- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1972
"Regular Customers", as they style themselves, frequently confuse the staff who've been there a while.
Sometimes I'm called Frank, after the old Franco who left a year ago. I let it slide, I don't care
And so is G, but he cares, sometimes he's served these people for years "I'm not Frank" he tells them, "I'm G..."
The customers call me over when G is out of earshot "Is Frank upset about something?" they ask.
"You know, Italians....." I explain with a shrug.
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1844
Today arrive home to the smell of fresh paint.
The bathroom, finally, has been painted.
Monday he installed some ready-made cupboards from Ikea. Then splashed white undercoat on the sides.
Tuesday he installed the doors to the ready made Ikea cupboards. One is hung crooked, the other straight.
Today he painted the bathroom, in the process removing the hung-straight cupboard doors and leaving the hung-crooked.
I've been putting the pressure on, inquiring if I might expect to have a sink by the weekend, probably, possibly, he assures me, but not in time to actually do all the last minute cleanup, reorganize toothbrush, razor, etc. That will have to wait until Sunday.
And I've come to see through his line about "Other Contracts" - if he had other contracts, surely he'd take his tools? Yet they're there, cluttering up the office, the stairwell, everywhere in fact....
There are no other contracts. This is it. And, easy as it is (an hour's work a day, tops) - it's too much. There's no way he'll tile the kitchen floor.
But in it's own fucked up way it's been an inspiration, all I need is 2 days off and I too can be a contractor, bill $5000 for 16-24 hours worth of labour and $1000 dollars (tops!) worth of materials.
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1908
for the phone to ring. It's a superhuman ability, this, close my eyes, the phone rings...
If I keep them open in only rings every few minutes, the last-minute office manager delegated the chore of finding an up-market venue for their Christmas Party, Friday or Saturday night would be perfect, a quiet area if we have it...
I can barely suppress my laughter. Not a chance, I tell them, I can get them in at 5:00 if they promise to leave by 6:00, the news doesn't go down so well, we've been booked for a month already....
So it goes. Weekends until 1:00 in the morning, weeknights until late and later, no days off until Christmas...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1797
Today, after a 13 hour day at work (and I left a note for the contractor telling him it was a 12 hour day, go crazy...) - the tile in the bathroom has been grouted. A protective plastic sheet over the floor.
There's other changes as well, I try to spot them, I can see them but not quite....
The toilet's been cleaned. And the bathmat is folded different across the side of the tub. Perhaps the drywall has been trimmed, cut more evenly, perhaps the plaster sanded a little better, but I'm not sure, this is just speculation. I take pictures.
There's a note telling me he's out of town Saturday, he'll "finish up" on Sunday (walls painted, shelves installed, electrics? Not bloody likely I'm thinking...), we'll talk before then (when? This Sunday?...). Day 8 diary of a contractor, Day 9 is out of town...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1883
A busy day, somewhat busy night, nothing, really, in light of what's to come...
It will only get worse.
The new waiters, call them M and Z, both mid 50's, M a reformed alcoholic, looks to be about mid or late 60's, in reality only mid 50's. And Z, Muslim, dark skinned (Punjabi?) - the same age, somehow looking younger.
Both career waiters.
The owner, he's not happy with either and is toying with the idea of having the Talking Waiter come back.
He's accounted for his time, poorly, true, came back to the restaurant, spoke to the owner, with daughter he supposedly rescued from Tunisia (I thought he said France?), skimming through his portfolio of documents, official looking stamps, bypassing quickly those he thought of little relevance or that might contradict his story.
He apologized, offered to repay any of the money he owed outstanding, showed staff pictures of luxury handbags (knock-offs, Italian Made) and accessories that he had for sale....
He wants his job back.
These new waiters, they're old, 55 in the restaurant industry is ancient, they're not so quick, and the owner's quick to point out they're many shortcomings. True, M has been making a good effort, putting in the hours, the work, but not so swift. Same with Z. And the owner, he resents the fact they're the same age, he wants them gone.
It's not as easy as this.
They know everyone, they've done fine dining in Calgary for decades, our regulars, they know them, they're glad to find their favorite waiters in their favorite restaurant. And nobody really liked the Talking Waiter, nobody except for the Nephew who found him amusing....
We all found him amusing, not reason enough to have him back....
So it goes. It's hard to predict who will stay and who will go, both have made plans to be there for the long haul, one, or perhaps both, have been sadly deceived.
3 weeks to Christmas, the weekends hugely overbooked, the short new waiters frantically trying to keep up. We're grossly overstaffed, not that it will be reflected in time off or additional sleep, but - oddly - in extra hours and less tip-out, but so it goes.
We - the Nephew, G and I, head to the local for drinks. The bartender, her sister, they apologize for her birthday, they remember nothing, I understand. They're working together, so there's obviously no hard feelings. And - from an idle sense of curiosity - I get their ages, 21, 30 - easily 5-10 years less than what I would have guessed. Possibly my guessing - why would I be good at this after all? possibly it's just the lifestyle in the NE, hardens, ages one ahead of one's years.
Talking to G, he's afraid. Afraid of becoming M or Z, afraid of what the restaurant holds for him, he's borne it 10 years, how many more? And he's not laying anything aside, payments on his house , the conventional tangible investments, dreams of opening his own place....it's bleak. It is bleak, no one wants to end up like M or Z, and I'm closer by far than him, the indifferent, despised waiters unappreciated, discarded by all, the chances of a real - a good - job - next to nil, waiters, unlike any other profession, devalue over time, a blonde, 18 with a C cup, is worth far more to most restaurants than a Sommelier at 65 who knows everyone in the city. It's the way it goes. Sad but true. When was the last time you saw anyone over 40 in an Earl's?
They're exemplary. The fate of all old and discarded waiters.
G begs me not to leave, he and I, we're the only 2 that know the place, without me it gets worse in a big hurry. I know, I've left before, heard the stories, as trivial as my contribution is it's not without merit. I'm going to Alaska, I tell G, I haven't changed my mind. Not even death would change my mind, and I'm not sure he isn't expecting me.....
So it goes. G's depressed, the nephew leaves early, we're all exhausted and the Christmas season is just beginning. I count weekends, tomorrow night and there will only be 2 to go, the weekdays, let them handle themselves.
Time Passes.