Monday, and I'm overdue.
I've been meaning to give notice for a few weeks, reluctant in case I somehow ended up unemployed early (every nickel will count on this), hesitant as well because for a variety of fucked-up reasons I don't want to let the owner down.
It's fucked up, I know, I tell myself this, it's my life and too much of it's been given to him, this job, but he's this way of building up a false loyalty.
Monday night, last chance for an honest 2 weeks, and he's in a foul mood. Again.
Tonight it's breakage - having just discovered we've broken 100+ wine glasses over the past 6 months.
Not we, per se, the others are quick to blame J, his friend, clumsy J who worked a few token waitering shifts to help out, it's true, J was clumsy, but there's the natural breakage of a couple of glasses a week during polishing, in the dish-pit, it all adds up. He's screaming at the staff. We don't know what it's like, we don't care, we don't pay for glasses, he's going broke. We should all be equal partners in the expenses of the restaurant. The nephew, he points out how crazy it is, G just resolves to keep a watchful eye, no-one really is to blame but it's a long night nonetheless.
A glass of wine pays for both the glass and the wine. And the car he's now driving is, in my mind, proof he isn't going broke. It's just the weekly bipolar shit. I've limited sympathy, breakage is bad, but it's a peril of the business.
From here he sedgeways onto the kitchen, food spoilage, then back to the front of the house for throwing away cutlery, he's in a rage, unapproachable, tantrums for any number of imagined transgressions.
No one here throws away cutlery or breaks glasses intentionally, or even accidentally, more than the average. I've worked with saboteurs before, there are none here. Everyone treats this restaurant as if it were their own.
Except J, long gone, and not a waiter so of limited liability, in any event he was working, if the Nephew ever worked as hard he might break as many...
It's a natural cost of doing business.
***
The end of the evening, he's leaving, I have to tell him, now or never. I do, outside having a fag while he gets in his new luxury sportscar. "I'll be leaving the end of April - 2 weeks - going to search for gold...."
He takes a minute to process. "Does G know?" he asks. "Yes" I tell him. "Why didn't he tell me?" he asks. "It wasn't his place. It's my job to tell you. I thought you knew, we've discussed this before, this is just the date....".
***
He's annoyed I didn't give him more notice, he didn't need it, we're overstaffed as is. But he's quiet, wants to go, leaves, I'm relieved, a major load off of my chest, the committing to this necessary to prevent the reasonable second guessing, postponing, changing my mind. Finally it's done.
***
The boys from Naples have returned, they want to hang out, curious, bright guys from Italy, here on various suspect pretexts, suspect - well, nothing concrete, but nothing legitimate. They remember my name, I can't remember one of theirs. But they're polite, charming, and attractive in that don't-lend-them-a-dime sort of way...We may yet get together.
***
Tuesday and the owner is subdued. Perhaps my leaving, I don't know, it's nice, though, this quiet upon the restaurant. M and Z have both observed that he's calmer when I'm there. My notice is given, he's not going hard on me, I think, somehow, that he understands, commiserates. Lunch, we're slow, he leaves early. More tables, the hectic underlings in the kitchen trying to do right, a zoo....
He returns, 4:00, he's been home to raid the garage. Camping gear, stove, rain coat, all sorts of possibly useful things I do and don't have. I'll need them on my expedition. And I pick through, take what I can use, take some just to be polite, he gives me advice on what to eat, how to avoid bears, he searches online in the office for equipment and things I'll need to bring.
He understands, laments perhaps my going but in a way he envies me, if things were different I think he'd be doing the same. But he's a new wife, children, his business to drag him down, and so he's doing this to live vicariously through me.
I'm touched. I get it.
***
An Italian gentleman accosts me while I'm smoking in the back. Effeminate, puffy jacket with fur collar, neck-kerchief/scarf thrown carefully or contrivedly about his neck, he only speaks Italian, wants to speak to someone who speaks Italian, another ex-pat or refugee, I lead him to the owner in his office.
He's selling Jackets.
He talks to the staff, M, Z (who needs a translator, M can speak Italian fine), the Nephew. He's piqued their interest. The Nephew follows him to the car, previews the goods.
Leather coats, fur coats (well, fur collars), "Emporio Armani" or the like stenciled in the lining, expensive brand name tags hanging from them, packed in brand-name Armani bags. Suspicious, but that's part of the charm.
The Nephew borrows $150 and buys a coat off of him. He gives him the next one free. And he talks, charms, this salesperson, bald, ever-so-fashionable, from Rome, a reject from a fashion shop if ever there was one, has more coats to sell, and after more negotiating, dickering, etc, sells 5 to Z, for about 2/3 of what he sold the first two to the Nephew for. He's dodgy.
***
They drink coffee, talk, shoot the shit, he senses my skepticism and leaves me alone. Never would I pay close to these prices for knock-off shit, not knowingly. But the Nephew, Z, they're both thrilled. Eventually the salesguy leaves, having far exceeded his wildest expectations, the money he's made here - Z's generous sympathy and the Nephew's Avarice, this will keep him going for months...
I examine the merchandise. Expensive retail tags. But the leather is cheap vinyl, smells, and the stitching (or molded stitching) is poor. I'm sad to inform the Nephew he's been had.
The Owner, he's watched, laughed, joked, but bought nothing and kept his opinions to himself. The Lesson from the bogus car salesmen is firmly in his head.
The Nephew, he's undaunted, he's firmly convinced he can make a profit on these coats, it's the law of greater fools and he's entering into negotiations with Z to purchase the extra ones he bought...This will be his new sideline...
***
The vinyl-leather coat, it leaches it's solvents into the coat-check over the course of the night, the smell obvious from behind the bar, a repulsive, nauseous mixture that would make the coat unsaleable to anyone other with a nose or active sense of smell. It's funny, but the Nephew is undaunted, he hangs it outside, we joke and laugh that they'll (he and Z) will be killed by the gasses vented during the night, or that they can get high huffing the fumes, still he wants to buy the extra ones off of Z...
***
Work. Time passes. The owner spends his time researching gold prospecting online, makes recommendations to me about how to catch fish, repel bears, hunt game. He's well intended, I have no great fear of any perils other than my own incompetence, restlessness, greater ambitions...
And - in a sense, I'm sad. I'll miss this, the people, they presume that I'll be back, possibly, but that would be the greatest proof of failure. They wish me well, but expect me back, and I'm almost the same, I need to change this, find a different, better dream. Dream bigger. Realize bigger. My success will not only be my reward, but the spur for others as well...but this is a separate blog posting.
***
There's an election. Every day, 4-5 calls on my phone, the first time I've been able to check (the call display from J), competing parties, Wildrose and Conservative, or as I prefer to describe it, between bad and worse. There's no one to vote for and too many to vote against.
***
Customers, those few who've found out about my departure, are slow to laugh and jeer. Odd, I wouldn't be so, wouldn't give myself great odds, "looking for gold in Alaska" must sound ridiculous, I'm well aware, some are supportive, others merely quiet, keeping their reflections to themselves despite my willingness to be the butt of their jokes. I'd laugh, am in a sense, laughing at myself, but they're giving me better odds than they gave the Flames. There's only perhaps 7, 8 shifts left, but they're long, time passes slowly and time off is too scant to get anything great done...
The customer in the Private room, conservative to the core, confesses he'll miss my intelligent disagreement with his POV. "Rare" he flatters. He's being kind, after his fashion, and I'd like to promise that one day I'll be able to disagree with him on equal footing...as a server my opinions are severely truncated and kindly edited...
***
The Talking Waiter has come in on my day off, confirmed his start of employ, he's been on hard times since his departure, he'll be my replacement.
The Nephew, in a rare moment of sentiment, long having lauded his virtues confesses they'll be up the creek - , meaning they'll all have a bit of extra weight to carry, staying through the days, etc. This slight appreciation of my contribution pleases me.
***
Weekend, Friday, slow, Saturday (tonight) - busy. 1 week and a day left. M tries to take orders in preparation for my departure, fucks up, the owner's severely annoyed, no more food orders for him. It's back to me, and while M's concerned what will happen when I'm gone, I tell him not to fear, the talking waiter will take over. The owner makes no mention of my departure, the front of house staff makes frequent mention of it. M brings me books to read, I can't take them, there won't be time. The thought is appreciated. And the Nephew has taken to comically narrating my obituary, talking of what a great hard worker I was and then the RCMP came to the restaurant to have my body found in a river identified or post their missing posters...
I like, appreciate his grim sense of humor. It's my own. I would do no less. And G takes a picture of me out back, smoking in a chair with an espresso, this to be the proof of my hard work, the "Missing" portrait, the Nephew has seized upon my obituary as the comic narration for the next week...the counterpoint of my cigarette/espresso proof positive of my work ethic.
***
8 shifts left and countless things left to be done. Most can't wait until I'm unemployed, can't wait for the two weeks, there is lots that needs be begun and completed and this is fast becoming a "proof of will"....
Time Passes.