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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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We don't get together too often, them living in other cities and all, usually it's around when the daughter comes to visit and I gather the kids together...
This year, summer, we all met at my fathers. Not all, the brother bailed, busy, but my sister and her partner, my daughter and I, my father...
My family, any family, we don't get along sooo good, sooo bad. My sister, she's her own peer group, mostly people that share her lifestyle, that's OK.
Dinner, turkey, mashed potatoes, the daughter loves mashed potatoes...
...And she goes up for a second, a third, a fourth helping...
there are principles of moderation, manners & breeding, always leave the table a little bit hungry, I allow one extra helping, but by the third I have to comment and by the fourth I'm getting annoyed...
The Sister is quick to comment, sharply, that I'm affecting "her body image", as a parent I'm doing untold damage to her self esteem, she'll be an anorexic or bulimic now for sure...
It's family, and while you could mention things like self-restraint and good manners some people wouldn't get it. She's one of those people. And it falls on you to be the polite one, pretend you were the asshole so you can cover for her bullshit politics, lack of breeding, if she wanted to raise a chubby, over pampered ill-mannered child she could, but it demands more commitment and responsibility than either her or her partner want to undertake, they've built a comfortable lifestyle around themselves and they don't need anyone else messing it up, and you're inwardly seething, no commitments themselves but they're a little too free with their ill-informed opinions, politicizing good manners, the feminist versions of Donald Trump, and you realize that even just once or twice a year these family gatherings can be a little much...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1976
She's my age, or close enough, sitting with a couple of her children and regulars, not attractive, or unattractive, merely average. Nondescript.
The owner's explaining her history to me...she's buried all three of her ex husbands, all well positioned and insured, she's handsomely well off, not looking to get married, just date...
I don't ask the circumstances, but three husbands at my age suggests a little more than coincidence, bad luck or carelessness. The owner, he wants to set her up with J***, it sounds like a good match to me...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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He's got that Willy Loman "Death of a Salesman" air of desperation about him, short, obviously dyed brown hair combed over in thin wisps, pointy features, thick glasses...maybe my age but somehow seems older, bad tweed suit, solid gold version of a cheap wristwatch, elbow patches, ...
He's J***'s protege, the vice president of his 100,000,000$ per annum + national company....
You look at him, maybe 5'2", badly dressed, 95 lbs soaking wet, not at all an Alpha Male, I know, we get a lot of CEO's, Presidents, Vice Presidents, Etc. in the restaurant. They fit the stereotypes, Elon Musk, Richard Branson, the successful types...larger than average, muscular, handsome, socially fluent...
He's definitely not one. But he's an old schoolyard chum of J***'s, and sometimes that's all it takes...
You look at him, you think of a Chihuahua, he's got the same general look, the general excitable disposition, he's analyzing the company's staff with J*** and he's describing them all as "Fraggles" or "Muppets..."....
He's the sad caricature of a sad, worn out little man, selected not so much for his vision or competence as his ability to say "Yes" or "No" as J*** requires. He's the pathetic little axe-man.
Imagine a less cool and shorter father of Marty in "Back to the Future"....I wonder how he found him, in his Zen like reveries, watching the Chihuahua being run to the ground by a pack of wolves and mistaking the prey for the leader, thinking to himself "That's the man I want...if he can lead those wolves, he can run my company...".
You'd have to be there...
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One table all afternoon, a deuce, they arrived at 11:00, wanted to know when we closed, I gave them an emphatic "2:00!". And they respect that, drink hard and are wrapping things up at 1:30 when...
...I walk into the dining room and find J***. J***, the owner's best friend (not J*** the nephew's best friend), he owns a national company worth probably $150 Million gross per year. That's another story...he's standing in the middle of the dining room loudly talking on his cell-phone, he's inviting a friend for lunch...
...we close in 20 minutes...
FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!
Still, be polite, seat them, as civil as possible, he's important, he's the one that cost G*** his job, he should really be assassinated or run over with a truck on a dimly lit night, the world would be a better place, but so it is with many of our customers...the arrogance of privilege...
A thin smile, wait while he dithers helplessly upon his phone, contacting dates, appointments, inwardly seething...
We're not closed even 5 minutes when his date shows up. They will be here all day, the 3 hour break we're closed over lunch, another 3 hours into the evening. Fuck them. They'll tip 20% and think themselves the best customers on earth, they'll get free bottles of wine, dinner for free (after paying for lunch), after dinner shots and drinks, it's ridiculous. I tip 20% and arrive, dine and leave while the restaurant is open. I get nothing for free. These people, the rich people, they expect everything for free, look surprised when they find a drink they ordered on their bill, somehow they thought it was all free...too often it is...
J***. We had a manager here once, Steph****, older blonde slapper, rumour had it that he offered her $1000 dollars to sleep with her...apparently she never accepted it...
...but slept with him nevertheless, when asked about him refrained about describing his skills as a lover, rather focusing on his soft skin...
...the skin of someone who'd never done a days work in his life. She wouldn't know this, to her it was remarkable, no callouses or corns, bruises, knotted muscles, merely 5'2" of milk-fed flab and flesh...no remarks about his prowess, nonexistent I would guess, people who pay for things, all things, expect that money is the answer, the final reward, of course it isn't, but they know no better, meet a few and see...
And he's confided a little too often about how people like him are the prey of younger women who wish to take his fortune for a ride, never wanting sex for sex, these are not the people you turn to, after all, and he's not appalled by this but rather impressed by it, all the sycophants and admirers that would be his for a few thousand of his hard earned dollars, we, the proletariat, who fuck to fuck, to live, as a skill, wouldn't understand this fuck-for-profit, for endless alimony, palimony....
He's right there. He's in a different world. I'm not impressed, but I feign the requisite sympathy..."Poor you" I tell him, and he finds me sincere...
He's spiritual, "Zen Buddhist" he tells his dates, I've overheard, the comfortable, complacent spirituality of someone who's done well, has no cause to question, he's wealthy, the ends have justified the means, the world is just, just accept it...
He's decided to run for premier, he'd be a good premier, right? Better than what we have, he could do it, what we need is a good businessman, politics is business, we'd all vote for him, wouldn't we? And we feign the requisite support....
fucker. Fuck that. Whatever cause he stands for I'm opposed, and there's not a single opinion he could opine that there wouldn't be a reasonable voice to oppose. But this is Alberta, fucked-up home of the ignorant, and in my job I can only just nod and agree...
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Out with the civilized A***** and J***, the nephew's old roommate. The Blues's Can, followed by Twisted. And A***** is down for mushrooms, and J*** agrees to try the Sassafrass with me.
It takes an hour or so to kick in, but when it does I'm fucked. Really fucked. Not driving home tonight fucked, which for me is pretty fucked up.
Amazing. All the love and empathy, ridiculous visuals *(the stage within the stage within the stage...).
We find a cab when it closes up and make our way to the Gay Bar. I don't remember this, and I'm not really drinking....
Twisted, dancing, a hot brunette, 6' tall, held on a leash by a 4'6" black woman, groups of hot women in the background, this is all I remember, and pleasantly brushing off the groups of Filipino and older/younger male admirers, happy, soooo happy. This is what it's all about...
Even J*** is impressed, never been that thrilled with MDMA but this time it's different, A*****, he's off on his own mushroom trip, totally fucked up, happy as well, we're all pretty thrilled to be alive...
...afterwards, to J***'s place, I ask for a drink, he cracks a bottle of prosecco..."50$ a bottle ..." he tells us, "I don't like it....". He repeats the price a number of times, as if $50.00 a bottle is beyond our comprehension. And he's lost his phone, left it in the cab, a "It's a $1000.00 dollar phone..." he tells us...
Everything has a price and he's too quick to let us know. He's alright, but I trust him as far as I can throw him. By 5:00 AM I'm sober enough to grab a cab for me and A*****, drop him off, recover the jeep, the next day I'm surprisingly well recovered...