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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: People

Published: 25 July 2010

Hits: 2527

He's come over from Italy to visit Canada, try things out, he's 24 years old, speaks no English. 

Which is no problem, as everyone at the restaurant (bar myself) speaks Italian.

In Italy he was a painter/construction worker. He's good looking, very good natured, tall, charming, all the girls like him. His uncle sets to work getting him dates immediately. His family in Italy is very wealthy, he's a child of privilege, and his uncle, he's going to spoil him and show him the opportunity that exists in Canada.

We start him as a busboy. His job will be to get the customers water, bread, bring bruschetta, clean and reset tables.

He's pretty laid back, and we figure out pretty quick that he's not going to be the greatest star the restaurant has ever seen, but he's the bosses nephew and what do you say? The best we can do is adjust his tips to reflect his contribution, and even then we're erring grossly on the high side, we don't want to offend the boss.

He takes frequent breaks. Three 15 minute cigarette breaks an hour. Not quick cigarette breaks, choking back a quick half fag, but slow, drawn out breaks. The other 15 minutes of the hour he eats.

He's a classic case of "Paid by the hour union mentality". He has no sense of urgency, and in the midst of the busiest rush will find time to slip out the back of the restaurant and have a slow cigarette or another plate of pasta.

But he's very charming, and he regales us with the stories of his dates. He's getting quite a few. He can't speak a word of work related English, and requests to fetch bread, water - urgent - mimed with a gesture of a hand in the air filling a glass - and the words "Aqua - Agua" - only seem to fill him with confusion, he stands perplexed in the center of the restaurant for a minute or two before heading out for another cigarette.

In the morning he vacuums. And halfway through the vacuuming he takes the end of the vacuum and affixes the hose to the front of his trousers and stands there, waving his arms in the air while he pretends to receive oral sex. It's a funny joke and he repeats it daily.

He's learning English. Not the boring words that you might use in a restaurant, like "Bread", "Water", "Chair" or "Table" but "I want to fuck you" and "She has nice tits" and "Young girls, they are the best". In fact he probably knows more profanities than most sailors, all picked up in a few short weeks.

His dates, they don't speak Italian, still they seem to get on all right for a night or two. The next day he regales us with stories of his successes, exploits, he's not doing so badly. The boys, they don't believe his success, I've watched him however, heard his confessions of the less-than-ideal dates, I believe him. There was "Chelsea", who he took to Banff and who told him that she was "Married to God", a bad date if ever there was one. And he was busted making out with Chelsea when he parked under the balcony of his previous evening's mistress, who came out with her roommate and cheered him on. It was a shame, because she was a good date, and the sense of bringing a bad date to talk about God with under the window of a good date rather eludes me.

Staff meals: staff's turn to eat, he's already had 3 or 4 meals today and so passes, I crouch outside to quickly devour my food as there's still work yet to be done. He comes to visit, chats with me, farts loudly, belches, then expectorates on the pavement. I'm fast losing my appetite and stare at him, he looks a bit sheepish and continues.

"It's natural" he assures me.

***

He peruses all the flyers in the newspapers. He's amazed by the terrific low prices on commercial trash, iPhones, computers, sneakers, he reads the prices aloud, shows us the ad, we explain again the price, and he converts it for us into Euros and tells us how much it would cost back in Italy. He wants to buy a bunch - of it all, sneakers, XBox's, iPhone's, and ship them to his friends in Italy.

***

The Boss, he doesn't have much of a sense of humor. He likes the boy, what's not to like, but when I joke that the Euro has begun recovering ever since he came to visit, that Italy has started a collection to keep him in Canada, he's not so pleased...."Careful" he says under his breath...

***

The vacation, it's coming soon, and he's confided big plans to have a party at the Bosses house. Maybe a couple. And it would almost be worth hanging out in Calgary to see how this pans out...

***

You excuse it all, he's young after all, only 24, but I can't ever remember being that young. He's telling us about the new hostess, Gypsies Daughter, how he loves "Fresh Pussy" and he smells his fingers to explain to us, then argues that in Italy it's no problem to fuck girls 14 years old, it's normal.....

And I think, if he manages to fuck the gypsy hostess, even though she's 16 and he's 24 he will be by far the younger of the two. But like a lot of thoughts I hold them in, keep them to myself, I'm leaving in a few weeks and he's young and charming and most importantly he's the bosses' nephew.

Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: People

Published: 25 July 2010

Hits: 1719

More chefs through the kitchen. A man flown in from Italy, on trial for a week, it was 3 days before I discovered that he worked there, he spent his time hanging out about the espresso machine and telling staff in broken English how life was too short.

And the latest, she's lasted 2 weeks, a Gypsy woman. She came to the interview with the owner and brought her 2 children (14 and 16) and husband with her. She's from Albania, lived in Italy before claiming refugee status in Canada.

So the owner tries her out. She shows up for her shifts late, her husband and kids wait for her outside the restaurant while she works. The husband, he's not working, can't find a job and so he's made it his job to get her work.

I tell the owner - "They're Gypsies", and he asks me if I really think so, Gypsies are from Romania, not Albania, and I just laugh it off, "Gypsies" and now he's thinking. ...

She's always late, misses shifts, doesn't call in, when finally she shows up a few days later she gives excuses like "I had shopping to do". The owner, he's not too happy but he's in desperate need of the kitchen help. And when she works, without fail her daughter and husband wait for her outside the back door of the restaurant. Not just to pick her up, but they're there to drop her off, then spend their time waiting in the parking lot, milling about, popping their heads in the back door to see how long she'll be, waiting for her to finish.

Her daughter, the eldest, 16 years old, she's taken over the hostessing position. 

She's remarkably mature for her age and a good worker, she works a day job as well, comes to the restaurant after it and hostesses, she pours water for customers, busses tables, to look at her, talk to her, she's older than her years. The father, husband of Gypsy, he's got the whole family working apart from himself.

The mother, Gypsy, she won't last, the daughter, well, it'll be sad to see her go, good workers, bright hostesses are hard to find.

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: People

Published: 11 June 2010

Hits: 1811

We get them.

He's a regular, sort of a "Yosemite Sam" type character, wealthy, long uncombed grey hair, he's got his own private room in the back of the restaurant where he always eats. We set it up for him every day.

But some days he doesn't have a reservation and comes in to find it full.

It throws him in a rage. The thought that other people have his room, that he has to eat in the main dining room with the rest of the patrons, it's unheard of. He's curt with the staff, demanding, dismissive, not his usual patronizing self, we've given away his room, there's no placating him, the owner, he buys him drinks, pays for his dinner, and still that's not enough, he leaves without tipping or saying goodbye.

He's petulant, with occasional flashes of small mindedness.

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: People

Published: 08 June 2010

Hits: 2032

"She's not a slut you know..." he tells me, and I hadn't suggested that she was but he's been finding himself in this position of defending her more and more lately.

They're new best friends, the beautician and him, he takes her drinking every night, she crashes at his place, he's paying of course because she's broke and pretty and I know he very badly wants more than her friendship, and I try to picture the awkward scenes where she rejects his clumsy advances and crude propositions, delicately so as not to interrupt the free flow of liquor and grass, she's increasingly in his debt, and knows it, and it would be a simple enough thing to even matters out...

She's not so popular. At first she was, attractive and pleasant enough, but she's hungry for money, she's been for a couple of beautician try-outs, but they haven't worked out, and her ambition to move into the front and usurp the other waiters/hostesses position with him as her spokesperson, it's not making her any friends.

"She's not a slut you know..." and it may, may not be true, I don't know, don't care, he's gotten awfully touchy about things we used to be able to laugh about. I ask him what he's up to after work and he's quick to say "Nothing" and when invited out for a drink decides quickly, too quickly, that he's tired and going home. 

After she's gone home he's caught surreptitiously texting in hidden and private rooms in the restaurant, hastily flipping shut his phone when you draw near.

"We're just friends.." and I believe him, not the intent but his complete lack of smoothness, finesse, his desperation and stupidity will keep them friends, late night threesomes with Jack Daniels until she passes out on the sofa and his fumbled gropings go ignored in service of the debt.

Every morning a fresh hangover, he's tired, wants to sleep....

I'm curious, given his skills and approach how many women have found they weren't sluts, thought they were and though reputation confirmed it circumstances proved otherwise, how many survived the power assault of drinking and smoking and still found they had hidden reserves of integrity and morals, I'd ask but he's a poor witness.

He's doomed and you want to tell him, "heed the friendly warning", but he's become far too sensitive and so we walk round it in conversation, there's the World Cup and what we did (and didn't) do this weekend, there's how many days to vacation?

And there's her walking into the dining room to bum a cigarette and ensure we're not talking about her....