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"We should put a bomb under the table" he tells me, the Bosses nephew. "Blow it up. Kill them all".
He has a certain charm, this Italian accent, thick, he continues...
"Sure, at first everyone would be upset, they have family and children...but in twenty years they would thank us!"
He's right, of course. It's taken him a while to cotton on, but we serve, pander to and pamper, the worst clientelle in the city. Moneyed, yes, class, manners, education - 0. That's the thing about Calgary, you have money, you don't need the rest....
And the bomb under the table, it could be the start of a brave new world...
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We catch up. Coffee's taken a bit of a back seat to work as of late, and we're lucky if we meet every month.
He's the same. 2012 is coming and he's sure, well, maybe not sure but hopeful that things will change. And did I know that they might have the date wrong? It's supposed to be a year early...
We talk about other things, his shares in a gold mine that is rumored to be sold to the Chinese for six or seven billion dollars. There's the problems with the one world government, the Vatican, the global eugenics program that's already under way as evidenced by the contrails and the GM foods, ...
And I understand his hopefulness that the world will end, that the righteous will be called to heaven or perhaps by taken by ET's, and he's a bit sad that the world has come to this but he's hopeful, too, that he will be one of the chosen...
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He's brought his new wife into the restaurant, and the owner has come out to meet them. She's beautiful, he's showing her off, she's perhaps my age, but there would appear to be some slight cosmetic enhancements, no one really looks that good at 45. He doesn't look so good, he's brought along his mother and she's brought along her daughter, at first I thought his mother was the new wife, but I'm introduced before I have a chance to make a rather unfortunate mistake.
And the owner goes through his schtick of telling the women how beautiful they are and going for the double kiss and quick grope, the women are hesitant, more hesitant than most, and when they've been sat and he's been introduced to the new wife, new daughter, old mother he finds out their celebrating the daughter's return, she's back indefinitely, she's been away teaching English in China.
The owner acknowledges her beauty, tries to set her up on a date with G, she's embarrassed and not terribly interested she tells him.
And from here it gets worse. She speaks fluent Mandarin Chinese, and the owner begins asking how she likes teaching the "Chinky chinks", and he adopts a special funny voice, but it's not funny and nobody's laughing. The new husband stares into space, the wife and the daughter simply carry on politely as if they've heard nothing. The owner repeats himself, maybe she has a chink boyfriend? and they fluff about some more, the politeness is getting strained, but he doesn't catch it, drops the chink bomb perhaps 5 or 6 more times in conversation, I'm standing by to get a drink order and they're looking increasingly uncomfortable, regretting their choice of restaurants, I want to apologize for everyone, but where to begin....
It's a scene right out of BBC's The Office, but there are lines even The Office wouldn't cross....
When finally he's left the conversation resumes on a less strained level. I talk to the daughter, she tells me she loves it, she makes the equivalent of ten thousand dollars a month on a two hour work day, I'm jealous. And she repeats it just to rub it in, but I've heard enough, I know there are much better jobs out there....
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My daughter, she's worn out by summer camp, and when her mom comes to pick her up I take them both for Ice Cream.
Amato Gelato, close by, the best, if you ask the children, ice cream in the city.
It is very good.
My daughter, she's made it a goal to try and somehow try every flavour this summer.
We eat ice cream, walking home, my daughter has picked up a bit, a little more lively, talkative, her mother comments:
"Eve, it seems like you've gotten your second wind..."
And she replies without missing a beat:
"It wasn't me, it was dad...."
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Every night, before the shift begin there's the countdown. Franco wants to know how many days there are until vacation.
I tell him. "There are X weeks and Y days".
We argue, he's sure I've got it wrong, there have to be less, and he goes to the calendar and double checks. I'm right. I'm not too bad at remedial math.
I tell him, a heads up, a warning, that I have no intent of returning after the vacation. The vacation is the end. I don't know what I'll do, I only know the job is killing me, that I can't be here day and night any more, that the vacation is the vacation and it's also the end, sometimes he agrees, he hates it too and thinks the same, other times he tells me that I'll never leave, that I'm one of them now, that I'll change my mind after the vacation and I think about another winter here, the 13 and 14 hour days without break or day off over Christmas, think about the cultural void of another missed theater season, think about not seeing the children, and it scares the hell out of me...