I like to eat out. I really do. I’m in the restaurant business, and I’m sure that has a lot to do with it, but I don’t think that’s the only reason. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I wasn’t given the opportunity as a child to grace the local eateries very often. Going out to eat, in fact, was so rare and so special, I would become quite exuberant at the slightest hint of a night out.
I would pay close attention to every detail. The table setting and plateware were always carefully examined and I scrutinized the servers like a drill sergeant inspecting his troops. I loved the ambience and the smells from the kitchens. The owners would often come by to say hello to our table and friends with friends stopped by to talk to my Dad. They all had skinny glasses filled with brown liquid and a cherry. My "Roy Rogers" was always a bit darker and one could hardly see the cherry. I so wished to be grown up then.
I’m grown up now, in the physical at least, and have found myself in the same state of infatuation. I enjoy the restaurant. I like the clinking of glassware and the smells that emanate from the grills, stoves and steamers. I like the ever changing faces that repeat in rare patterns, often teasing my memory by hiding amongst new hats and hairdos. I like the shiny floors and carefully placed lighting. The crisp whites of the Chef and the wink of the Bartender remind me that this is all a carefully executed plan. Controlled chaos. This is my grown up world now. I choose to be enveloped by the place I was developed.
I have been in this game for a long time. 20 years give or take. Whod’a thunk it? I took my first job at Kentucky Fried Chicken, in 1984. It lasted only a month. Then to Chili’s, for another month. Then to Olive Garden. That lasted 8 months. They taught me how to carry a tray, open a bottle of wine, champagne and beer. How to serve from the right and take from the left. How to write a check, how to ring a check and how to be obsequious when dropping the check. How to carry plates, wash plates and how to clean up the plates I dropped. I learned about food preparation, food storage and rotation. How to have a clean shirt, clean shave and clean hands. I learned about after work parties, before work hangovers and how smoking pot ten minutes before my shift would be the harbinger of a night in the weeds.
Over the years, I have had made hundreds and hundreds of friends in this business. I have met countless celebrities and even claimed to be related to one. I have climbed the ladder from the bottom to the top. I have jumped back down, on occasion and have jumped back up when the timing was right. That’s the beauty of this business: Someone, somewhere, will always be interested in replacing a piece of shit that works for them in some capacity. Therein lies the always-open door. Right time, right smile, right choice of words. Honed skill, strong work ethic, pleasant disposition, fresh breath, clean clothes and a rapier wit.
There are plenty of us out here. We love to laugh, love to hustle and love to have friends to vent to. We help each other move, help each other with rides and will even offer our services in the booty call department. Some of us are more motivated by this than others mind you, and often find themselves in search of new employment on a regular basis. Many of us like booze. Many like drugs. Plenty like both and they too, move on like David Banner at the end of every episode of the Incredible Hulk. Thumb out and walking backward on the highway of life. Yup. Plenty of friends I have known in this business. I hope to make plenty more.
The door always opens for me. When the time is right. I move to a new building, where the faces are new, but the personalities are the same. I find myself reminded of others, from years ago, in the faces I meet today. Both on the employee side, and the guest side. The things that remain constant are the smells from the grills, the sunlight through the windows and the laughter from the dining room - and the kitchen.
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