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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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If I had to do it over and choose a career it would be somehow related to oil and gas.
Seriously.
Our customers, all of them, every one, the regulars at least, the respected regulars, a millionaire, several times over due to the Oil and Gas industry.
Vague companies they own, royalties from leasing land, drilling, service companies, none of them (to overhear their conversations) even remotely intelligent, few enough well mannered, merely the social fluency of rednecks and hillbillies, Millionaires.
"So and So" the owner tells me..."owns .... Petroleum, worth 45 Million dollars....".
"What exactly do they do?" I ask, curious, all these Petroleum companies, where's the money, "Petroleum" is rather vague...
He doesn't know, names to look up, research to do, I'm not sure the Owner's the most reliable source, most of our customer's are wealthy, to be sure, but the scale seems ridiculous.
Some of them own Private Jets. Guess Ten Million Dollars for the jet, 100, 150K a year for the Pilot (forever on hold, 24/7, waiting for the call), airport, maintenance fees, ridiculous squandering of extravagant wealth. How many times would you need to take a 10 Million Dollar Jet a year, with added maintenance and expenses, for it to pay for itself? But it's all Status, the "I'm better than you, I have a private jet..." . This is good, it reminds me that I'm a simple man.
We have one, the owner knows him, retired at 45, good looking in that way that I might be if I never smoked, never worked in restaurants, never had a financial care in the world and worked out for 3 hours a day might be, likeable, retired with 45 Million (Give or Take) in the bank...
He's the poor one, his brothers are far better off. A billion, 100 million, companies and employees that somehow exceed my imagination
And the best dreams of my excursion up North, even with the new and improved price of gold factored in, have me paying a few bills, buying a cheap jeep, paying rent for a year. Order's of Magnitude, gold vs petroleum. Still I'm going.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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"The most important thing..." he's telling us "is to breathe..."
He's sitting on a chair by the front door, he's just gotten in and he's regaling us with his opinions. Most of them, like with the nephew, I've heard before, but once in a while he comes up with something new.
M is drunk. It was a condition of his rehire that he not be drinking, but he got the lunch off (slow) and when he returned at 4:30 was just a little more opinionated than usual.
The evening, slow at the beginning of the day, is steadily picking up. More and more reservations, walk-ins, it's a busy night.
And G tells me "He's fucking hammered, haven't you noticed...?"
Really, given how often everyone there is either hammered or stoned I hadn't, and if he did his job I wouldn't care, but he's leaning upon a chair talking to a table, his voice, intonation, he's got an exaggerated manner now that I notice...I wonder if the table knows he's drunk, cares? Or is it simply another little charming quirk in their favorite Italian restaurant?
"And I said to him....and he said to me...."
He's famous, he's worked everywhere in the city, and before the shift was in a tirade about all the shitty places he's worked, now he's amusing the tables with anecdotes of his travels and friends, there's a line up at the door, food to be run, people waiting to be sat, tables to be cleared, offered dessert, more drinks, but M is off in the midst of his story and all these things can wait...
I wouldn't care, but we're busy, counting on all hands being somewhat vaguely productive, if the owner notices he's done and I don't want the owner to notice, this job, it's like the monkey's paw, there's no giving it away when anyone understand the strings attached, and so we'll all keep quiet and hope nobody says anything.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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For a while G was "dating" the Nephew's girlfriend's sister.
Big nights out, double dates, for a while they were "bros" in the literal sense of the word, but somehow or another it fell apart.
G's explaining it to me.
"He said she was a slut..."
And I'm raising an eyebrow, G continues...
"I mean, from the stories he told me I was pretty sure she'd..."
Graceless, this, where upon hearing a girl's a slut I'd lose interest fast, G's interest was piqued, he played his cards wrong, though, got nowhere fast, and now he's blaming the Nephew.
"Why would you be interested if you thought she was a slut?" I ask by way of provoking him, inferring by my tone that he really ought to know better and somehow the fault is his, he sees where I'm going, doesn't want to answer. She's blocked him from her BBM, Facebook, doesn't answer when he calls, I can only surmise somehow he came on a little strong, heavy in his hopefulness that she was easy, he's a bit upset.
Meekly now, defensive, it's not his fault: "He said she was a slut..." .
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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A longstanding waitress has decided to treat a new boyfriend - common-law husband to a spicy treat this Valentines.
She wants to surprise him with some Sex Toys.
We've a lovers boutique near the restaurant, and while the restaurant is closed she decides to haul me over to pick out a toy or two.
Her reasoning is that I'm the only man on staff who's shown no interest in her, is somewhat discreet and - here I conjecture - possibly has some authority on the subject. I don't know, I'm only guessing, but given the choice of coworkers, I'm the one I'd bring as well. She doesn't want to go alone, and as I've some professed academic expertise (I'm online a lot...).
This is her first foray into a sex shop. This shop, the lovers boutique, it's far from the best, overpriced novelty toys from China, imported for a dollar and sold on for a hundred, the quality is low, prices are high, I'm not a fan. I recommend to her a few other shops that by reputation are far better.
She's in a rush, doesn't care.
So we glance through the toys, in the end she's drawn towards a variety pack, I recommend against it - the silicon is lousy, the attachments will be lost, the quality - as far as I can tell, isn't there, and I've never known a woman who really used the full variety of attachments. There are better toys for less.
She won't be dissuaded.
So off she goes to buy her Valentines gift for her new beloved, a variety pack of sex toys for herself. I can say nothing.
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A new salad girl started last week, appeared on a Friday night, pale, looking a bit plump in her chef's uniform, unremarkable in every way. By Saturday night she had disappeared, gone the way (I supposed) of so many others.
Tonight, the night before Valentines, she shows up with her boyfriend for dinner.
Blonde, fit, she gives me a quizzical look: "You don't recognize me". And I'm for a moment terrified. She saves me: "I started last week...." and I breathe a sigh of relief, her name, memorable only because it was a slight variation on a common name with heavily pretentious overtones.
The boys, the boss, all pass by the table and chat with them. And by the end of the night the Nephew has persuaded them to join us at the local dire pub for drinks.
I meet up with them.
I talk to the boyfriend, polite enough, he manages another infamous Italian restaurant in the city. Light conversation, pleasantries, they pay and leave.
No sooner than they have left the table then the nephew begins: 'The boyfriend, he's a nice guy....' And I nod my acknowledgement. He continues, louder:
"...but i want to fuck the hell out of his girlfriend..."
I laugh and shake my head, looking down, looking up I spot the boyfriend perhaps 10 feet away, he's waiting for his girlfriend to finish up in the washroom. I'm not sure if he heard, but he's not catching my eye. I'm guilty by acquaintance in the worst of possible ways.
I tell the nephew, at first he's concerned, when they've left he asks me if I think they've heard, doesn't wait for an answer....
"...I want to fuck her so bad, but not to worry, I have a plan. I'm not very smart with work, but I'm pretty smart with this..."