know that it's them that be dyin'
I show no remorse to the source of the tales
And if they tell then the hungry better battle
Aw I keep it comin' and comin' across the table
And if I miss,
I never miss,
cuz Im ableI'm lookin' forward
and I'm lookin' over my shoulder

.....

I had to get it together to watch a body get murdered..ehh
Faith No More......
I had to get it together to watch a body get murdered
Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.....

Murder well I won..."

Kind of obscure song from a bad movie about a decade ago, but I am pretty sure Desult knows it....

I hope everyone realizes the frustration level that I am feeling these days. Ain't got much more to say, other than smile at your fucking server or bartender today, he will appreciate it and YOU will too. I can bury my life when I get to work, I wish that all of you could too when you go out to eat. You aren't shopping and competing for that $300 laptop at WalMart anymore, relax and enjoy-your-fucking-selves tonight, OKAY?!

I will fix my blogroll VERY soon...Today just isn't the day for it.

Does the body rule the mind,

2005-11-20T10:32:00.000-06:00

Or does the mind rule the body...I Dunno. Still Ill, The Smiths

So I am in the bar the other day and a woman comes in and sidles on up to the bar, solo. 40ish, low cut blouse, big hair, potential for a nice tip in my mind. It has been my experience that anyone who shows up single in a restauarant and sits at the bar is more than looking to eat. It could be something very simple, such as conversation from the bartender or a neighbor at the bar. It could also range the gamut. Straight up propositions, hidden inuendoes and "let's take this elsewhere" happen in the bar all the time. Most often I am the silent witness to it, and I have even on occasion been a participant (though NOT anymore, obviously.) This woman appeared to be the former. Chatty, not flirty, drank a top-shelf margarita, ordered an app, and the small Filet cooked medium with a Caeser salad, and wanted Fettucini as her side. She appeared to be the perfect customer to have, patiently waiting through each course, eating nearly every bite. She finishes the top-shelf, I offer her another and she intimates that the water that she already has is plenty, and politely declines. The filet and fettucini arrive, and she begins to eat these. As she is eating, I turn my back on her and she disappears! I look around for her for a minute then half shrug it off. She appears at the side of the bar a moment later tears welling in her eyes, napkin over her mouth. She mumbles very quickly that she is heading for the bathroom, and that there is a hair in her pasta. She posts the napkin over her mouth defending the floor from the arriving vomit and runs for the ladies room apparently for a second time. I rush to inspect the pasta, but can't see anything. No problem at all in my mind, remove the pasta, take it immediately to the brightly lit kitchen for a recook/inspection. Lo and behold, mixed in with the alfredo and parsley is what appears to be upon "casual" observation a very long, semi-curled eye-lash. I am guessing that in the dining room it "could" have appeared to have been a pubic hair. It was very thick and full, but too short in my estimation to be a pube. It looked very much like an eyelash, and this lady had some long ones. Regardless of what was there, it was what she "thought" that would be important. The manager and I sat back and awaited her arrival, fresh bowl of pasta being prepared. She never showed back up. Eventually the manager (a female) went to the restroom to look for her, and found that she had "un-assed the AO" (in Army infantry terms) a while ago. This begs the question...Where the fuck did she think that she was? We ARE a restaurant, and to a very limited extent, you are putting your life in my hands if you eat with me. Do you truust that the saute chef has washed his frying pans before cooking your shrimp? Are you sure that the fresh veggies that you are consuming on your salad weren't cut on the same cutting board as the raw chicken? (We have several diffreent colored cutting boards, one for each meat/veggie.) There has to be a certain amount of trust involved in order for you to eat in a restaurant. Recently I was making a trip to my sisters house in Ft. Lauderdale and on a whim decided to use I-75 and stop in Fort Myers, Fla, for the dumbest of reasons (unless you are from Boston/New Englan): The Red Sox had their spring training there. We stopped for a "snack" in a bar just off the main road. Get some chicken wings, drink a few sodas, head on the last leg of our long drive. I entered the bar, we were seated, and as I looked around, it was a very nice welcome to Fort Myers, Shamrocks and Red Sox pennants, and World Series posters, memorabilia were all over. I breathed in a nice slice of Red Sox heaven, imagining buying Big Papi a beer in a bar like that. Then I went to the bathroom. I will spare you the gory details, but someone had the severe "trots' and weren't neat. After attempting to use the bathroom, I was desperate to wash my hands, but as I turned on the faucet, I noticed that it wasn't attatched to the sink, and the water rinsing my soapy hands was just running onto the floor/my feet. Now a normal sane person would have left the bar running. Honestly, the last time I saw a toilet in that kind of condition, I was at a gas station in Dhahab, Egypt. As I went back into the atmosphere and saw Teddy Ballgame's picture, a picture of Yaz with his 1967 MVP award, Luis Tiant, and Johnny Damon, I decided to roll the dice. Hell, how can you ruin chicken wings. Lucky for me, the baseball dieties were smiling, and we safely consumed a snack as we continued our voyage. Thing is, what do we know about food-borne illness?

Salmonella? Listeria? The simplest facts that you can say is something like this:

In the United States
In the United States, for 76 million foodborne illnesses (26,000 cases for 100,000 inhab.):
325,000 were hospitalized (111 per 100,000 inhab.);
5,000 people died (1.7 per 100,000 inhab.).
Source:
Food safety and foodborne illness, WHO

In France
In France, for 750,000 cases (1,210 per 100,000 inhab.):
70,000 people consulted in the emergency department of an hospital (113 per 100,000 inhab.);
113,000 people were hospitalized (24 per 100,000 inhab.);
400 people died (0.1 per 100,000 inhab.).

One thing that they never show is guess where most of these illnesses started? That's right, in the home. Of course I am not saying that restaurants don't keep that chicken an extra day than the policy allows, or that fish special that seems so cheap probably is cheap for a reason, and only those with a strong constitution should order it. I will say, though, that we have lime greem cutting boards that only veggies are chopped on, white for beef, pink for chicken, and all of that. There is one side of the prep kitchen that is used for cold prep, another for cooking, and another area to butcher the meat (all done in house.) We follow the industry standard of HACCP and do it with a vengance. The only item that that isn't directly to the trash can at the end of the night that was anywhere near to being cooked is the prime rib. The prime rib that was cooked rare today is tomorrows well-done. Take that as a warning if you may, but meat that is cooked to 160 degrees can't carry any bacteria that could harm us anyways.

I just wonder if this lady was trying to get out of paying her bill? Was she really that genuinely sick at the sight of what was very likely her own eyelash? I can't imagine that reaction.

Then again, I can remember being at the National Training Center in Fort Irwin, CA and having to "eat tactically" and getting a hot meal that wasn't a tray ration or MRE for the first time in over a week. We would approach the mermite cans one soldier at a time, which were spaced 20 meters apart with our tray, and the KP slug would give us some veggies, and then at the next can a big lump of steaming Army mashed potatoes, and then at the next can, out came the chicken leg and thigh, oven roasted, juice dripping, and onto my tray it went. We walked our hot meals and desserts into the trench line that we were defending (we were playing OPFOR) and began hungrily consuming the hot meal. Somewhere around the second bite, I dropped my whole chicken leg into the sand. Now, should I walk back over there and see if there just happened to be an extra? Should I bust out my canteen with potable water and just rinse it off? What is the S.O.P.? Guess what I did? Yup.

Funny thing was that after Index (the end of the "tactical situation") and all the AAR's, I found out that it happened to quite a few people! Their cake, their chicken all sorts of stuff found themselves rinsed or brushed off and consumed. Damn Army, teasing us with hot meals and flimsy ass recycled cardbard trays that disintegrated when the first milliliter of moisture hits it!

Si me voy - va a ser peligro

2005-11-19T02:35:00.000-06:00

Si me quedo es doble
So you gotta let me know
Me tienes que decir
Should I stay or should I go?
"Should I Stay Or Should I Go?" The Clash

I know that I have mentioned it before, but I have always been crushingly shy. I had to wear a patch over my eye in much of elementary school, along with these glasses, and that always makes youstand out. I was the total 6'1" 139 lb dork with glasses for three years who finally senior year after the years of abuse suddenly figured out I could see without the glasses, gained 30 lbs of muscle and grew into his own person. Even then I bore the scars of one who went through three years of torture at the hands of the popular clique of girls. They were just much nicer about it is all.

So I went from this:

Into this awkward teen.

BTW, that is the QuestingCat, my baby bro and I in 1984 (the year of the Los Angeles Olympics, hence the USA Tee-shirt.) When he was in Kindergarten a few years later I joined the Army, started lifting weights and running nearly extreme amounts, I turned into this:

When this photo was taken, I scored over a 290 on my PT test every time (NEVER maxed sit-ups, but always maxed push ups and run!) could run 10k in less than 35 minutes, and was nearly an E-6 after about 5 years in. Needless to say, things got easier for me in the ladies department. Not much, but easier though. I was stationed in Fayetteville, N.C. and there were more GI's chasing after the women than you could imagine. (The picture was taken in Jerusalem, where Christ was held before his Crucifixion.)

Regardless, I still carried that tormented, shy soul of the second grader who was picked on for wearing glasses. The High School Freshman, shy but from San Diego moving into the small rural town and was too uncomfortable to meet people on his own. Those scars were deep. It wasn't until I was in the Army that I developed the persona that could bartend and entertain people, and actually expect people to hear me.

Here I am today, in all of my fat and happy Dad and married joy! Content where I am, just wondering where I have been. Life is funny sometimes.

If you ever see me behind the bar in Destin, Florida, say hi please. Better yet, say it in Spanish!

In my restaurant, the back of the house, like most restaurants in the USA is basically "en Espanol." They understand you, but not really. They wouldn't be on the line if they couldn't understand what 86 onion meant, but ask them what they do after work and there is a barrier. So because of my crushing shyness noone has known that I can speak Spanish until very recently

Too often, I am still that scarred little boy, scared to talk to anyone that doesn't need to talk to me, regardless of being 35 years old, married, and happy in my station. Then one night we had a dishwasher named Jorge with ZERO English come out and hook up the front of the house during the Homecoming weekend for most of the busboys, all high school seniors. He realized quickly that I spoke Spanish. Jorge and I have talked ever since. I nearly made him piss his pants when I finally told him a few of my Spanish jokes! I speak Spanish pretty well, though would be hard pressed to call myself fluent. I spent 4th to 8th grade in the Southern California School System, learning so many basics to Spanish. When it came time to learn a language other than English for real, I chose Spanish. DUH! I spent four years learning the language in high school, and then spent two more in college, reading literature and stories and novellas. I unfortunately speak Spanish properly better than most of the Mexicans that wash dishes. On the flip side, they LOVE that. They LOVE having a gringo on THEIR side of an issue, who to them sounds educated. When a prep cook was shorted on their pay, who did they come to? ME! When they have a problem with a shit-head waiter who won't scrape food off of plates, who do they ask for help? ME. I once told them that I USED to be a soldier in the Army, and their nickname for me ever since has been Soldado. I told them that it has been TEN YEARS since I was un soldado, but they told me that to them, I would always be Soldado... I am happy with this arrangement, and amazingly enough, so is management.

One of the jokes that I told these guys that has ALWAYS worked for me is as follows: It ONLY works in Spanish, but that is the part that astonishes most people who ten minutes before had no IDEA that I spoke their language....

Que es la differencia entre el Presidente de Columbia, and el Presidente de los Estados Unidos Clinton?

(What is the differenece between the President of Columbia, and President Clinton of the USA?)

they always answer "No se." (I Don't know.)

That is when I say (watch for the near-rhyme here!) Uno esta buscando for coca, y el otro para cuca! (which roughly and in slang Spanish translates into "One is looking for coke(drugs), and the other for pussy!" and the Latinos nearly piss their pants laughing. Every Mexican/Latino to date that I have told that joke to for almost eight years has known what a horn-dog Billy-bob is!? Isn't that amazing?)

It has brought me near celebrity status these days in our little restaurant. I have been so successful they are going to have me become the "head trainer for the new waitstaff." I have been there about six weeks. NOW they hear me talk to the back of the house just like the front? Why didn't they know that before? That shy little kid is why. They love that I speak Spanish, they love my food and beverage knowledge, and I am smoking the rest of the staff in sales...FUCK!! Pretty soon they are going to make me a manager, and then I will have to take a pay cut!

In the meantime, i hope that you enjoyed the pics...

The weight of the world ridin on my shoulders

2005-11-18T11:38:00.000-06:00

Cause I'm a soldier, I thought I told ya! Just another Victim, Helmet; House of Pain

I guess that I could file this under the Boogie Nights, captain obvious things...

[Colonel's lady friend lying on ground, bleeding from nose]
Young Stud: I, I think she did too much coke.
Colonel James: Oh you think so doctor?!
Young Stud:[sobbing] This is twice in two days that a girl's OD'd on me.
Colonel James: Well, did you ever think about maybe getting some better shit?

That is how I feel about taking quizzes like this one! I loved doing the job, but was looking for something more. The best times that I ever had, and the worst times that I ever had were in the Army. Such highs and lows I have been trying to achieve ever since!

You scored as Special Ops. Special ops. Your sneaky, tactful, and a loner. You prefer to do your jobs alone, working where you don't come into contact with people. But everyonce in a while you hit it big and are noticed and given fame. Your given the more sensitive problems. You get things done, and do what has to be done.
"VULCAN NECK PINCH!!!""owww.......(slump)"

Medic

75%

Combat Infantry

75%

Special Ops

75%

Officer

69%

Support Gunner

63%

Artillery

50%

Engineer

44%

Civilian

13%

Which soldier type are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

I guess that I was surprised by the three way tie...medic??

DAMN! The HTML Code totally isn't working! You can take the quiz yourself and see if the HTML works for you.

He thought he was the King of America

2005-11-18T11:20:00.000-06:00

Where they pour Coca Cola just like vintage wine Brilliant Mistake, Elvis Costello and the Attractions

I knew that this was about where I stood. It makes me wonder though, why the thought of most "liberals" makes me shudder and only when the right goes all religious on me do I ever feel a pang of guilt for my ability to get along with them...I guess that I like a "laissez-faire" economy rather than letting the bunch of Fidelitos in the democratic party spend us into oblivion chasing after some pipe dream of "Social and Economic Justice."

You are a
Social Liberal
(65% permissive)

and an...
Economic Conservative
(75% permissive)

You are best described as a:

Libertarian

Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

"Now I try hard not to be become hysterical But I'm not sure if I am laughing or crying"

Both sides seem infinitely fucked...I have to give credit to Army Girl for linking to the quiz...

I hear the train a comin'; it's rollin' 'round the bend,

2005-11-13T21:31:00.000-06:00

And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when. Folsom Prison Blues, by the Immortal Johnny Cash.

No, I didn'to go to jail, I was just at work, from open to close, and it felt like jail at times. I am now off for two whole days, and man am I tired. These extended periods of time where there isn't any time to be off, the time that you do have off, you tend to sleep. The creative juices just don't flow. My single day off in the past two weeks had been requested off weeks ago, to use it watching the Patriots defense get spanked last Monday. I guess that I fared it pretty well, though. The good things about working this hard is that there is always a pocket bulging with cash every night, so the rewards are immediate. We have been a bad combination for most restaurants, and that is busy and short-staffed. We are so short-staffed that I have become a trainer already! I have been working there less than two months and am already training new employees. That doesn't really bode very well for the place. I am good at this sort of thing, but still find myself asking questions and being corrected by the cooks about my ordering procedures. I guess that since much of the staff is either burnt out or otherwise scatter-brained, I was a logical choice. So, I am not dead or in jail, just busy as hell and tired.

Since a lot of my business these days has been retirees, I will dedicate this post to them. I will tell you about a few of our elderly people that were regulars. All of these people are absolutely real people that I knew tons about, but I am just telling you the basics. I am sure that a few must be dead right now, and others may still very well be doing what they have been doing for years...

I guess that I will start with Ken. Ken had a "condition." He was very well kept and groomed, even though he was likely 80 years old. He always dined alone, ate the same thing and drank the same thing every time. Noah and I loved the guy dearly, and he loved us. He had the fried oysters with a Grey Goose martini with olives. Noah and I poured that thing to absolutely near overflowing, and charged him for the "Skol" house vodka martini. His hands trembled and shook as he tried to drink or eat anything. He always seemed to be wearing medical bracelets and often had fresh IV type scars/cuts on his arms and hands. He LOVED it when we were dead and we had time to chat, but he also loved the "scene" when we were busy. We would absolutely fall over each other to find him a seat at the bar if he came out on a Friday or Saturday, pushing aside people to find him three feet of open space and a stool. He loved to chat with us and loved to sit near the "well." When the oysters came, he would drink a small lite beer (which we never charged him for,) and then pay his check and tip us $10. This went on for nearly two years, and we watched him waste away to almost nothing. We figured him for gay and dying of AIDS, but any inquiries were shot down immediately by him and considered rude, not that it mattered to us the way that he tipped. One day the place had a female bartender fill in for one of us and poor Ken nearly flipped out! The next time we saw him he was pretty upset. He felt that bartenders should be men, and the waitresses should be women. He was very adamant about this, going so far as to say that only the DAY bartender should be a woman, and that the night barstaff should all be men, with attractive females waiting tables in the lounge, and that was the successful formula. We saw him two to three times a week for nearly two years, and then one day he stopped coming in. We were sad, and figured that he was likely not going to come in ever again. He was the best type of regular to have.

Jean was another type. Another "regular" who always had the same drink. Jean was a retired Air Force officer, and was a ladies man. He was likely 70, drove a massive Caddilac Escalade, and was usually loaded 24/7. He always had a massive grin, like this was his preferred life that he expressly wanted to live. His white hair was so white that it was silver and was always well groomed. His clothes were purchased at Brooks Brothers in the casual section, his watch was Tag/Heuer, and his shoes were Ferragamo. The women who would accompany him were usually dripping with jewelry and in their 40's or 50's. In his bizarro alcoholic retiree world, here is how Jean spent his day. He had a condo there in Alexandria, VA next to the Shirley Highway. He would drive down Duke street, into Old Town and start his day. Southside 815, Bombay Bicycle club, even Bennigans. He stopped at them all. Anyplace along Duke Street. Every Day. ONE drink at each place, always charged for his drink, always left $2 as a tip, and then on to the next place. He was known at each place by all of the regualrs, used first names only, remembering everyone after the first introduction. He always had a giant grin, always made people laugh, and left after one drink in his Caddy. Eventually he would be back to his "home base" (his condo) and his "sortie" was over.

Mary and Barry, in their late 60's and still spry were another story. How we hated these people. They would arrive around 3 every Sunday, rain or shine. Mary would order a diet coke and then not drink a drop. The ice in that thing wouldn't even melt she was so cold. Barry would drink Mirassou Chardonnay, and lots of it. We never knew how much that he would drink, and for some reason or another we would just pour it and pour it and when it was all over would charge for either one bottle or two. They NEVER tipped very well, and Barry would get more and more belligerent as he read the Sunday NY Times, The Nation, or The New Republic. This was all during the Clinton years, and even then he would harrumph about the sad state of our Nation, and otherwise gripe about how high the literacy rate in North Korea was, or about the "free" medical care in Cuba. Then Barry would go to sleep, (literally pass out and sleep on the bar) and Mary would not shut the fuck up. Everything was all about web design, and about how hard her job was keeping up with a nutrtional information website, and how good she was at her job, how many pages there were, what info the Gobm't keeps from us peons, etc. Now when Noah and I started this gig, we inherited these regulars. We hated them. If they ever ate something (never happened,) we would have spit in it. If I was married to a shrew like that, I would be a drunk too. There were many other regulars there too, and they all tolerated her for some reason. Around 7pm, the football games would be over (Barry was a Bronco's fanatic, and I will NEVER forget how drunk he got when Elway lost to the Jaguars in the second round of the playoffs in 1997!) and they would walk to their million dollar condo around the corner. This happened every Sunday that I ever worked there. After I left, like two years later I heard through the grapevine that Barry went to rehab and Mary came in many times by herself and then when he got out they stopped coming in altogether.

One of my favorite regulars that wasn't mine was this tiny little old lady. She would come in every weekday (where she was on the weekends I have no idea) and request the same waitress. This waitress was a TOTAL grouch/biatch named Susan, ready to quit the business altogether after having been working in it for almost 15 years. The hours were too much, she didn't want to work at night anymore, she hated waiting on people, blah, blah, blah. She sucked, and she had pissed off management horribly with all of her complaining, etc. and then she and the little old lady "clicked" together like a frickin' lego. Who was this lady? I have no idea, but she had MONEY. She looked oh so sophisticated, and would show up with a different lady EVERY weekday at lunch, request Susan to wait on her and would order the same thing every time. She would usually have another little old lady with her that would sit and order the tea service (there was an extensive fine dining tea service there, complete with a dozen choices of fresh ground tea and a heated iron kettle to pour your own) and something meager off of the menu. Every once in a while, the lady accompanying the regular would have a lobster, but never more than the 1 1/2 lb one. Susan's regular on the other hand would always order a bottle of Dom Pergignon, and then the Arctic Char, lightly cajuned with the light lemon butter sauce (a staff favorite, and Susan's connection. She told the little old lady that the staff loved their Char, and how we ate it. The lady tried it and freaked, and ate it every weekday after. In her defense, have you ever eaten Artic Char with a light cajun seasoning and a lemon butter sauce? It is incredible. To eat it every day I imagine that she is dead of a heart attack by now, but still. For a treat, I rate it up there with a Ruth's Chris N.Y. Strip served mid-rare"Pittsburgh" Style with a Caesar Salad and some mashed potatoes. [Here is a Homer Simpson "Doughnuts!" drooooollll...]) and then she ate the profiteroles for dessert. She would tip Susan $50. Every weekday. We had a VERY brisk lunch business anyways, with most servers making between $50 and $80 for working from 10:30 to 2:30 and then working again at 5 for the dinner shift. Susan would stay on as the "mid" with another server that changed every day, but since the little old lady Dom gravy train wouldn't be waited on by anyone else except Susan, she was one of the "automatic" mid servers of the weekdays. Mid servers would make between $125 and $150. Susan made that plus the $50 from her little old lady. $800-1000 bucks a week on 10:30 to 5pm schedule, totally chilled out times. All of a sudden, Susan loved her job again, started to have other regualrs, and would actually smile....Funny how it works...

So smile for a while and let's be jolly love shouldn't be so melancholy

2005-11-06T00:46:00.000-06:00

Come along and share the good times while we can. I never Promised you a Rose Garden, The Suicide Machines Done by many artists, I know, but especially good when sang by punks rather than country-western singers!

People suck...what more do you want? We have this little tiny 18 year old chick who has started waiting tables with us. She has been at our restaurant for almost a year now and has worked as hostess, food runner, and even busser. She has applied herself, worked many positions in the restaurant, and tonight made quite a good night for herself waiting tables on her first Saturday night. She deserved to have a great Saturday, and she was practically dancing out of happiness, but had one observation to make right away. People suck. The general public really has no idea how demanding that they are. Extra cheese, half of the meal spicy...the other mild... seperate checks (with 12 people!)... sit at a table for an hour after you have paid out to chat with the friends that you hadn't seen in months or whatever... split meals... too rich...under/over cooked...Does it matter? We all have needs, and if you are paying $25 for a steak and salad, you have a right to voice your concern, but damn! At some point you have to have some trust in your waiter and establishment. Why would we charge $25 for a steak and expect you to tip me a significant amount if we didn't think that you would be anything other than ecstatic? If you don't trust us, go on over to Ruby Tuesday's and have their steak. Our little chick in today's story expereinced much of these things tonight. We were very busy, and I had huge numbers, made great cash, but also wore myself pretty thin. Nothing major to report from tonight, but to catch you up on my week, we had some new people training here. The four training were our little hostess/busser/food-runner (who did great), the beach bum, the skanky chick, and the old dude. I have already told you about the little girl, so onto the beach bum. 21 years old, been working at Applebees for a while. Ready to "get out of the low-end chains." Good for you, buddy. Welcome, the water is warm, the break is a perfect right-hand roll about 150m out, ride all the way till you get to the pier. Try and tube it of you can. The skanky chick is also about 21, but looks totally garish when you see her in "Civvies" but is otherwise normal wait-staff looking when you see her waiting on you. Her boyfriend works the grill at another neighbor restaurant, but felt she would make better money at our place. She seems pretty prepared for the work, and holds promise. The old dude. 40, but never worked in a restaurant in his life. He had the perfect attitude in the interviews, talked endlessly about his patience, his desire to try something new (he had been a DJ for some years) and his "love" of food. Well he worked about half a shift with a chick that I will call Teresa, a Southern belle now defamed, but still a belle (think Blanche DuBois) through and through. She is OK, a little bit what you would think, but otherwise OK. At some point in their FIRST night, he realized just how much organization was needed, how much energy was appropriate, and how non-stop the business was. At one point, I shared a very large party with Teresa and old dude. It was very disorganized (as far as we were concerend, the people couldn't have cared less!) and with the two of us experienced people, the folks were totally hooked up and happy as can be. Well after apps, saldas and meals were down, the dude looked totally panicked. He turned to Teresa and said "Look, I don't want to waste any of your time, or any more of my time. I don't think that I can do this!! I am leaving, OK?" What does Teresa do? Laughs her haughty southern laugh, and tells him "baby, you are doing great! Don't worry about a thing, you're doing fantastic!" His job on the first training shift is to follow. Observe. Watch. See the proccess of greeting the guest. Watch the server suggestively sell things. Watch the pro do their job. DO NOTHING OTHER THAN WATCH. He couldn't handle that, and after their little exchange, he walked straight out the door, much to everyones amazement and amusement!! We are still laughing at him and entertaining ourselves over it today... Just what did he expect? We all wonder. We also wonder if it will change his attitude in tipping a server or bartender. He made it through 40+ years in life and had no clue/none/zero clue what went on in a restaurant. Was the action too much for him?? There is tons, to be sure. The average person would be shocked to see the kitchen during a rush for 5 minutes, let alone 60 seconds. Would they ever come back? To watch the kitchen for five minutes would stun nearly everyone who has never worked outside the business. Do you want to see? Check it out if you dare....

One of your tables is waiting for their salads, and another has complained that their steak is under-cooked. There is a healthy line of pink (not red) in their filet mignon, and the customer complains that the steak was still moo-ing. Your other table is having the glasses left behind by the last guest being bussed right now.

Enter the kitchen on one side, the dishwash side. You are immediately 30 degrees hotter than in the dining room, and have an overwhelming stench of grease, heat and activity. The dish area is occupied by an 18 year old busser, literally tossing out pounds of trash bussed off of tables, scraping plates, throwing out stuff noone wanted to drink or eat, racking glasses into their respective wash racks and otherwise making lots of dish type noise, sorting plates, glasses and silverware into appropriate piles. The latino non-english speaking dishwasher begins a rant in Spanish when the ramekin full of aus jus the busser has thrown and missed it's appropriate bus tub splashes on him. There is a server there who also has to check immediately if she is now covered in aus jus, and the busser has to apologize in two languages (a skill acquired pretty quickly.) Then we get to the Micros station, and since it is Saturday, there is a line of servers there two to four deep all night to ring in orders, run credit cards, and print checks. Then the soda staion, again two or three deep. There is a girl who rolls silverware into linen napkins and fills the ice-tub and right now she is pouring ice into the bin, so watch out. Another server is doing the "running sidework" and is rolling a dishwasher rack of glasses stacked eight racks deep of fresh glasses into the place next to the soda fountain and ice bin. You are nearly run over. In the meantime, you collide with another server trying to get out of the way of the food-runner coming through with a large tray for HIS table, so he is trying ultra-hard to get out of the food runners way, ignoring you. You go to the salad station where you grab two caesars, turn to the bread station to get some fresh warm bread. You are immediately informed that there isn't any warm bread, it will be ready in two minutes. There are literally a dozen salads in the salad window, many tickets, many dressings, and RIGHT next to that is the appetizer window, also loaded with soup, appetizer shrimp, all with tickets dangling, begging for someone to run them before they burn under the heat lamps. In the meantime, people are SHOUTING!! "I need this salad without croutons and cheese!" "Will someone run these shrimp, they have been here for too long!" "Can I get a cup of the bisque to sell?!" Move over a couple of feet and there is the manager (tonight, the owner) expediting food. He hired us, and signs our paychecks. He HATES it when we run our own food. He feels like to promote a true team environment, we should NEVER deliver our own food, but should write our tickets in such a way that ANY server should be able to take our food to the table and NOT auction it off a la "Who had the prime rib with mashed potatoes?" We have a SPECIFIC order that we use to write every order, so that when the server without ANY knowledge about my table can come out and deliver the prime rib to the lady, and the filet mignon to the gentleman with out asking who had what. He, at this point is screaming for a food runner. Another server, Frank is yelling at the saute (between salads/apps and the main grill/expediter) that their table had requested that there be no mushrooms in their pasta, and that there were lots of mushrooms in there. The saute is shouting that the other server that ran the food grabbed the wrong order of pasta, and that right now someone was eating a pasta without mushrooms that belonged on Frank's table. "Go complain to Richard (while I slowly remake the pasta without mushrooms again!") The manager/owner gets someone to run the tray of food, points out the "position one" spot and then must track down "Pam" since she has turned in a order that the grill is reluctant to cook since she forgot the temperature to her guests steak salad. In the meantime, 12 servers have crossed paths trying to get to one of these places, to the dish area, the micros spot, the salads, the apps, the saute, the grill the expo line. One of the servers collides heavily with you, and you practically knock wach other over. You have been in the kitchen for 30 seconds, walked 20 feet and have done NOTHING. Your steak that is to be cooked up from medium to mid-well is next. Now you have to handwrite a ticket, tell the grill cook that you have a "cook-up" (common enough, so don't ever worry about it!) and hope not to get screamed at. The grill has cooked a perfect medium, but the know-it-all guest has "schooled" you and told you that a "medium" filet will be hot all the way through and have only a sliver of pink. Rather than offer to sell them your belt for half price, you acquiesce, and deal with the angry grill chef.
I didn't even mention the 15 other side stories inside for each of the other waiters that were overheard. There was Matt, randomly plucking a fry off of a diners dinner, (I mean come on! Ordering a burger and fries in a place like ours invites the possibility that a hungry server will pluck a fresh idaho russet steak cut fry off of your plate!) and here is Traci complaining that that cheap couple left her less than 15% after they ran her to death and she refilled their spawns Dr. Pepper like 25 times! Grace is dancing and singing, arms loaded to the Nth degree to "Blister in the Sun" by The Violent Femmes, which is blasting over the "back of house" muzak while she carries in a table of fours dirty dishes to the dish area. Quite impressive, really. All of this happens in a swath of real estate that is about six feet wide and maybe 30 feet long.
Exit the kitchen on the other side and to see what? Meanwhile, you are sat again at another table with an anxious looking four top, scanning for their server over the horizon, your drinks still aren't prepared for your other table since the bar is totally weeded from all the people on the wait list, and your other table is happily grazing looking suspiciously at you like you are dragging their steak around behind you. This is where you realize that your margarita has been taken by another server that EVERYONE (even the owner calls her "stoner") knows is high as a kite and took your rocks/no salt margarita and mistaken it for her frozen with salt marg.

All of this happens, food is run out of there, you get your fresh food, you pay the check and leave and it happens all over again. And again. And Again.

If I had stayed an infantryman, I am sure that things would get more hectic (these days more than when I was in), but come-on! Where else could I see more action in 30 seconds?!

6-8 hours straight of this, and people wonder why we think that 15% is no longer sufficient!!

Stop your messing around...

2005-11-01T11:48:00.000-06:00

Better think of your future! A Message To You Rudy, The Specials

So I went and saw that movie Waiting. It made me think of that song with lines like "It's time you straightened right out" and all. Rob McKittrick had written quite the screenplay, which he showed to the right people where it was bought and sold I forget how many times before it was actually a movie. Which he then directed himself, good for him. Rob worked in a Bennigans restaurant, which I used to know very well. For years, I lived by myself in a large apartment building that was DIRECTLY across the street from a Bennigans. Now I HAVE worked in places that were as "corporate" as say Bennigans. Rob worked in one in Orlando, Florida from what I have heard. I read his blog and a few others that he is linked to quite extensively. I will be adding most to my list of links, but only as a reference to the crappy job that they do. My MAJOR problem with this movie was that it was so negative to the restaurant industry. I happen to love restaurants. I don't care about waiting on people seeming "demeaning." I have the ability to assuage even the biggest dickhead, and the smarts and knowledge to mind-fuck and turn the tables on the dim-wits who start/try to start shit. I have been around. To me, people who are sitting in your section/bar have the money (thank God that we live in America, the land of the market economy, and vibrant enough to have like 50 thousand places to eat out anytime you want to!) and they USUALLY have the disposition to have someone serve them in a timely fashion, and pay them to do it. In places like Bennigans, TGIFridays, Ruby Tuesdays, and their ilk, that isn't always the case. Those places take almost anyone applying to serve and hire them based on their willingness to work and learn. Where I work, no matter what age, without experience, you are not hired or at the very least hired as a busser (which in this movie were played hilariously by Andy Milonakis and Max Kasch) if you show up there. Even as a busser, you are then expected to do things to help you "learn" like food-runner and expediter. You can work your way to server after learning the ropes and menu in a process that is likely six months long. At a Ruby Tuesdays, tell them that you can only work odd Thurday evenings, and Sunday afternoons and you likely have a new part-time job. Ok, maybe it's not quite that bad, but you get the picture. The often-trashy clientele (obviously not all of the people who dine there are trashy, just a much higher percentage than you care to know) lead to bad attitudes in the already sub-par staff. It all leads to the general experience that one can expect from the chain restaurant you choose to dine in. For anyone who cares, go eat lunch at Bennigans, and then dinner at Ruth's Chris. Or Vice-Versa. Have a lunch at Legal SeaFoods/McCormick &Schmick's, and then have dinner at Red Lobster. Which experience cost more? Which did you enjoy more? Where would you rather dine? Which place had better food? Service? These are all corporate places, all have strict rules and guidelines for their employees, and all are huge money-makers. One was the basis of this movie. All of these places are very busy (usually) and their owners are ultra rich people. This begs the question, though. Where would you rather spend your money? The last time that Alli and I stopped off at a Chili's, my burger was woefully over-cooked, Alli ended up with horrible gastro-intestinal malfunctions, and I wrote a viscious e-mail, detailing our sub-par food, crappy unknowlegable waitstaff, (I asked "How big is the big beer?" and this is no exaggeration, [waiter holding his hand up over the table] "It's about this big as compared to this big" [now lowering his hand.]) and overall terrible experience. There was never even the slightest response from their corporate HQ. At Legal SeaFoods, we had to re-order the appetizer because we had a hard time comprehending just how fucking good that Ipswich whole bellied clams were. NO SHIT, we needed two orders of fried clams, possibly the worst freaking app ever to realize what gold we had just bitten into and discovered. If you ever go to a Legal SeaFoods, you have to try them. If you have ever eaten New England fried clams and loved them, these are the best. There can be and is a difference. First of all, does the chain serve fresh or frozen? THIS makes such a huge difference. Eat at Ruby Tuesday's, and the at an Outback. (Outback is hardly in the league of Ruth's Chris, but just better than Ruby's and much pricier is all.) Which steak was better? Can't tell because you get your steak well done? Stay in Tuesday's, it costs a hell of a lot less. Whose salad was better? Apps? Let me tell you! Outback's were fresh (and hence cost more) and Ruby's came from the freezer, were defrosted and arrived "fresh" after sitting in plastic bags and micro-waved. Or worse yet, try a Chi-Chi's[basically down to their last few franchises, I wonder why?] and a Chevy's. OH Mama! What a difference in Tex-Mex chain food!! The point is, eat in the chains that are low-end only if you are starving. They sometimes do a decent burger and have ok junk food, but don't, don't, don't go there looking for exceptional service, exceptional food, or worse yet, an experience to remember. I always go there expecting the worst, and am OFTEN surprised to find myself enjoying the experience. I always respect my (often brand new and fresh to the business) server, never really ask for anything weird (my only request off of a menu is to exclude mayonaise. I was sickened by it as a child and have never cared for it.)

What I am trying to say is, that I found the movie cartoonish in most ways. Each person in the film was really just a caricature of a real person, (waiter, cook or guest) but also very real. I give the movie my hearty approval since it is about my job, and was also pretty funny. The people in the movie can be found at literally every corporate restaurant. I never played the "meat gazer" game, but amazingly enough had heard of it. I often hung out with Bennigans servers/bartenders, so I ain't trying to poo-poo on the chains at all! I am just trying to say, "it's time you straightened right out!" and moved on to the upscale places. There should be no "Naomi" in your restaurant, because if you want to work in a restaurant, you should move out of chains or get to the really good ones. That is part of the problem, though. So many people who work in restaurants think of it as an in between job, and not as a career. They stay put at crappy restaurants because this isn't a "real" job to them. So if they don't move up, then they should expect the "redneck" often, and the "total biatch" all the time. At least in the "upscale" ones, their checks are usually so much more that they discourage the crappy/ignorant diners to the extent that they realize they can't afford to eat there, or that the two-top that never tips over ten percent must divvy up $10 on the $100 tab that they created. I have seen tables of people get seated where I am working now, look over the menu for a few minutes and then head straight for the door. Why order a filet mignon well done and pay $25 for it? I will just sell you my belt for half of that price. The prices at my restaurant often eliminate about half of the riff-raff that come into a low-end chain.

On a slightly different subject, I read Rob's blog extensively, and it so reminded me of Hollywood Animal by Joe Esterhas. For all of us out there who want an insiders/insiders view of Hollywood, I would have to WHOLEHEARTEDLY suggest that you read Rob's blog, and if you are still interested, then read Hollywood Animal... What a fickle-ass bitch Hollywood can be!
To all of those people's blogs that I will in the near future link to that complain about stupid shit customers, I say grow the hell up and get another career, or move up in the world. The water feels really good at upscale places. Try to learn cool shit about food, wine and liquor, and this job really ain't so bad!! Will there be ignorant assholes in your section, even at the "good" places? Sadly the answer is yes, BUT the best part of it is there is a way to feel better about things. TONIGHT, I heard a waitress say to the line cooks, "If this fucking bitches shit ended up picked up off of the fucking floor, I wouldn't say anything about it!" Well guess what?! I'll bet that their steak was picked up off of the fucking floor. So we do get the idiots at every level, JUST DON'T FUCK WITH US!! Most of us don''t mind serving, and most of us love to make money off of serving you HONORABLY! You keep reading stories and watching movies about crappy servers from these chains that have to deal with SERIOUSLY, the dregs of human waste. You should expect what you pay for.
Also, if you tip 10%, please expect really bad service when you go back. If you tip less, you should PROBABLY not go back to that restaurant. I assure you, your food and drinks have been "doctored." If you do go to these chain places, converse with your waiters and tell them how hard and how much you apprecaite their service, and watch out for how good a time you can get. Tip 15% if everything was OK, 20% if you had a good time. That is all that they ask for. Better yet, tip well someplace and get known as a good tipper and watch them fall all over as they serve you. Almost noone, and that even means celebrities gets better service than another waiter/bartender. When I worked in DC there was a time where I could eat and drink for hours without having a tab. Massive tips ensued.
This movie wouldn't be as interesting if it weren't for asshole negelcting motherfuckers...It is just interesting enough to show how funny it is sometimes. Nearly every waiter has waited on these people. SO think about it next time you need to send your food back. Have a pleasant disposition, never get hostile, go ahead and send it back and expect it cooked correctly, just do it smiling and things will go your way. Twice a night I get re-cooked/cooked-up food and nothing ever happens to it. Every once in a while, though along comes the idiot who thinks themselves so vastly superior, and I so small...BuHWAhahahaaa!!

Let's ride with the family down the street...

2005-10-30T11:12:00.000-06:00

Through the courtesy of Fred's two feet!

After hurricane Wilma, that is practically neccesary! My sister down in Tamarac sent these pics of her neighborhood, hours after the storm had passed. She is still without power as is my father. They have to wait in lines for hours in order to get gas to power up their generator, and must fill only gas cans or cars, not both. She says that the power lines in her neighborhood are exactly as they are pictured today.

Ma Nature is in control. No foolin!

This tree took a giant shit...

As did these ones...

My sister wonders why there isn't wall to wall coverage and long lists of people donating for their disaster. My Dad's girlfriend wants her FEMA card. I just had to laugh! My Dad's place took some damage, destroying his Florida room and very nearly tearing off his roof. My sisters place didn't suffer anything other than the partial loss of their orange tree, though her two next-door neighbors suffered extensive damage to their houses and yards.

There's no stoppin...

2005-10-30T10:54:00.000-06:00

The Cretins from hoppin! Cretin Hop, The Ramones

Well here is my baby-bro and his crew last night as nice as these guys have looked in a while, I am sure. They are training up, getting in newbies by the boatload, and in the meantime, had a little time to get dressed up. The baby-bro/Questing Cat isn't looking at the camera, second from the right.

Or maybe he just can't keep his eyes open? Hopefully the Big Red 1 won't be going anywhere that is too sandy in the near future! If they did go back, maybe he would write again...

When I met you in the restaurant

2005-10-27T09:48:00.000-05:00

You could tell I was no debutante... Dreaming, Blondie

So I am working one day in the big bar/restaurant and in comes two guys and a girl. They come over to the corner of our bar and order three of the giant 32 oz. beers, and happily start drinking. Mind you this is at around 6pm on a Friday, they are dressed in office attire, and look to be having a happy hour. VERY ordinary people for this area of town, even attractive if you will. Well the girl starts shamelessly flirting with Noah and I and it is becoming increasingly obvious that she is pretty drunk. Drunk, but coherent and having a good time so we think. Ok, just keep an eye on her as she is like 5'3" and a soaking wet 115 lbs. Well guess who is finished first with her 32 ozs. of beer? Yup. Hey Noah, I love the way that you pour...can I have another beer? Hey JCL, I love your little sideburns. Can I have some more beer? Noah turns around to hand her a beer, and she is gone and the two dudes she was with are cracking up, rolling, tears welling in their eyes. As we start to ask where did she "disappear" to, it is evident that she has just slipped off of her stool into a drunken pile of passed out mush on the bar rail underneath the bar. NOT the way to impress your manager at the start of a busy Friday night! This type of thing always pissed off "Mr Burns" the annoying night manager, but all we did was serve her a single beer. It turned out that we were their last stop and that they had been drinking since leaving work just after lunch, making their way down to the river, which we were right next to.

Then there was this other time that I was managing at this crappy Tex-Mex place. It had been an uneventful shift at this dead restaurant, and one that was drawing to a close. That is when one of the waitstaff comes running up to me as I am in the office. "JCL, you better come quick, someone is vomiting all over the smoking section!" Oh crap. Sure enough, there is a woman in there probably 40, a little trashy but otherwise normal looking except for the fact that she has evacuated the contents of her stomach onto the floor of the smoking section. She is the only one in there (phew), and she REEKS of tequila, bad tex-mex and vomit. She is barely coherent, nearing alcohol poisoning. FUCK! Can you respond? Can you hear me? What is your name? She is barely in control, but I make a judgment call and decide against calling an ambulance. She is just LOADED. That is when "Soweta," a Somali server "with zero wait experience and was hired simply because when she applied, she put that she was ready to work any hours, and on any day and was willing to learn the ropes" enters the room. At these types of restaurants (think chains with many entrees for less than $10) the caliber of new hires is greatly reduced. Suweta has a look of concern on her face, and asks where's the guy that she was with? She appears to not even care about the vomit all over the floor. Soweta has a check in her hands with 24 shots of tequila on it along with 2 orders of fajitas. TWENTY-FOUR!! The check is for over $150, and now I have a missing man, a vomiting woman, and a stupid server. I turn to Soweta and ask her "How could you serve someone 24 shots of tequila?" Soweta responds, "they asked me for them?" I tell her, "Soweta, you can't serve ANYONE, even your best friend a dozen shots of tequila. Didn't it occur to you that this would happen? They could get sick, they could even die?" Her response was classic: "Good." Me: "WHAT?!" She shrugs her shoulders, and matter-of-factly tells me "Well I don't drink. If they wanted to kill themselves with alcohol, then I will let them." Incredulously, I ask "Don't you remember in those classes and training about serving people who were drunk? That they were not to be served anything other than food?" Her excuse? "I am a Muslim, and I feel like if they want to kill themselves with alcohol, then I will let them." This was 1996. The dude was never found, the chick walked off somewhere, the bill was never paid and had to be comped, and Soweta went to work in a video store. We also had to write up the bartender (who was like 60, and had worked there for like 20 years) who hadn't noticed that he had poured 24 shots over the course of two hours for the same damn two top.

Then there are the bachelorette parties. Most come in starting around 10pm, and are often already roaring drunk. The "bride-to-be" usually has the fake veil, and often has a t-shirt made up for the night. I have seen this one numerous times: A t-shirt with candies stitched to it, placed strategically along with types of shots. "Buttery Nipple" is written right on one of her boobs, with a hersheys kiss stitched there. The guy who buys her a buttery nipple is supposed to eat the candy that he removes...You get the picture. The bartenders job is to shamelessly flirt and proposition the bride to be, tell her how hot she is and how lame it is that she is "off the market." I know that I have told everyone here that I have always been crushingly shy, and that is true. For some reason or another, it is minimized while behind a bar. Noah on the other hand, is anything but shy. He is loud and funny, obnoxious and charming all at the same time. People had often commented that we made a great pair because I was the straight guy to his wild man. I was Dean Martin, Noah the Jerry Lewis. So we are playing it up one night with a group of these girls, and Noah decides that the perfect drink for this bride to be is the "blowjob." Weak drink, fun to see. For those uninitiated, it is basically a shot glass with Kahlua and Baileys with some whipped cream PILED on the top. The bride to be then has to put her hands behind her back and somehow get her mouth over all the whipped cream, grab the glass with her open mouth and tilt her head back spilling the liqeurs into her open mouth. It usually makes for quite a sight. Well I have no idea what lucky groom got this bride to be, but after the shot she insisted on giving Noah a return blow-job, right in the back room of the place. Her friends were not even taken aback. Classy.

Thank you sir can I have another

2005-10-26T11:39:00.000-05:00

We've really grown to like each other...Bartender's Song, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones

First of all, the family is OK after Wilma, but I understand that one family member that lives in a trailer park in Fort Lauderdale (why, I have no idea) had to stand against his wall at one point, bracing it to keep it from caving in, and lost his screened-in porch. Most of his neighbors were not nearly as lucky...Gotta move, man...Other family, nothing major, just no power at all, though they did vow to evacuate the next Class 3 or higher. They said that Wilma was a howler.

So! That being said, what do you do with unruly guests? I guess that they have to go, and sometimes by any means necessary. I was working at the wild restaurant/bar one Saturday night and Noah had already gone home; it was maybe 1a.m. In comes a large group all dressed to the nines, many already buzzing, that had just come from a now-over-with-wedding reception. This happened often enough, and the group of about 12 people cozied up and began drinking, chilling out, laughing and otherwise continuing their good time. I figured out where their tabs were to be kept, who was paying for what, and began the steps that keep them all happy. Drinks are enjoyed, some shots ordered, people laugh, more drinks, and then last call. More drinks ordered for last call, checks dropped off, and happiness is continued. Group 1 pays, thanks! Nice tip! Group 2, same thing. Group 3, WHAM! Great tip! Group 4? Not paying yet, hmmm. Clean the bar, prep for close. Management comes in and asks if I have any open checks. I tell him yes, one. Ask them to clear it up so they can run the end-of-night reports. OK.

This last group is about 5 whitey white young folks of about 25-30, 3 guys 2 girls.

JCL: Hey guys, we need to run the end of night reports, could I please clear up the tab here?
Dude 1: Oh, yeah, sure man! Can we get some more beers?

It is past last call, but their group had been hooking me up, so...

JCL: here, let me buy you guys some small ones and then clear the check up right away!
Dude 1: Sure, thanks man! Hey guys, we need to clear this check up!

He then digs into his pockets, the rest of the group soon follows suit and a pile of money appears on their $76 tab. That is when "fat chick with Coach purse" steps in. She, who hadn't dropped a penny of her own yet, counts the money and starts saying that they have left too much. The half drunk crew doesn't really respond, so she starts repeating herself, saying the group had left $90, and that someone should take some money back. Dude 1 tells her that they are cool, just give it to me so I can close out the tab. Fat chick with Coach purse insists that it is too much, which frustrates me. I have had a few drinks at this point, and was starting to lose my cool. That is when the manager comes in and asks for me to close out my last check (for like the third time now) and I tell him I will try. He stands there impatiently, eyeing the scene. I then go over to the group and ask fat chick with Coach purse...

JCL: Hey! I have really got to get this check cleared up so the manager can close the place up. (I eye him with a fake nervous glance over my shoulder in his direction as if to prove my point) If we could worry about the tip after, and just pay the tab I would appreciate it.
FCwCp: (indignant and angry at my request) HEY! I am the customer here, I am the consumer! JCL: I know that, and frankly all the manager wants to do is close out the bill so we can leave at a reasonable hour.
FCwCp: Listen, if you don't back off you aren't going to get shit for a tip!

Now she has done it. I already know that they SHOULD be leaving me $14 except for her stepping in, and that is a fraction over 20%, all well and good. She felt that that was too much, so whatever. Now she is going to stiff me. It was a very busy night, so though I hadn't counted it up, I know that Noah walked with over $200 two hours ago. I know that I will be taking home $300. This $14 isn't going to hurt me. Still something in me can't let this one go. The group was cool, the rest of the party hooked me up, the other dudes even tried to leave me some scratch, but this surly JCrew biatch is trying to fuck with me...

JCL: Look, how about this: You had a large party in here tonight, I might add, since it is the restaurant's policy to add a 15% gratuity to your check so now can we all behave and get this check cleared up?
FCwCp: OH! FUCK THAT!! Show me on the menu where it says that!

I start to show her on the menu and at this point the manager steps in. He is already intimidated by her screaming and I don't really expect him to stand up for me (managers RARELY ever do when it comes to the customer) but it amazes me when he starts saying that it was only fair. She becomes IRATE.
This manager sticking up for me was only doing so since the night before, he thought that he had caught me stealing. Inside the restaurant there was a little El Salvadoran Mafia going on. Tons of Salvadoreans work there, the ones who could speak English in the front of the house, the ones that couldn't in the kitchen. This manager was about 50, and was 5 foot 2 inches tall and he was the front of the house Salvadoran Don. He was always lurking around, checking up on Noah and me, trying to catch us stealing. Well at one point the night before this happened, another of the Salvadoran Mafia was waiting tables and a group of four guys from his section comes to my bar to smoke away from their group, and order some shots. I pour the shots, they drink them, and try to pay. I tell them that they will be on the waiter's check, no worries. I tell the waiter, he rings up the drinks, and things go on the normal way. So then I am in a different area of the restaurant and I overhear the midget Salvadoran Don and a cashier going over all of my checks on the computer. He is eagerly scanning each one, looking for the incriminating evidence. I ask him if there is anything that I can do to help him. He glares, and demands to know where the check was for the four shots I had poured, that he had seen me pour them, serve them, and then the guys tried to pay, but no check was ever rung up and did I steal the money?! Now in his defense, this is a common (and extremely easy for anyone who wants to risk their job) tactic when stealing from a restaurant. I had, however, done nothing wrong, and this manager was extremely humbled when the waiter confirmed that I had done what I said I had done.

So there he was in the trenches the next night, fighting this Jabba-the-Hut Chick with Coach purse. He fights her tooth and nail, but to no avail. She pays the $76, and if I remember correctly kept the $14! As she is leaving she can't leave well enough alone:

FCwCp: I just want you to know I have money, that both my parents are lawyers, and that I know how to treat waitstaff, when they know how to treat me!
JCL: Whatever! I can see your Coach purse, and nice clothes! That still doesn't make you cool, though does it! I don't need your money anyway.
Dude 1: Sorry about this man. I...I don't know what to say.
JCL: It's cool, I know it's not your fault.
squirrelly dude #3, who by the looks of it is "attached" in some sort of boyfriend-girlfriend relationship with the FCwCp: It just goes to show you that the customer is always right, understand?!
JCL: You know what? I hope that you guys come in here again. I'll remember each of your faces and and then we'll see who is right after the service that you'll get. Go ahead! I DARE YOU BOTH to come back in sometime!
FCwCp: DID YOU HEAR THAT?? He is THREATENING US!! Manager, you need to fire that guy RIGHT NOW!
JCL: BITCH! SUCK MY FUCKING DICK!!!
FCwCp: FIRE HIM!! FIRE HIM!! She is being physically restrained at this point by her friends and her boyfriend as they drag her out of the restaurant kicking and screaming to an awaiting cab. That isn't good enough, and she won't get in the cab. She is screaming for the Police to come and arrest me. The police are ALWAYS in the neighborhood at this time of night. When they arrive, they promptly threaten to put HER in jail if she doesn't shut the hell up right now. She wisely gives up and gets in the cab.

The next day I was eating the pre-shift staff meal and I was kind of worried about my job after the previous night. The midget manager enters the room, sees me and sits down, and just laughs repeating in a mumbling fashion "bitch, suck my fucking dick" I can't believe you said that to her! That was so great.

See how much fun that job was?

I can't remember anything...

2005-10-21T12:13:00.000-05:00

Can't tell if this is true or a dream!

What would happen if the media today had been "reporting" June 6, 1944? In France, that date is practically "down the memory hole." As is the Marshall Plan.

I had seen this quite a while back or it was something very similar, but stumbled upon it as I was reading NewsBusters...

Who are you? Who, who, who, who?

2005-10-21T10:50:00.000-05:00

I really wanna know...Well AFSister wants to know. She also tells a much funnier story than mine!

My first e-mail address was from a nick-name that was given to me by another bartender, who was very Irish. I am something like half Irish and large chunk Italian, and seeing that my last name is crazy long and Italian, and I look Irish what with my fair skin, freckles and hazel/green eyes, Irish dude started calling me McDago. Just his way of expressing himself, and he was a funny guy that was well respected, so it kind of stuck. Right about that time the internet was getting major popular (AOL had just started the unlimited internet for $19.95/mo thingy) and so I bought my first computer, a Compaq Presario 486 and jumped online. When I wanted some anonymity, I posted my alter-ego McDago up there and off I went! I pretty much stayed that for a while, using variations like adding an 82 for the 82nd (though it sometimes made people think that I was born in 82) until meeting the Great One . At that point I was still using it, but on an AOL account. When we moved to Germany, we lived in Stuttgart and I needed an account to stay in touch with my family and we were waiting for all of our things in transit. I went to the library and registered for a free Yahoo account and chose the moniker "stuttgartcad" and that was that. The city where we lived and the very first part of my long ass Italian name. Now that we are here in Fort Walton Beach, waltoncad is just an updated form. I still use the stuttgartcad e-mail, and now have all sorts of crap out there in cyber-space registered under these three nicknames...

I hear hurricanes a blowin...

2005-10-20T14:37:00.000-05:00

I know the end is comin soon...

Just a quick note on Wilma, heading straight for all my family in south Florida while I sit here 80 degrees not a cloud in the sky here in the panhandle. Hope all goes well, and the storm fades before getting to y'all.

That being said, I will get back to restaurant work. I have seen many people fired in my time in, but none compares to "Seth." Seth went out like any burnt out waiter would want to exit the "biz." By getting revenge on the rude fuc....AHEM....the GUEST! There is ALWAYS the potential to get stiffed any time that you walk up to a table or guest. Anything goes wrong, and it is almost always reflected in your tip. Often times the guest generously forgives you, other times they don't. If you get everything screwed up in their order, make mistakes, send out the wrong dish, then it is your fault. Dinner takes too long to arrive? Usually the kitchen's fault. Guests sat at a filthy table? Usually the host or bussers. Your place doesn't have the guests favorite booze? The owners. The big bar/restaurant I worked at was such a place. The place had ONE brand of beer! ONE! "Their" house beer, which was really Schaeffers, regular or light on draft. NOTHING in bottles, just O'Douls non-alcoholic beer. Thing was too, they served TONS of this crap every damn day. Use a GIANT 32 oz mug preferably chilled and fill it with an amber liquid that resembles beer, charge $4.25 for it, and hey, the guest leaves happy. We also had the hardest time getting the boss to buy hard liquor that didn't come in very large 1.5 liter jugs that only homeless alcoholics had ever heard the brand name of. This is in the mid 90's, so right in the middle of the whole micro-brew craze and the release of major brands like Stoli O, Ketel One, Grey Goose, etc. So finally the owner wanted to build and make a few repairs and his good ol' boy construction worker pal he has known and used for decades, wanted to drink Knob Creek bourbon after work. The damn burst, and loads of good brands flowed in. But not a single beer more. Also verboten was the "shot" liquors - Jager, Goldschlager, Rumpleminze, After Shock and all of their ilk. Management's excuse was that they just didn't want to fool with 22 year old kids vomiting all over the place which happened all the time anyway when they overdrank their crappy "house" beer.
SO! Back to Seth. Seth was a waiter in our upstairs room, which around 9pm turned into a Piano bar. Complete with the fat bald dude singing bawdy versions of songs, taking requests, earning tips, and drinking his ass off. In to Seth's station walks a group of frat boy types and they start asking about the beers that we have. Seth tells them the deal, and says that they can have a 32 oz glass for $4.25, and frat boys are happy....For now. After ordering a second round, they ask for some jagers "We don't carry that."...goldschlager..."nope," etc...Once again he explains the deal, that we have no "shot" liquors and suggests some Absolut Lemon Drops. They do a few of those, and before you know it, their bill is over $100. Seth brings the bill, they pay in cash, and as they are almost out the door, Seth notices that they have written a big "You SUCK!" on the bill and left him a pile of their pocket change as his tip.

Now at the end of the Saturday night rush is not the time to do this to someone who has been working non-stop since 11am. Add to it, the fact that Seth, along with many of the staff, have had a few shots of whatever the bartender has handed out.

The pile of change was not a small one by any means except when you compare it percentage wise with the bill. A few dollars tip on the over $100 tab. Six guys, whitey white rich looking.
Seth looks at it, and snaps. He grabs the pile of change, runs right over to our balcony, opens the doors and spots them ready to cross the street deciding which of the many neighborhood bars was next. It may have ended here except in their loaded "invincible" state they were loudly bragging and laughing about what they had just done. So Seth does what any burnt out, half loaded waiter does at midnight on a Saturday after rude treatment.

"HEY GUYS!!" (The guys look around, then up at Seth, mounting surprise and fear in their eyes.) "FUCK YOU!!" Then Seth throws the big handful of change at them as they scatter to the four winds. He would have gotten away with it too, except that one of the frat boys called the next day and told his side of the story to the management and Seth was no longer a waiter. Some tables you can just feel the Bad Moon Rising.

The funniest part was that sitting outside the restaurant every damn day of the year, all four seasons was one of those street singer/guitar-playing guys who happily picked up every penny.

Everybody's got to believe in something!

2005-10-18T09:03:00.000-05:00

I believe I'll have another beer!

Great song, and after the Pats got so decimated, I hear today that Tedy Brushci is coming back. That leads me to not only over drink in the misery of the Pats loss (in Denver, always a tough place to play) but in celebration of one of the least recognized yet most loved NFL'ers to recently play the game. Ol' Tedy has been captain of the Pats D for years and in the NFL for 9 years. Last year he was recognized as a "Pro-Bowler" for the FIRST time (despite winning 3 super bowls, leading the "D.") In the meantime, he had a stroke. Should something happen to Tedy, due to his love of the Pats and the game in the future, it will suck for all of football. I will pray for Tedy, not only because I love the Pats, but because I love a good human being, and Tedy is one.

So am I a fan?

Keep in mind that when I was a child, my Dad fixed Steve Grogans TV set, and deliberately had to "run and get some stuff" and set aside his time to run over and bring my little seven year old ass over to the "QB's" house and brought a football for him to sign and asked me to tell Steve Groagan how much I loved Boston sports. He had me talking to Steve about about Bobby Orr, the Celtics, Yaz and Pudge Fisk (MY FAVORITE at this point, right about the time the foul pole was earned for him!) As a teenager in high school I remember sitting in the old Foxboro freezing my ass off on the aluminum benches wearing my Andre Tippet jersey (our #56) and rooting like crazy to stop Joe Montana from driving for two long drives in the fourth quarter. Of course Ol' joe smoked us. I was even suspended from school (the only time ever) for fighting after the 86 series. Of course we lived in CT by this point, and there were equal shares Mets/Yankees/Red Sox fans, so conflict ensued all over there.

See, I know that a lot of folks think the Pats are evil, and Belicheck is Lucifers son or whatever. Those of us that suffered through Bill Buckner, the 86 Chicago Bears, Brett Favre, the Oakland Athletics, the Bruins winning like crazy for a decade with Ray Bourque and never winning the Stanley Cup, and all the stuff that made Boston fans miserable. You also didn't "suffer" with us as we cried when Ray won the Stanley Cup with the Rockies... I remember watching that game with the wife, and I told her the Ray Bourque story, and it made her cry too. I am just saying that rooting for Boston teams (except for the Celtics) has meant a life filled with pain and disappointment. Until now. So yes, I do try and bask in the sun a little, because I was in the dark for so long!

I am sincerely hoping the White Sox win this World Series. I can't stand them, they trashed the Red Sox (that obviously isn't the point) but I recognize...I recognize Chicago as ONE of the FEW great sport cities. Chicagoans have been recognized obviously in the recent past. How could it get better than MJ??? Need I say more? Your thrashing of my tiny, underdog, wild-card Pats in 86, 46-10 (my sister, 15 at the time rooted for the "cool and hot" Jim McMahon!! How humiliating!) You may have performed the curse on yourselves with the Bears all due to Mike Ditka, though. By not letting the true gentleman of the NFL, Walter Payton score in the Super Bowl, giving it instead to ALL OF YOU KNOW WHO!!

So the Bulls were awesome, the Bears have sucked since. I sincerely hope that the White Sox smoke the NL...

Just me, and my predjudiced ass... Always hating NY teams, the Dallas Cowboys, and any team that the media just can't seem to get enough of.

Go White Sox! Go Tedy!!!

Situation gets rough, and I start to panic...

2005-10-16T01:06:00.000-05:00

It's not enough, it's just a habit....

Tonight worked in the bar, but in the tables...I "turned and burned" 23 tables in the bar tonight. Exhausting, but the second Saturday in a row where I had the highest ring in sales in the restuarant. I have been here less than a month, and every night the manager on duty looks at my sales numbers and just shakes his head incredulously. Tonight I heard of only one other person over $1000 in sales, and even the head wait was only $950. Tonight, my second Saturday working, I lead the restauarant in sales for the second Saturday in a row. Like I told my wife, in a month I will be running this place. I kind of wonder if I will be a flash in the pan? Wonder if I will slow down a bit...I say it is a matter of this...Every table, every guest, I ask the question, "Do you want to add a lobster tail or 5 grilled shrimp to that steak tonight?" Ask every one of them. VERY few take you up on it, but even if only five or ten do, that is more in sales. Ask EVERY guest which apetizer they want, assuming they are getting one. Most apps are fried or quick grilled, so people love them...Bad for you crap, but man some of them taste SO good. I hock booze, hardcore. When there is one person at the table ordering booze and the other doesn't, ask them (after they order the coke) if they want to make it a double. Not only can you get a grin and increase your tip, but you can also (and so what if you don't) sell a drink and increase sales. I am there the same amount of time as anyone else, and when I am there I prefer to work waiting, tending, doing what is necesary to earn money off of people. I never bitch to the host staff, never harrass the management, and am there to make money. Every person, no matter how hillbillie or ghetto fabulous is greeted the same. "Hello money, sitdown money, what can I get for you to drink, money"

It was a VERY hectic night to work for me though...Waiting tables, you have to wait until the table leaves, wait until it is bussed, and then wait until the host staff seats you. In the bar, it is carry a dish rag, because the MINUTE your table or spot opens up, it is immediately occupied by a new table, handing YOU the trash off of your table/space that was left by that last customer. Makes for a very fast changing of the tables, which in the "biz" terms is called the "turn and burn." One table/spot leaves, and it is immedaitely turned into a new one. It was the second Saturday in a row where I made some really great money! I would like to move into the fine dining area of waiting, or tend bar somewhere crushing busy by the summer...I feel like I am on that road. The amount of cash to be made is important, so we shall see. Also, management is a possibilty. It has also been mentioned to me by the proprieter, so I will keep my nose to the grindstone. I guess that in the end, I just really like to see people have a great time. Management STARTS at $45K minimum, so that is about what I am making, but GUARANTEED, all year long rather than $600 a week over the fall and winter, and over $1000 all spring and summer.

so now for a really quick story: One night Noah and I were bartending at the bar/restaurant one Saturday night, and in comes a group of new FBI Graduates, from Quantico...There were like 8 of them, and they were PARTYING! Drinking heavy, eating our tourist based (beautiful, yet bad for you) deep fried sea-food, and getting rowdy. Noah and I knew how much management hated anyone getting rowdy before like 11pm. Well, our boss who I will cal Mr. Burns, since he could have easily played the real life one from the Simpsons would come running in and ask them to respect the policy of quiet before 11pm. Repeatedly. We responded by giving Elliot Ness and his crew free lemon drops. It was a win-lose situation. In the end, they had between the 8 of them about a $300 bill. (plus like $50 in comped shots) They gathered up their money, and gave us $400, so $100 tip. The leader of their group simply said, JCL, give us just a taste. Bring your boss in here and insult his suit and the cheesy way that he dresses, and we will double your tip!! Well that was all I needed to hear. Our "room" in the restaurant was called the "SunQuest" which was the owners first yacht which sank somewhere (uninsured) in the Carribean. Well the bell from the boat was recovered and was posted on the support beam. It could ring, and it rang LOUD! So I told Mr. Ness to nail it once hard, and that Mr. Burns would be in immediately. He did, and I was right. Mr Burns demanded, "Who rang the bell?!"

I said: "(Mr Burns) they are leaving, and they just left Noah and I a kick ass tip. I told them to go ahead and ring it."

MB: "Well they are leaving now, right?"

Me: "Yup. They are headed out the door. But they wanted to know if you ever bought anything at other than the thrift shops. I told them that between your clip-on suspenders and your cheesy "pleather" belt that doesn't match your shoes, that I doubted that you got it from thrift shops. I was thinking garage sales."

MR: "Are they leaving now?"

Me: "after you answer them..."

MB: "Fuck you!"

They gave us another $100, then asked us where was open til LATE, so we told them to go to Irish Times in DC, and they begged us to meet them there. Noah was early out, and he went down there and met them, I closed and made it out for only a beer, but brought almost all of the closing staff, (including a few hotties off of our closing staff that they were very anxious to entertain) and soon they were buying for every one! We found someone who knew of an "after hours" club "highly illegal" yet astoundingly easy to find IF you knew the right people. They paid there too, and an all around good time was had by all, except for Mr. burns who likely cried into his Dewars and waters!!

Good Times, Bad Times...

2005-10-14T10:01:00.000-05:00

I know I've had my share!

Last night (Thursday) was screwed up for two reasons. The first of which is that I was bored. The night before when we were so short staffed, I really busted my ass running all over the place. Tonight we were overstaffed and why? Because the regional manager was in town! Lo and behold, we suddenly have 15 servers and two bartenders (who both sucked) on the floor. So I had less tables than on Wednesday, but made the same money and gave better service. That sucks. Why can't we just be fully staffed all the time?

The second reason that it was a bad night was because I had a nice long post almost ready to publish and the cable goes out. Now THAT pissed me off. No internet, no cable, me sitting up late at night with nothing to do...Like an idiot, I then fell asleep on the couch instead of next to my nice warm wife feeling her feminine curves. The things you do when you are tired.

So last night I was "Tagged" by one of these silly little thingy's that people send out all chain style and are supposed to let it multiply. I am going to half comply, but I will explain in a moment why the half part.

Thanks, Desultory Butterfly...

Seven Things:

Seven things I want to do before I die:
1. Go to Australia/south of the Equator
2. get back into shape like I was in the Army
3. Cook a meal for my grandchildren
4. have another child
5. buy a boat
6. learn to fish
7. get over my crushing shyness

Seven things I can do:
1. Cook
2. Make dozens of drinks well
3. Pick a great wine
4. Name nearly the entire Red Sox starting rosters for like uhm, the past thirty years or so off the top of my head.
5. Jump from a perfectly good airplane and land safely (though it has been ten years, I still got to do it 41 times!)
6. Speak a foreign language (Spanish, plus a bunch of French and German)
7. be patient

Seven things I cannot do:
1. Play a musical instrument. (I guess I could get on the cowbell!)
2. Run a 10k in 35 minutes (anymore)
3. back down when I feel like I am right.
4. make friends easily
5. (like Desult) Pass up a beer
6. be 25 again
7. lose weight easily

Seven things I say a lot:
1. Whatever.
2. Come on?!
3. Oh yeah, that'll make it all better
4. yes, another beer here please
5. So what can I start y'all off to drink tonight?
6. Damn...
7. I am married, so "I'm sorry" comes out a lot!

Seven things I find attractive in a female:
1. Eyes (like my wife and my daughters that she passed on!)
2. Intellectual sense of humor
3. Dark sense of humor
4. Those sensuous female curves such as in the hips, and legs when she lays on her side, and I get to touch them as we snuggle...so feminine
5. When she wears just enough perfume to catch the most lingering scent, leaving you longing for more, and best of all knowing that when you snuggle into her neck and nuzzle, that it is there only for you.
6. an ass that is not bony, and still fits the thumbs connected, pinkies extended parameters.
7. when my wife smiles at me

Seven celebrity crushes? (I just don't really care for this category, but will try to comply)
1. I will have to say Heather Graham. First of all, I LOVE the movie Boogie Nights, but what I love most of all came from a really crappy movie, Anger Management! Seeing her in the Red Sox lingerie really nailed me.
2. Catherine O'Hara...Don't know why, she has just done it for me. I bet she has a great sense of humor, judging by Best In Show. Just ask my wife about what I say when I get loaded. She may be older, but she has done it for me for some embarrassing reason or another.
3. Bo Derek
4. Laura Ingraham
5. Dr Condaleeza Rice (not to sound goofy racist or anything, but like I like my coffee, dark and sweet!)
and just to tease my wife and use her answers to the questions against her I will make her think that I need some young hotties coming my way, I will answer my last two with first name only and see what she thinks...
6. Barb
7. Jenna

Seven people who I'll burden with this tag, but are under no obligation:

I am far too shy, and just can't function under this pressure!

What's the time?!

2005-10-13T11:13:00.000-05:00

It's time to get ill!

Just file this under what you don't know won't hurt you.

So I am working with this guy at the restaurant/bar, and they have this daily "Special" called the Seafood Bake. It is basically Clams, Mussels, Salmon, Shrimp new potatos and asparagus wrapped up in tin foil and steamed in butter until everything tastes like fishy asparagus. The waiter is supposed come to the table and unwrap it for the guest, reavealing the steamy innards of seafood heaven. Many guests loved it (or said that they did) and MANY others hated it. It was constantly served and sold though! So this dude that I worked with was a total drunkard-pothead-eventually became a crack head. He had no car since he had had two DUI's and a blown engine so he rode his bike everywhere. Keeps you in shape, but if you are a drunkard, you crash a lot too. This guy crashed a lot, and always had bandages of some sort. So one night he rolls out to a table with the plates, drops everyone's food and starts to unwrap some womans Seafood Bake. As he is adjusting, a large bandage falls off of his shredded finger directly into the Seafood Bake...Thinking quickly he declares "Oops, there is a clam here that didn't open, I'll get the chef to open it and I'll be right back!" So he heads right through those the kitchen doors, pulls out his bandage, turns right around and serves it up!

She was one of the guests that loved it...The waiter was so proud, he told everyone about it for a week.

Yummy!

The people you meet in the restaurant industry.

Oh what a night!

2005-10-13T01:22:00.000-05:00

Late September back in...well, you know the song. Tonight sucked. Waited tables this time. Tonight the place was short-staffed. All of this area of Florida is desperate for help, especially in restaurants. As I look into any old place, restaurant, store, fast food, AC (hey, AC is big business in Florida), Repair shops, just every place in general, there are help wanted signs. My restaurant is no different. We need servers, bussers, hosts and just the whole thing. We should have for a night like tonight 14 servers, and could likely go with 18 if the management wanted to make it an easy night. Tonight we had 10, including the two bartenders. It pretty much sucked. Waiters call being slammed busy "In the Weeds" just a term that they have left and are so far off the fairway that they are in the weeds, and can't see the fairway, type of term. Tonight we spent the entire night in the weeds. The restaurant has a policy that it won't seat the tables if there isn't anyone to wait on them which looks bad to the guest. The guest has no idea how short we are, they just see an empty table and they are still asked to wait 20-30 minutes. Meanwhile, the rest of us have picked up an extra table near our station, so we are more than busy. I sure hope it gets better, because I ran my as off tonight for hours. I made good money, rang a pretty high sales total, but that is NOT the way to do it...I gave almost the minimum service tonight to probably half of my tables...I am good at this job, and a veteran. Noone suffered in my section tonight, but they also weren't ecstatic. Part of my waiter schtick is to hang out and chat with the tables, use the same tired jokes that work every time and entertain so that the guest feels like it is an experience, not just a dinner. Ask the guy who ate every freaking last bite all concerned sounding "Sir, if you didn't like your dinner, I wish that you would have told before, I could have totally gotten you something else!" The two top both have caeser salads, and ask which one of them had the caeser, all teasing like. You guys eat that crap up! Tonight, it was everything to just keep the drinks full and the food coming. I hate that. I can do it till the cows come home, but then you get 15% from most tables, some a little less. I like tables to love me, and laugh a couple of belly laughs. That always adds up to 20% or more.

Here is a story relating to being in the weeds...

So I am working at the big bar/restaurant. It is the very beginning of the summer, and we are slammed every night, but Saturdays are the worst. On Saturdays, we are pretty much used to what we call it the 1-to1 rush. It got crazy busy at around 1 in the afternoon, and the place stayed full, like EVERY seat, all 450 of them until 1am. On a normal night, we had 23 servers and 5 bartenders. Two bartenders upstairs, two in the big bar (mine) we called the Sunquest and one in the "Main" room. The night before on a Friday, my bartending partner in crime Noah tossed a wine bottle into a full garbage can and it smashed, shooting a shard of glass out and slicing the tendon on his index finger. It was late, so no biggie. The next night I need a new partner in the Sunquest and it is supposed to be a decent night except last minute, like four servers have mystery illnesses. (The weather was 85, not a cloud in the sky, and very little humidity, rare for a DC July day, so who could blame them for the sickness.) My partner evaporates into thin server air. I am forced to work an 18 seat bar plus over flow/standing room for the busy, beautiful Saturday night, plus make server drinks. To say that I was in the weeds would redefine that term via restaurant standards. I was crushed, killed, and stamped out, no mulligans tonight. I spend the night in the weeds, and around the end of the night, like 1am one of Noahs friends shows up, Dave. Dave is a sales guy, and prides himself in being fit, and working out all the time. He made lots of money in his sales gig, and had bad habits like strippers that like their good time "snowy" if you can catch my drift. Dave and I are friendly, but it kind of ends there. He always shows up grinding his teeth, talking speedy and pounding expensive wine (on our comp ticket) and basically annoys the hell out of me. BUT he is Noah's friend, and Noah ALWAYS puts up with my posse, so it is cool. So I comp the bottle and a half of wine he and "Bambi" pound in 45 minutes, and charge him the for two glasses of wine, $13.70. He gives me $15 and tells me keep the change. I have made so much money that I could care less what anyone tipped me at that point, I just wanted to go home. In fact, at the end of the night after all was said and done, I made so much money, I gave the barback $100 to clean up for me so I could just leave. Now it is about 1:50am, and in this area last call at all bars is 1:30am, 2am ALL drinks are off the bar and cleared, no exceptions, local police driving by our picture windows peeking in. Dave has been speed talking to people all over the still full bar forever, and finally comes to me and orders two more glasses of wine. 20 minutes past last call, 10 minutes til close. After leaving me $1.30 on what SHOULD have been a $50 tab had I not comped it.

Me: C'mon Dave, it's past last call, ten minutes til close, it's time to go bud!
Dave: Dude!justgivemethetwoglassesofwineanddon'tworryaboutthecops, justgivemetwomoreglassesofwineman!
Me: Dave, I can't. It's TOO close to last call.
Dave:Dude,Iain'taskingformuch,Ijustwanttwomoreglassesofwine!

Now here is why it is important to tip your bartender: selective service. I can cut ANYONE off anytime that I want to, and YES just because you gave a bad tip. I will have the FULL support of the management EVERY time; all I need to say is "I think that he has had too much" and management will throw him out immediately and call the cops. With Dave, I didn't want to go that far, I just wanted to go home. He basically stiffed me and then demands more. I gotta paraphrase my man R.Lee Ermey again and say if you wanna fuck me in the ass, at least give me the "g-ddamn common courtesy of a reacharound!" Dave didn't practice his manners.

Me: Dave, we are too close to closing, so NO!
Dave: Dude! (standing up to his full 5'9" height, puffing his chest, throwing his shoulders back giving me the hairy eyeball through his dilated, bloodshot eyes getting indignant now) are you gonna make me come accross this FUCKING bar and get my own FUCKING glasses of wine?!?!?!
Me: (Calmly looking the situation over, and leaning over, placing my hands on the bar edge while assuming my 6'1"{plus another two or three inches with the stupid shoes we had to wear and barmats height} and stating simply, not breaking eye contact) Dave...After this night, you would make my YEAR if you would try to come accross this bar.

He stared blankly at me for about 5 seconds, and then said, "Is there any way you could call us a cab?"

The doorman got him one quick...

Love, Sweet Love!

2005-10-12T13:17:00.000-05:00

Is it the only thing that there is just too little of? I know the French are known as lovers, right? They so quickly demanded rights and what not for all thos Guantanamo detianees...

So where is the worlds worst prison? France, that's where. I am sure that they just need some love...Ne need for another mountain, just love...seet love..

I don't want a Holiday in the sun!

2005-10-12T11:15:00.000-05:00

But we are all different! As Sid would say, "Now I got a reason..."

What do I mean? Let's see...here vs. there. I am here in the Redneck Riviera, total tourist spot, Destin, Florida. Should be some serious money to be made off of all y'all tourists and locals with cash. When I worked in Washington D.C. I made a lot of money waiting tables and tending bar. I worked five nights a week, had my days totally free (I went to college back then, but don't now) and paid for my party-boy lifestyle including vacations, nights partying, rent, car payments and yes tuition and books, though I also had the Army College Fund and GI Bill to help.

I did work at money places, though...One was a total "local" tourist bar/restaurant where I bartended. On the slowest, deadest winter Monday night I could make $100 cash, all while getting paid $6 and hour. On the busy Saturday nights I have walked away with as much as $550, and usually made over $300. Truly rare would be the weekend night where I wouldn't break $200. Problem was staying up til 3am every night. So I changed jobs for "upscale" dining. Hell, I liked food, dining, wine, booze, the life. I started to work at this place where the Surf and Turf was $40, Alaska King Crab legs were $50, and the 2 and a 1/2 pound baked stuffed lobster was $75. The wine list had all the biggies...Dom, Veuve Clicqout, Chalk Hill, Stag's Leap, Chateau Montelena, etc The single malt scotches they carried were on the dessert menu, divided up into which Scottish Isle they hailed from...I mean they also had fish and chips for $13 (the best you will ever have, just perfect) and served Iced Tea, but all it took was one great table per shift and you were in the money. Have three or four great ones, and you were PAID bigtime. Very little ignorance (which I will talk about later), celebrities, rich people and pro athletes constantly eating there. I saw many in my year there and personally waited on several Washington Redskins like Champ Bailey (he drank Hennesy and cranberry juice, YUCK!) Gus Frerotte, but after he left the Skins, (he would always eat the King Crab legs and leave a great tip) Tre Johnson (he must have drank at least 10 pineapple juices) and others such as Robert Urich and a couple of DC type celebrities. Typically a waiter working on a typical Friday or Saturday night would come to work at 4:30 or 5, walk out at 10:30 or 11 with well over $200, often $300. My problem there was they needed bartenders, and I had lots of bar experience, so they started giving me bar shifts and that cut my income in half.

I tried sales...That is a business for sharks. You can make a lot of money there too, but must slit the throat of the guy next to you. I am simply not that aggressive. In other words, I made a crappy salesman.

Back to the restaurant biz...Now that I am in the "South" things are different. I love the South, like college football, and NASCAR (though I can't stand sweet tea.) Most Southerners are on the "right" side of the political spectrum. They are self reliant, hate the Gob'ment, and are "good people." They will give the shirt off of their back if you are in need, are quick to shake your hand, look you in the eye, and otherwise treat people with respect.

Why can't they eat in a restaurant? Why can't they tip? Why can't they refrain from driving their waiters right up the wall? How can anyone come to a steakhouse and order a filet mignon and eat it well done with fries and steak sauce while pounding your sweet teas? A typical "Southern" style tip is usually 10%. These days, I just take it! It is better than the random tips that I often get...$10 on a bill of $130...$3 on a bill of $80 (there were three people, buck a head!) There are many people who give the 15%, which is always appreciated...There are also plenty who give 20%. There are also the exceptions, the 25% and up folks, that can often balance out the "buck a head" folks. The general tip here in the South seems to be 10% which does suck. But I have committed to my wife, who doesn't pick where she gets stationed, so I live with it.

To those of you who say "grow up and get a real skill!" I would have to say fuck off real quick...Waiting tables is incredibly difficult at times, and people are so varied in their tastes that it takes a lot of knowledge to wait tables and not look like an asshole. It takes a great amount of organization, skills, and most of all patience to deal with you people! I have that knowledge. I have those skills. I take your kids picture when they dress up nice for the Prom and dine out at "that fancy restaurant" ordering that one order of prime rib with two plates, eating up valuable chunks of my section on a Friday night for a crappy tip. I smile and coo at your baby even if she is uglier than your wife. I yell so that your elderly Mother can hear me and then patiently redescribe the specials (but now for EVERYONE in the vicinity) so she can just go ahead and order from the kids menu. I clean up after your spawn, (and do so with a smile if the tip was good, so don't stress it!) including on more than one occasion, little person vomit (yeah Dad, thanks for "picking it up" and hiding it in the cloth napkins so I can't see it and get it on my shirt as I bus the table.) I give respect in all cases, no matter how ghetto/hillbillie you appear and call you sir, Ma'am. My restaurant usually only hires people with those skills, and those without are quickly weeded out (to quote the great R.Lee Ermey) as non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved corps. They are occasionally weeded out by management, but more often than not are weeded out by the people who are being waited on with crappy tips for crappy service. I am sure not saying that it doesn't happen, as it often does, even in the "nice" places. If your waiter is atrocious, it is your duty to stiff him (even I have done this, but only once for some incredibly rude service on the part of the waitress totally in HER control) and help weed out this type.

But if the service was great, there isn't any reason not to go ahead and hook up your server. ESPECIALLY if you feel like eating there again! You do not want to go to a place where you are "known" for crappy tips, I personally assure you of that!

So Much Trouble in the World

2005-10-12T00:13:00.000-05:00

My wife will not be deploying so it seems, but that is a great thing! I was looking forward to her doing an incredible job and impressing and getting career "points" for serving in an overseas combat zone, maybe getting her a promotion, award, or otherwise commanding the respect that her already impressive resume includes...Two overseas tours...Special Duty assignment with the chief of Staff and Secretary of the Air Force (all the while DURING the Sep 11th episode at the Pentagon, with fire alarms pulled from the ceilings so they could work while the building was ACTUALLY on fire smoldering.) She is the greatest, and the more people who see her in her light know it, and only the envious and sorry have problems with her. Limp dicked types.

We got here to Florida, and on the way here from the airport, a chief MSGT drove us home and explained about the shop that my wife was taking over. One was a problem child for a while, but only in her dating "choices." Another couldn't refrain from checking out "verboten" sites on the internet using gob'ment computers, but was otherwise a passable airman...The last was a non-motivated little young and obnoxious airman, straight out of basic with ZERO NCO guidance...I tried using my Army NCO experience to help her through all of this, and she has loved my advice, but that isn't the point. My wife has turned Miss dating choices nearly to a jr NCO, the puter dork into a trooper in Iraq trying like hell to do a great job and doing so, and uhm yeah...She is still trying, though on litle miss unmotivated!

The point is this: MY WIFE ISN'T DEPLOYING TO SOMEPLACE DANGEROUS JUST YET!!

So I will change this topic on this blog and hope to gain some interest.

The new TOPIC?? The restaurant industry! You won't know where I work, but it is a chain, kind of on the expensive side and likely near you...I wait tables! I bartend! I usually make between $500-1000 a week doing this easy job! More than I made as a truck driver, more that I made in sales, and WAY more than I did as an office lackey...

See, in the restaurant industry, there are many categories of people. Where are you? Are you southern white trash? Demanding prick? Total ghetto biatches? Drunkards? Great restaurant guests? My restaurant has MANY of each category, and I plan on blogging about as many of them as I can!!

Something about me loves this job! I went to college, I paid for it myself actually, but came back into restaurants...I love to hang out, to party, and most of all, to EAT great food...I LOVE to eat food and match a good wine. I love to serve people who are in that category...If you fit that profile, you are going to get some awesome service...If you order your order that the chef has prepared especially for you without mushrooms, garlic, basil, cheese, and onions, just fuck off and order something else asshole...

I will tell you a story real quick here...

Greg was once a middle linebacker for a PROMINENT college football team. We worked together in a famous restaurant in the Washington DC area, Virginia side...He had the unfortunate distinction of looking like Neumann, from Seinfeld, and this being 1996, and Seinfeld being a very prominent show at the time, it was unfortunate indeed. Like most middle linebackers that couldn't make the pros and had "juiced" in the late80's/early 90's, Greg was massive...6'3", over 250 pounds, probably a 54" shoulder and 38" waist...Just a GIANT Neumann... This place was normally a restaurant, but it was located in a reeaalllyy cool spot and would turn into a drinking bar around 10pm. With Greg waiting tables, every time his back turned, someone in the very large, loud room full of drunkards would inevitably yell out "Hello Neumann!" He eventually turned into a drug addict, had to go to rehab, and was fired for drinking on the job...Nicest guy though, reaally!

and then there was Mary...The NICEST (except for my wife) person you could find...Married to the nicest dude that you could find...Mary was as sweet as the double shift is long, and totally easy on the eyes as well. Her husband was trying to score with his ability to make people laugh performing as a stand-up comic, and remains one of the funniest people I have ever met...

One night Mary was being tormented by a table, a woman who could not be satisfied...She would have a new demand on this great server every time that she visited the table...Usually quite extraordinary, or otherwise. She is only in the salad course during this busy Saturday shift when the woman nearly makes her cry. Greg, feeling very bad for Mary pulls her aside, and simply states, "it is only money Mary! If they stiff you or give you 25%, it is only money! Here, go to their table smiling! Let me sweat on your salad for you!" Our salads came with two toasted pieces of french bread and Greg simply picked up the bitchy woman's salad bread and mopped his massive, SWEATY, and I do mean SWEATY brow with them...The rest of table suffered no consequences, though Mary did overhear the bitchy woman explaining to the table that even though the food was great, and things went ok, that what they were leaving as tip was WAY too much...

Mary was smiling though!!

I love this job!

I have so many stories, and want to tell them all. Wait me out, and you will hear some doozies, and find out where you are in the world of servers and bartenders...I love this job!

I'd like to be Under The Sea!

2005-09-19T21:25:00.000-05:00

In an Octopus's garden! Nuff said! Pass the bowl, valu-rite vodka, and party on!! Imagine what $6000+ means for a guy like that?

OH! Baby, give me one more chance!!

2005-09-02T22:14:00.000-05:00

So is there anyone unhappy about all of the media coverage of Hurricane Katrina? Well there might be one!! Unlike the ONLY person not islamo-fascist who was happy about 9/11, Gary, Condit, who got releif after 9/11, Cindy Sh(forget it, I will NOT dis-honor her heroic son by using her last name) will be on the opposite side of that press spectrum as she feels the sting of the press having to cover something of real importance...

I WANT YOU BACK!!!

With Iowahawk on hiatus due to the disaster, I found this a great fill in! I found this due to old pal Ace-of-Spades! Great job on Marbles!

So why don't ya' kill me?!

2005-09-02T13:05:00.000-05:00

I am reading the news and watching the news in horror for the people of New Orleans. Just a nightmare of lawlessness and desperation. As I watch this I also hear all the same accusations, conspiracy theories and psycho-babble as usual.

It's Bush's fault!

Not only did he cause the storm (global warming), but he caused the flood (HE didn't spend the money to shore up the levees) but he also caused the looting and killing (since he hates all blacks and poor folks) and he also dragged his feet with FEMA. Of course my personal favorite is that Katrina was a private in the Army of Allah!

I am pretty damn tired of seeing this type of behavior.

For the real blame, I think we need to ask the leaders of the city of New Orleans or Baton Rouge. Why are all of the people of New Orleans going to Houston? BECAUSE GALVESTON HAD A PLAN!! Galveston was nearly wiped out by a hurricane once so they made it a priority to have a solid game-plan in case it ever happened again. They built a seawall that cost the city, THE CITY, (mostly) millions of dollars.
" To prevent such a natural disaster from devastating the island in such magnitude again, the city built a seawall seven miles long and 17 feet high and began a tremendous grade raising project. Galveston's Seawall now extends 54,790 feet, one-third of Galveston's ocean front. Total cost was $14,497,399.
It stands 16 to 20 feet wide at the base and at the top ranges from three to five feet in width and is composed of granite, sandstone or concrete apron from 27 to 40 feet. Many structures were jacked up during the grade raising while dredges poured four to six feet of sand beneath them; in others (such as Ashton Villa) the fill was pumped into the raised basements. Residents used elevated wooden sidewalks to walk through town. The grade raising project began in 1902 and was completed in 1910 and included 500 city blocks. "

THE CITY made plans with Houston to send thousands of their poorest citizens to Houston in case something happened. Where is New Orleans plan? What has the Mayor of that city done to plan for this sort of thing? What did Baton Rouge do to plan for this sort of thing. EVERYONE acknowledges that New Orleans' levees could break in a class 4 or 5 hurricane. The state and city administrations KNEW that Katrina was on its way. Where was their plan? Where is their stronger levee? Where is the evacuation plan? The plan to help the sick, and non-ambulatory?

Why do they have this total reliance on George Bush when they hate him anyways. George Bush could personally go into the basement of the White House, cure AIDS and the left would blame him for cancer.

Loserbaby! That is what you all are. Show some compassion for the poorest of the people of New Orleans...These are Americans forced back in time and shifted to a lawless society that very, very few of them wanted or deserved.

Tin Soldiers and Nixon Coming

2005-09-01T14:33:00.000-05:00

While this isn't at Kent State, it is still in Ohio. Anyone not brain-dead should comprehend what this Marine has to say!

15 Minutes With You

2005-09-01T10:52:00.000-05:00

I love music. All different kinds. Between my wife and my collection we have about 4500 songs solely off of CDs that we had legally bought and own. Having said that, I always seem to have a song in my head, imagine that! I am starting this blog in hopes of making it through the insanity of the deployment of my wife to Iraq, whom I could never say no to 15 minutes with.