- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2493
There's a game that customers play when they want to ingratiate themselves to the waiter. It's the "What Celebrity do you most look like" game.
So far I've had one Benicio Del Toro, one Rupert Everett (I've had him before) and 3 Lyle Lovetts. Now Lyle Lovett isn't a celebrity that you should attribute to your waiter if you're trying to ingratiate yourself to him. Although I have to say there's a slight resemblance...SLIGHT is the operative word, perhaps more a shared expression of "What am I doing with this haircut", but that's where I'll end it. As for Rupert Everett, well, slight again, but I find him rather bland. And while I'd be the first to acknowledge that Benicio Del Toro's a very handsome man, there's absolutely no resemblance whatsoever apart from the bags under the eyes and his rather natty dress sense.
If I had more time I'd patch them all together and find the resemblance. But I don't.
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 3008
There's a long list of things I need to start the New Year.
New Socks. Every pair I own, bar one mismatched set, has at least one hole in the heel or toe, most have several. And while I've entrusted my daughter with the task of buying me new socks for Christmas it's best to be safe and I really can't wait any longer and so I buy some for myself.
Then there are shoes. My old shoes, they're fine, but there are superstitions that suggest one should start the New Year in new shoes. And so I've kept my eyes peeled on my infrequent trips to the Women In Need and have finally found 2 pairs of appropriate black dress shoes. The old shoes, with their smooth leather soles, were crazy to walk on, especially given the weather. The new shoes have textured rubber soles, normally I'd disapprove but have come to appreciate the practicality in our rather unpredictable climate.
A couple of new sweaters, just because I found them and liked them and at a couple of dollars each couldn't really leave them.
A couple of pairs of jeans, used but brand new, which I bought, size 30 waist but I figured I should be able to fit into them, I'm slim, aren't I? But all the feasting on scraps at the restaurant has put a couple of pounds on me and they're tight enough that I can't breathe or bend properly, my New Years resolution to lose a few pounds and save myself searching for some new jeans.
And then there are the boxer shorts. Men's briefs. The old ones I have, some several years old, have finally given out, the waistband has stretched, the seams have broken, there are holes where my bits fall out and they're an embarrassment. It's a new year, and, goddamn it, it's time I treat myself to some new underwear!! These can't be bought used, shouldn't be bought used and so I head off to a department store where I can hopefully find some at a hopefully not unreasonable price.
And I'm looking and the selection is OK, not great, there are the briefs, a silhouette of a mans torso with these fruit-of-the-loom type Y-Front on the front of them. Nope. More for the IT nerds who still live at home. There are the bikini-briefs with a color photograph of a man's torso, but I'm definitely not a bikini-brief sort of guy, unless they come in Leopard skin or Zebra prints.
Finally there are the boxers.
Now it's a big section, this underwear section, and the boxers, alone amongst all the briefs, have these full body and face pictures of the male models on them. And every one of them has got a "Aw, shucks Huckleberry ya' caught me now whaddya think we oughta do...." look on their face, sort of a coy, blushing, boyish embarrassment....
I'm looking through them, trying to find my size, a style that I like, and I notice other men standing beside me, also checking out the selection, there's that awkward moment that men share like when they're in a public urinal together standing side by side not talking because everyone hates to be talked to by strangers while they're fucking taking a piss...
You can't help but notice the models, you have to look at them, they're the only indication of what the boxers are going to look like when you get to put them on. The boxers, that is, because there's no way in your wildest dreams you're going to end up looking like the models with their finely ripped abs and too-toned bodies....
It slowly dawns on me as I'm perusing the selection, taking my time, trying to make the RIGHT choice because one day I just might be seen in them, that the others, the invisible men beside me that I haven't looked at because there's that peculiar sort of men's room etiquette in play that gives others their privacy as they shop for their undergarments and there's the mutual unacknowledged embarrassment of having to stare at naked men to buy your underwear; that the others buying underwear are taking their time too, poring over the illustrations, edging closer, and it finally occurs to me that I've stumbled into a gay cruising zone...
Of course, the homoerotic illustrations on the Hanes Packaging should have been my first clue.
"Still", I muse as I quickly make my selections and get out of there..."Gay men have impeccable taste..."
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2095
It's the longest night of the year.
Obviously. It's not light outside until past 8:30, then dark again before 5:00. The sun's just rising when you leave for work, and long set when you return.
And it's long because it's work, work, work, every dollar earned applied towards bills and debts, the institutions, the people, a tiny bit grafted from the top for cigarettes and liquor, the fuel of these 16 hour work days....
But knowing, somehow, that it's the longest night of the year, that the nights will grow shorter and the the days will lengthen, that the Christmas rush is almost over and the workdays will shorten, that money may someday in the distant future be used freely to ones own ends, it gives you hope...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2334
I've never worked in a restaurant where the owner got gifts from his customers.
But here, every day, there are tributes. Christmas cards. Boxes of fine chocolates; hedgehogs, truffles, trays of Baklava and sweets from the Indian Sweet shop. Elaborate floral displays with rare orchids and exotic flowers. The chocolates and food he leaves on the line so the waiters and staff can help themselves. It's a new feast every day and my trousers grow tight around my waist.
I've never seen this before, not on this scale; somehow he manages a personal relationship with all of his customers, it's impressive. And even more impressive, he doesn't hoard it or lay it aside as his own spoils, it's for everyone that works here. That is rare.
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2110
It's over, the week from hell. Slippery walks to the bus stop at 9:00 AM, work at 10:00, the theoretical break after lunch eroded, dissolved entirely by the dozens of people on early Christmas break, extended office parties that last into the evening.
1st thing is get the ice. Set up the butters. Replace candles, fill sugar bowls, check pepper mill. Set up dining room for large lunch parties. Fold napkins. Service. Reset dining room, by which time it's usually 3:30, if not later.
I try to get a nap in in the basement. Upstairs the owners son is pounding the veal, muffled conversations about Jesus, there's the sound of polishing cutlery, the phone ringing....
Up at 4:30 and repeat. Finish at 11:30 or 12:00, catch bus home, repeat.
Next week the same, but a shorter week, only until Thursday. Tomorrow off. But the week from hell is over....