Work is slow. Slowest it's ever been. Everywhere is slow, it's the price of oil, gas, the mon-economy of Calgary. But the owner's paid for it all, in the boom years, the land, the restaurant, the space, he's not paying $5,000, $10,000, $35,000 a month rent, so he's surviving....
For a while...
He's been making calls lately, lots of calls, receiving strange visitors, bankers, and we're starting to suspect he's of a mind to sell the restaurant, retire, move somewhere south like Panama where the child support won't be crushing him. To prepare himself he's been watching "Narcos" and reading up on Pablo Escobar - "I love these sort of people", and then informs me of what a community leader and philanthropist he was, how much he was worth, the size of his empire, I think I know what he means, these larger-than-life heroes and villains, over lunch we're treated to the lugubrious soundtrack played over his iphone...
The other lunch chef, she's been adding all sorts of friends to Facebook, the Virgin Mary, Baby Jesus, Joseph, all of the saints, I didn't know they were on Facebook but apparently they are, and she's showing us their pictures and updates on her phone ...
A*****, the sane Italian, no relation to the rest, he cringes when he catches my eye, he knows what I'm thinking ..."...And you say there's a whole country filled with you people?.."
With work slow we're back to the pandering to the painful "regulars", the once-a-month diners that come in as we're closing and stay the entire afternoon drinking with the owner, leaving halfway through the dinner rush, every day a new one, the days grow long and torturous...
And the owner's begun to miss G***, ask if he's found work yet, don't know if he's thinking of swinging the axe again, I'd be next, thank goodness for the new jeep as I'll be one of the next Alberta casualties and I'll need the wheels...