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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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The nephew calls me up, after work, we go for drinks. He's seriously frayed, coming undone, the hours, too long, doesn't want the responsibility, he's adjusted the tip-outs to reflect the fact he's now working, no longer content with an even cut he's taking double what the others are getting. He's not putting up with it.
I knew it. It's not unfair, well, not entirely, some do more than others, but when I was working he sat on his chair on the phone the entire day and was an equal. As were the part-timers, or close enough, 75 or 80% cut minimum, but he's cut them back to 50%, and there's been some grumbling...doesn't matter, he'll fire them, get others, he's leaving anyways, told the owner, he's only got a couple of months left, he'll be leaving January 5th, he told him, there was a scene...
There's been a few scenes as of late, the owner, selling, waiting for "his price", but in this economy nobodies getting their price. And his selling, it's half-hearted, he's not ready for a retirement spent with his girlfriend, who would happily retire as well and move in with him to make his final days a living hell.
He's coming undone, M******, the new waiter, he's caught on, already threatened to leave, ask for news of the old Italian waiter, returned to Italy, he's good, off his anti-depressants, they were entirely related to the job, the nephew, he's telling me about his anxiety, unable to sleep, his own anti-depressants, he can't wait to leave, this is no life, no way to live, he wants friends again, to go for drinks and have fun, and I know what he means, but after 7 years there I've almost forgotten, now, trying to remember a life outside of work, it's hard...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Packing, now, all the shit that won't be coming with me. Despite only being here a year, maybe 2, there's a lot of shit.
Treasures, new candlesticks, old candlesticks, chambersticks, inkwells in colors of pale violet to mercury blue, glass pens, ancient keys, dinosaur bones, knick-knacks, breakables, delicate curiosities, to return to the locker. Furniture, to be given away or placed in the alley (where it disappears suspiciously quick). Separate the shit I'm taking from the shit I'm leaving. This is not so hard, I'm still taking far more than I should, I need, better to be prepared, but whatever I leave will be what I miss most.
A shame, this packing of the treasures that have been acquired but barely enjoyed or appreciated, a good many of them are given away to appreciative audiences, I console myself, do this right in a year or two you can be unpacked. Properly unpacked. Looking at real estate - Kaslo, 10 acres, walking distance, under 100K. I could do this, better in the spring, of course, time to build my homestead over the summer, but this - 100K, this is not impossible...
I think I'm top of it, that I've thought of everything, but thoughts percolate to the surface, the need to fix the jeep, to clean, to make it to the consignment shop, slight commitments to art projects, paintings, other, a hundred tiny things that distract me...
Tomorrow, everything to the locker but the bed and what's coming with me. The bed, it goes on Sunday. I'm living the Zen, but at the moment, surrounded by a hundred semi-packed boxes of treasures and trifles I'm living the nightmare. Soon...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Anticlimactic, this final leaving, Friday, slow, Saturday, while by all appearances busier, equally slow. Goodbye to one of the regulars, gruff, "Good Luck", hug, he was the philanthropist who occupied the private room, the owner told him I was leaving, he knew, but the immediacy, "Tonight's the last night" surprised him.
The new waiter, he's catching on, slowly, by no means the brightest lantern, trying to teach him how to cash out for a week, he doesn't understand, and when the rudiments of understanding cross his brow he disagrees...the nephew, he takes over the cash outs, he's not so bright but he's better than this...
...funny, you can see the dissent forming, power corrupts, absolute power absolutely, and I can see the division of tips now, joking with the expediter/hostess that she'll remember these days...
The new waiter, lacking a sense of humour, takes offense where none is given, bad breath, telling me that he plans as well to move to BC, about a place called "Trout Lake" where you'll be safe from the Armageddon that surely must be coming...he's one of those...
Joking with the nephew, need a saddle for the new waiter so he can ride him about the restaurant calling himself king and introducing the new talking donkey that will be taking their order, he laughs, he gets it, he'll miss me, the old talking donkey...and threatens, himself, to be leaving soon, no later than January...the world turns.
The end of the night, early for me, hand over the keys, goodbye to the staff, most are new, there's no connection, the nephew, the chef, the owner, the salad girl, they all have plans as well, and I doubt the restaurant will be here in 3 months, a year, but I'll pop back in for a visit. A rare thing, this hat-trick of leaving, twice on good terms, but there has to be more out there than this, and I am off...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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...She polled into the booth and looked at the candidates...
"Lethal Injection" vs "Slow and Painful Electrocution with a good possibility of Nuclear War".
There were a couple of others, but these were the ones she knew, knew the party, knew the logo..."incompetent strangulation" was one she didn't know, but there were always a few fringe candidates...
It wasn't really much of a choice...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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4 Days to Go. Every day, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, ... Is my last.
Tuesday is done. A slow night, the owner, loudly arguing on the phone with suppliers, he's going down the toilet, talking with regulars, their predictions? 3 more years, he won't survive that long, the ex, she's squeezing him for even more child support, knowing full well that the restaurant, the city, it's hit hard...
We've had a few tryouts. An older Iranian waiter, pleasant, but not too sharp, the owner says no. It's always the owner, never me, I'm too easy going, I'm leaving, I'm just beating the bush until my departure. After a couple of weeks he sends us an email, he only worked a couple of hours but he wants his wages and his tips...
Another girl, Iraqi-Persian-come-Syrian-come-Canadian, she wants a job, bad, started as a Salad Girl on the weekend, wants to work front of house.
She has no experience, but she assures me she's a hard worker, great worker, such a good worker, she'll figure it out... she wants out of the kitchen bad...
We give her a trial. A slow Friday night, same night we're trying M*****, old waiter back after 10 years. He's good, you know it after just a few minutes, a worker, a rarity around here. She, well, not so. We teach her to pour water, deliver Brushetta, bread, she can't keep up, she fucks up, stands by the bar talking with the others. The owner tells me he wants her gone, tonight, she's been calling him every day badgering him for full-time, dictating her hours and conditions, this is bollocks, she hasn't a clue how to waitress, let alone even bus tables, I catch her busing one table, separate trips for napkin, salad fork, dinner fork, knife, spoon, napkin, water glass, wine glass, nobody can be that stupid, she's that stupid...
I tell her, end of the shift, we'll call her, she doesn't need to call us...she takes it, teary eyed, calls the owner the next day...
The days pass. The regulars, the once a month, the once a week, once a day regulars, I've said goodbye to the once a month ones, not literally, only a few know, in my head goodbye, they don't need to know. It's not important, I'll be replaced. The once a week regulars, now, day by day, I don't say anything, why bother, they understand, they know.
There's some new regulars...
The Gangsta, one of many, old school, my age, married, but in two consecutive weekends with two different blondes, not his wife, molls, drinking several bottles of Prosecco, he's affable enough, done his time on the murder bit, enjoying the high life with no visible means of support and a wallet full of cash, classical Italian...and then there are the younger gangsta's, the United Nations of Drug dealers, track suits, ball caps, red sneakers, paying in cash, they sit in the private room, young, maybe 20's, thirties oldest, Somalian, Asian, one Italian, their friendly, they tip from a bag with easily $7,000 cash...
We've gotten a lot less picky about our customers. We're letting them all in, baseball caps, wifebeaters, tee-shirts, tattoos, business is slow and we can't afford to be picky. And the diners, the ones coming in for a fine dining experience, they ask us about the dress code and we know, we roll our eyes, any business is better than no business, but this new business, it's costing us our old clientele...
The owner wants out. No denying, he's up front, the economic forecasts for the province, 3 more years of NDP, 3 more years with damage that will take decades to repair, will never be repaired because the world is changing...
Don't get me wrong, nothing against the NDP, change was overdue, long overdue, but for the old guard, for the out of work and formerly successful entrepreneurs, for a lot of people it's too much in too little time, and the price of oil isn't helping...
...kids, now, playing, running around in the dining room, we're losing the good customers at the cost of acquiring the shitty ones, but an odd observation, we've opened ourselves up to a wider cross-section of Calgary, families, the newly entitled and wealthy, and despite the recession (or because of it) we're seeing more cash flow through the restaurant than ever we've seen in our lives...not revenue, just cash, cash VS interac, Visa, MasterCard, you get the idea...
The regulars, I come to get their drinks, tell them the specials, the nephew comes 'round to get their orders, they give me that look of abandonment, they wanted to be served, maybe not by me necessarily but served in general and they know the nephew, know what's up, I come around to reassure them, haven't told them I'm leaving, it doesn't matter but things, there, will be changin'...
M*****, he's on to it, he's the new lead and after a mere 3 shifts had figured things out, the Monkey's Paw, no concealing it, I'm giving him the black shirts off my back and I'm off...