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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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And in my absence, covering my departure, a variety of new servers. One younger, pretty, the nephew hired her hoping to throw a leg over but she's resisted him so far, perhaps her undoing, she's not a good server and without his patronage she'll probably get let go. The other 2, both older, my age-ish, one, a pleasant English lady with a substantial edge, not really fine dining, but a good worker - when she comes in, she's had a variety of issues, emergencies, family, personal, in just the first three weeks I was back she missed 5 shifts, last minute call-ins, there's something up, a junkie or an off-the rails alcoholic, the owner, he's begun to hate her, no one is sick there, no one, ever, and she's pulled off 6 days already in the busiest season of the year...and she breaks things, lots of things, glasses, plates, it gets worse as the day wears on, she needs to feed the demon...walking into the dining room with a couple of desserts, she stumbles, they fly onto the carpet, "Just put some more whipping cream on, they'll never know..." I yell loudly, the customers laugh nervously...
...and finally there's T***. T*** Baloney, career waiter around Calgary and the neighboring mountain villages, he knows everyone, maybe only a single degree of separation from any of our customers, he and the new waitress, they recall the golden days of serving in Calgary together, many a shared acquaintance or friend. But there's something up there as well, his hair, long, grey, slicked back to reveal a pronounced widows peak, blue eyes, goatee, he looks for all the world like a bad hypnotist in a worse nightclub, he's always asking about tips, the tip outs, this isn't going to wash, while I'm happy to divide things equally the nephew won't be so easygoing, I know. And he's a talker, no sooner than he discovers the degree of separation from the customer than he stands there conversing for an hour about his experiences at this restaurant or the other, prides himself on almost being a sommelier and when customers ask about a wine he goes into long discourses about "fruit forward or tanning forward? what year were you thinking?..."and a simple question becomes an opportunity to showcase his knowledge and one-up the customer.
Neither of them will last, but it's not my problem. A slower night, the nephew's taken a couple of extra days off while his uncle is on vacation, when he's back I try to grab the early departure, started at 10:00 AM, it's 9:00 PM now, maybe I can go..."NO way buddy, in a week you'll be gone and I'll get no days off...". He's hunched over his cellphone, reading the internet, facebook, texting, both similar and the complete opposite of Rodin's "The Thinker", Calgary's own equivalent, "The Idiot". So I suggest letting the others go, we've only a single table after all, and he dismisses this as well, we're all on the same salary, we can all hang out bored together...
He's made his bed...
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...December and we get a visit from M***, brother of J****, the nephew's x-roomate. M*** and his Fiance, M***, major partier and junkie, but he's looking good, well dressed, he's lost a lot of weight, complexion is clear, he's sporting a giant bright gold pendant, Chinese in style, "24 Karat Gold" he tells us as we admire it, it's inset with tiny gems and is cut to give the maximum flash, he's got on a large gold bracelet and ring as well, and as we notice he tells us "24 Karat Gold" without being prompted.
It's his reward to himself, he's been up on the farm in Northern Saskatchewan, 4 months, no booze or cigarettes, "I'm clean" he tells us, this bling is all to celebrate his conquering of his demons. It's hilarious, for me, alcohol and cigarettes, they're a problem, a vice for sure, for him they're a bloody virtue, but I know what he means. This was the guy that a couple of Thanksgiving's ago at J****'s place fucked the turkey in the middle of the dining room, and carried on long after anyone found it funny...the nephew still tells the story, one of many in his repertoire of stories about M***.
I notice his watch, nice, Rolex submariner, stainless steel, this sets him off, he tries to persuade me that it's an investment, shows me graphs on his phone as to how they've kept their value over the years, I hum and haw, I'm not so convinced, but if he likes it that's all that matters...
Talk, politely, of other things, he figures he's going to hang in Calgary for a few months, 'til the end of winter, asks about the cost of hosting his wedding, brings the conversation around to the subject of his watch again, he's merely swapped addictions, constantly rewarding himself with the most expensive and outrageous jewelry he can find, the arguments over investment, their his excuse. He's doomed, the nephew and I know it, there's no chance of him staying clean in Calgary, all of his friends, family, they're all partiers, junkies, addicts, his only hope is to get back to Saskatchewan, tonight...
***
He's in again, a couple of weeks later, he's not holding it together, he's sketchy as all out, we can all recognize it, the nephew guesses Oxycontin, he's come in for the sole purpose of arguing the value of Rolex Submariners his fiance tells me, he's got more graphs, wants to debate the relative value of investments, Rolex Submariner vs Real Estate, Gold, other investments, it's funny and I don't want to wind him up, try and let it slide, he's eating risotto with his fingers and wiping them on the tablecloth, he's not wearing his bling, his 24K Clean out the window, this restaurant, we just cater to a better class of addicts...
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The old salad girl, skating partner, she texts me. Her boyfriend, 43, has had a heart-attack. In the hospital for a couple of days, she doesn't understand, he never smoked, drank, never lived, really...
I get it. He is, was, still is, the classic "Type A". A miser, counting every penny, she'd explain to me how they'd divide all the bills every month and split them up the middle, to the penny, this, despite the fact that he was earning double what she earned. How he'd demanded she pay for half of the new car, when he needed a new car, and she doesn't drive, but on weekends they go to malls and things. About how he wasn't poor, owned houses in Milan, South of Italy, Canada even, only, well, money was always tight with him. He took her for dinner on her birthday, using the shared credit card, they'd both be paying for that one...
It's a fucked up relationship, I don't get it, not at all, not a bit, but, hey, it works for them, he didn't want her to come to the hospital to visit him, she'd have to spend money on a cab, so the people at work were raising money to pay for her cab. I gave her a ride, wished her, him well, dropped her off.
Breathe. Get to Nelson. Quit smoking. Run, a mile, then 2, 3, 5 miles a day. Meditate. Quit drinking. Quit coffee. Meditate. Everywhere there are the signs, warnings, time is running out...
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I find them on the patio at Beano, the one, I****, recognizes me and shouts my name, she's with T*****, the chef, the other family I left...
I liked them. Worked there a couple of years ago - maybe less, time, work, sleep, less, it's all a blur. They were cool, and so we sit on the benches and chat, I show I**** the pictures of the trip to Utah, chastise her for the contents of the backseat when finally I got round to cleaning out the car, there were condoms and birth-control pills, all sorts of shit they'd lost when we went on that road-trip to Drumheller, years ago, it seems like a lifetime...
It's good to see them. I missed them, liked them all, they were pleasant enough, but that restaurant, well, the owner, Croatian as well, Alpha dog and he barked a lot, too much, no way to address that without being an asshole, better to leave, on unfriendly terms, but sometimes life is like that. I'm not a dog. Singlehandedly, though, by his example and existence, he explained the whole of the war in Yugoslavia. I understood. And I understood that as Canadians we should be very careful about who we allow to immigrate...but I knew that already.
These people, I**** and T*****, they're the new generation, enlightened, I like them, and we sit an hour and visit before I go in for my coffee and book...
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I'm leaving and he's doing less and less. Less, even, than before, and it was never much. Never.
A regular customer, philanthropist, wealthy, switched his schedule from Monday evenings to Tuesday evenings. No reason, but no small coincidence that my schedule changed as well, it's not me, I know, it's the avoidance of the other. He typically tips 22%. The week before, he'd come in with a party, the Nephew served, he tipped 5%. The Nephew, inattentive, preoccupied with his phone, he's fucking lousy. We've now the new waitress, the hostess, the nephew, none of whom will take orders or run food, all of which whom are paid, more or less, as equals. It's bullshit in the extreme. No, really, if you've worked in a restaurant, or anywhere else in the world, anywhere at all, with someone that leaned on their shovel the entire day and told you how hard they were working and how rich they should be you'll understand. He's that guy.
Tonight...3 men, older, spenders. They ask me about him, what's his role, what's he doing? I tell them..."He's (the bosses') nephew"...
...they laugh, family, they get it, and rib me with "you'll be fired before he is...", and I jest in return "I already have...". The last, they don't get, it doesn't matter. I do.
He thinks he's hard working. He defends himself by mocking me, offering to mop my beleaguered brow, "Worker of the Year" he says, no one is fooled. Damn me all you want, but I'm on my feet, still keeping up, his only currency is the internet and all the "Immigration/Islam is Awful" the internet can spew, but oddly no mention of the Italian problem, and when I address it, postulate that Italians immigrate to Canada through manholes left open upon the street, he sort of gets it.
But not really.
It's like the owner showed me, that internet meme - The oft quoted Ricky Gervais:
"When you are dead, you do not know you are dead. It's only painful & difficult for others. The same applies when you are stupid."