Here's the thing about cool: you can decide who's cool, what's cool and call someone else cool or something cool - but there's kind of an unwritten law in cool that prevents you from applying that status to yourself. Like any rule, there are exceptions, but don't be mistaken - these exceptions do not allow you the status of others thinking you're cool, not in terms of being hip. Note the following example: I ask my friend Rich if he needs another drink. Rich looks at his half-full glass (being a glass half-full type myself, these are exactly the kind of people I like to hang with) and says, "I'm cool." - in this case he's allowed to say that. This statement does not imply that everyone else thinks Rich is cool, at least in terms of admiration garnered from others.
In a second example, my friend Larry decides he wants to have a party with a theme to it. Asking none of his friends, of which he has many, exactly what kind of theme party would be the most fun to come to. Larry, for reasons unknown to most of his many friends, decides that the theme of his party will be "Come as your favorite ex-president". One of Larry's many friends asks him what kind of theme party he's decided to throw. When Larry tells him, he's unpleasantly surprised and asks Larry why he chose such a theme. Larry says, "Because I'm cool". Maybe not. If indeed he is cool, that would be for all of his friends to say, not Larry himself. But it's cool. Notice I said it, not me. See the difference? It's a subtle law really, but cool is kind of for others to say about you.
Experts - it's probably better for someone else to refer to you as an expert of any given field or subject of expertise. If you are an expert on something, chances are people will spread the word. Allow me to share a story that I overheard a guy telling at the bar one night:
SPE (Self-Proclaimed Expert): speaking on, and this gets really good, the subject of chimpanzees - honest! : Dude, I'm an expert on chimpanzees, they're intelligent and they'll probably be able to talk someday.
PHWW (People He Was With): you're an expert - did you major in biology in college or study animal behavior? Did you work with chimpanzees?
SPE: No, but I've always been fascinated by them and I've read a few books and I watch a lot of Discovery Channel and nature shows, you know...Animal Planet and stuff like that.
Now is where a game show buzzer goes off in my head - and the guy didn't even want a lifeline. Thing is, this guy was serious. Um, no....you are not an expert on chimpanzees sir. Jane Goodall is an expert on chimpanzees, matter of fact, Jane Goodall is considered to be the world's foremost expert on chimpanzees. Why? Oh I dunno, probably because of her 45 year study of the social and family interactions of chimps in Gombe Stream National Park, Tanzania.
I don't know if Jane Goodall has a business card, but I'd be willing to bet that she didn't have one printed up that reads "Jane Goodall - Chimpanzee Expert" - it would probably read something more like: "Jane Goodall - Chimpanzee Naturalist" or perhaps "Specialist". I'd be willing to bet that Jane Goodall doesn't actually say she's an expert on Chimpanzees, other people say it, so she doesn't have to say it any more than Bruce Lee had to say he was cool or tough. People thought it, people still do - besides, who would tell him if he wasn't?
Studying chimpanzees in the wild for 45 years would make someone an expert on them. Reading a few books and watching a few documentaries about chimpanzees? Probably not. Sorry Mr. SPE, you don't get to call yourself an expert on chimps if your research is so limited.
I once served a woman at the bar who was starting a new business. This business was, by her definition, one that she would go into any place of business and tell them how they could do things more efficiently. I was a bit intrigued, so I asked her a few questions:
Me: So you go into businesses and observe how they do business and you take your observations and turn those into suggestions on how they could be doing what they're in business to do, in more efficient ways?
Oops, almost forgot - her business card read "Efficiency Expert". Cool.
E.E. (Efficiency Expert): Exactly, that's what I do.
Me (thinking): hmm...I wonder...what...
Me (asking): What kinds of businesses do you, or would you work with in helping them be more efficient?
E.E. : All kinds of businesses...I mean anything, if they want to improve their efficiency, and they'll pay my fee, I'll help them become more efficient at what they do.
Right about now I'm wondering if E.E. could help the chimpanzee expert - not the real one, the self-proclaimed one. I should point out that both of these stories are true, but years apart. Having said that, if E.E. could suggest to S.P.E. that he would be a more...well, efficient chimp expert if he went and studied them for, oh...I dunno, 45 years or so, then E.E. may have done her job and earned every penny of her fee in such a case. But what if E.E. were impressed enough by S.P.E.'s knowledge of chimpanzees from his reading and television watching to not think beyond asking a few probing questions to determine how he could be more efficient:
E.E. : Do you know what chimpanzees eat?
S.P.E. : yup, bananas - they eat bananas, lot an' lots of bananas
A coworker overheard my conversation with E.E. and asked her, half joking, if she might help our restaurant run more efficiently. She was probably asking because the schedule had just been posted and she didn't seem to think that things were cool, nor were they running as efficiently as they could be.
E.E. didn't miss a beat and told her that she absolutely could help our restaurant operate more efficiently. Since I saw a bit of common ground here, at least possibly, I asked E.E. if she had a restaurant background. She said she did not, but that she eats out quite frequently. Sorry, but I have to wonder now. Something has to qualify you to be called an expert. Kind of like having a golf handicap verified? I've heard golfers talk about how so-and-so's handicap is, shall we say...not cool. I tend to think that being an expert is a little like being cool - it's for others to determine and to say about someone.
Nicknames. Like being cool and being an expert, nicknames are for someone else to hand out. You don't get to pick your nickname - in fact, you probably won't even like the nickname you get. You might even say as much, but chances are it won't matter - the choosing has already been done, and not without reason. I'll offer up my own nickname from way back in 8th grade - and trust me, I didn't like it then. Now I think it's hilarious and I think the story that led to my getting this nickname is hilarious. Allow me to share:
At the start of my 8th grade year, which was a bit rough because my parents had recently divorced, my mother moved us to a new city and put us in a different school system. My angel of an aunt, Linda, took me shopping for school clothes. Allow me to back up just a tiny bit here and say that my father read Playboy magazine and left them laying around the house when I was a kid. I sometimes wondered why my dad read these magazines when he was married to my mother and it kind of bothered me - until I was around 13 or so and then I was just glad he left them laying around. Never mind that, but in one of these magazines, there was an ad for Dingo boots - not as cool as Frye boots then, but still...I remember some athlete I was a fan of being in a Dingo ad and that was cool enough for me. Cooler still, or so I thought, was the pair of boots in this ad - the upper of this cowboy boot was blue suede, then above the ankle, the part going halfway up one's shin, was blue denim.
My Aunt Linda took me to a department store and in the shoe section they had entire rows of these blue suede/blue denim cowboy boots. They weren't Dingo's mind you, but my aunt did say I could pick out any pair of shoes I wanted...
Aunt Linda: Pick out a pair of shoes you like
Me: I want these boots!
A.L. (in shock/disbelief): No you don't
Me: Yes I do
A.L. (more confident in her shock/disbelief): No...you don't want those boots to wear to school.
Me (more confident in what I wanted - but what the hell did I know, I wasn't cool - nor was I an expert): Yes I do!
I may have wondered why my Aunt Linda wasn't being cool at this point and why she thought she was such an expert. What I didn't realize is that she was being cool, at least she was trying to be cool, and on my behalf mind you, in this case had I known what was to play out with me and these boots, I would have probably considered her an expert - and a cool one at that. I didn't know, and I wasn't having it. She caved and got me the boots, bless her heart. This would be the worst of two wardrobe choices I made on my aunt's generosity, another was a shirt that was sewn together in squares. When my mother remarked that the shirt was ugly, I reminded her that Linda bought it for me. She reminded me that Linda bought it for me because I wanted it, not because she thought it would look good on me. (it didn't, but I thought it did...I may have even thought I looked cool wearing it, but I doubt anyone else did) - if I thought I looked cool in my blue suede/blue denim cowboy boots, and I did, albeit very briefly, I was soon shown how wrong I was in such thinking.
There must have been sixty pairs of these boots in that store. I don't remember if I had any worries about someone else at school having the same shoes as I did - but if I did, they were unwarranted. I'll go so far as to say I probably bought the only pair of those shoes and the rest had to be sent somewhere...wherever it is they send shoes in mass quantities that don't sell. I guess they could've been shipped off to Texas or some other state that cowboy boots were more popular in. There wasn't a sign near these boots that said "Free Nickname with purchase of a pair of these boots!" - but there should have been, because I got a nickname with my pair and the nickname lasted longer than the boots did - I wore it from the first day of 8th grade until the end of high school. Matter of fact, I got called that nickname for quite some time after high school, and sometimes my oldest friend still leaves messages on my phone calling me that nickname. That nickname? Tex.
You don't get to call yourself cool, shouldn't call yourself an expert and you most definitely do not get to pick your own nickname. I hated that nickname then, now I think it's funny and I definitely had it coming. I might even go so far as to say that nicknames are given out because people notice things about us that we ourselves think are cool, but then again, that's not for us to say now...is it! Do I need anything? Nope, I'm cool...I'm an expert on nothing...and as soon as some old friends see this post, I'm going to be called Tex again - and I don't even own a flippin' pair of cowboy boots these days.
I heard someone recently say "I'll take that nickname any day - it's a compliment" - thing is, one doesn't take a nickname, one is given it by others who find something amusing or annoying about someone and decides to amuse others by assigning a nickname to illustrate some idiosyncrasy. We probably have about as much say in what nickname we get as we do our social security numbers. I guess the nickname I had was a lot kinder than the ones other kids had. It did make me realize that I should have let my aunt save me, Lord knows the woman tried her best to do just that!
Sarcasm spoken here
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Live at House of MSG! Installment #1: Service Animal(?)
This first installment of an amusing (hopefully) story from the Asian restaurant I run the bar in is actually from a bit further back, but as I was telling the story to some friends recently, they reminded me that I should write it out & post it here, so here it is:
As is usually the case at House of MSG, I'm basically waiting tables while having to make drinks for the entire restaurant - I could elaborate on this blatant exploitation of two jobs that require a fair amount of multi-tasking, but that's best left for another post as there's lots of humor in that scenario.
So I approach a table that is a two-top, but seated at this table is a woman alone. I notice on the chair right across from her is a large piece of luggage. I guess I thought she was on a business trip and may have been about to pull out a laptop, but that was not the case...
As I get close enough to the table to greet this woman and get her drink order, I notice that there is a small dog - perhaps a Pomeranian, not sure - but it's some kind of little yappy dog, cute enough I guess, but the fact that this woman has brought a small dog into the restaurant is a bit of a surprise and I have a lousy poker face. I glance at the dog and my surprise has to be noticeable to this woman, try as I might. Then I notice that on the table, facing me, is a table tent type of sign that reads "Service Animal - I'm working, please do not disturb me" - and there is nothing I can do about the fact that now there is even more surprise showing on my face, along with more than a little confusion.
It takes me perhaps three seconds to get my composure and look at this woman to ask her if she would like something from the bar or something other than ice water to drink. In this case, three seconds is a long time, and this woman wants no part of me doing my job until she justifies the tiny dog with its head sticking out of this luggage and breathing rather heavily through its tiny nostrils.
Woman at my table: You do allow service animals in your dining room don't you? My dog is a service animal and I take him everywhere with me....
Me (thinking): That is the smallest service animal I have ever seen - I didn't think they made 'em that small...what kinda service does this little dog do? I mean most of the service animals I've seen are larger dogs and I know not to give them attention despite my affinity for the breeds of dogs that usually have this kinda job....um, not really interested in putting my hand in a piece of luggage that a yappy little dog head is sticking out of...
All of these thoughts flash in about 4 seconds, which again is a long time.
Me (speaking): uh...yes, yes we do allow service animals in our dinning room.
I did my best to say that and make it sound like I never had any question that this tiny little dog in the duffel bag could be anything but a service dog. I also don't want to sound like I think the woman might be one of those over-the-top little dog owners that takes her precious little dog everywhere she goes. I'm normally pretty confident, but I rather doubt that I've been successful in how I wanted to sound at this moment.
Woman: Good - I think you're required by law to allow them anyway...I'd like some green tea please. You looked surprised to see my dog - I have severe food allergies and my dog is trained to recognize the smells of ingredients that I'm allergic to and let me know....
At that moment the woman's cell phone rings, she gives me a look that says "excuse me - stay right here" - so I use the time to think...
Me (thinking): How exactly does he let you know? It can't be jumping up and down - only his little head is sticking out of the duffel bag and it's a bit hard to tell how much room in there he has...he um, won't do his business in there will he? I mean if he's working in there I'd hope he's duffel bag broken right? Does he taste your food and play dead if there's something in there that you can't eat?? Does he get a treat when he does find something? I'll bet he yaps his little head off if he finds something right? this could get interesting...hey wait a minute....I don't have to take him back to the kitchen with me do I....I mean you've heard the jokes about Asian restaurants right.....I just.....this little dog is gonna bark his fool head off in this place!
Woman: I'll have the wonton soup to start please.
When I return with the woman's soup, I overhear a table next to this woman with a guy making loud remarks:
Guy at table, left his tact either at home or out in the car: Whaddya mean "Service animal "Ellen? what the hell kinda service does that tiny excuse for a dog do?
I have to admit, I had similar thoughts/questions myself - but my delivery would've been a lot nicer, even with my lousy poker face. At this point something about the woman's expression makes me feel that the dog isn't really a service animal, but rather mommy is just too attached to Fido to even think about leaving him at home, or anywhere she's not. Before this woman's meal and visit are through, I'll see proof enough that my suspicion is spot-on.
Woman (talking to me, but saying things loudly enough for the guy at the other table to hear): I can't have any MSG in my food and if there are any vegetables that aren't fresh that you use, either from a can or frozen, I need you to leave those out of my food as well, my dog is trained to recognize the scent of things I'm allergic to...
It is at this precise moment that I realize two things: One, the cooks tell me that MSG is in damn near everything in that kitchen - every sauce for every appetizer or entree. The chicken broth for the wonton soup? A powdered mix - add water, makes its own sauce...er, soup - so there's bound to be MSG in that too. Two, he's about to start barking his little head off any second now - I mean if he's working, he's gonna have to. Actually this dog just looks like he wants out of this duffel bag and given how small he is, I'm amazed that he's staying so calm up to this point - especially if he can smell MSG.
I remember thinking that there was probably nothing on the menu that wouldn't set off this little dog alarm and I try to prepare myself for the next 45 minutes of trying to set an entree in front of this woman that won't have this tiny dog barking like crazy in the dining room. In a span of seconds that seem like an eternity, I imagine the following scenario playing out:
Me approaching the table and setting our signature dish, Pad Thai noodles down in front of the woman, barely letting go of the plate before Fido sounds the alarm:
yapyapyapYAPYAPYAP!!!...yapyapyapyapyapyapyap!
I guess that would translate into something along the lines of:
T.S.D. (Tiny Service Dog): Wait! Don't eat that! Bad food, MSG, preservatives!! Not safe for you! I'll eat it - even though we both know that won't end well, I deserve a reward for saving you from an allergic reaction! This whole place smells like MSG!!
...or something like that. I bring the woman her entree and she eats what she can, asks me to bring her a take-out box for the rest, along with her check. When I do, she says:
Woman at table: So now what do you think of my dog? No trouble at all right?
Me (thinking): What do I think? Well...since you asked, and I KNOW that there's MSG in pretty much everything on our menu, and some of our most used ingredients are indeed canned...I think maybe you should get your money back from the person who sold you this dog I mean he sat silent in his duffel bag the entire time you've been here....or perhaps you just can't stand the thought of going anywhere without your precious little dog, that's what I think.
Me (talking): No trouble at all ma'am. Forgive me please, I didn't realize how many different kinds of service animals there were, but it makes sense given how we see more food allergies these days. I'll take your check up whenever you're ready.
The woman smiles, hands me her credit card. I'm pretty sure the dog wasn't a service animal at all really, because all the woman really said about the little dog seemed geared to the look of surprise on my face when I noticed him. Maybe the dog was having a bad day at the "office", or maybe...and this is a big maybe here, maybe there's not as much MSG in the food as I'm told there is. I have my doubts there. Maybe that's why people make jokes about common household animals being used as food in Asian restaurants- because I don't know what these places would do if they didn't have MSG around, so of course they would want to get rid of anything that lets people in on the secret right? I'm confident this woman had a healthy dose of the stuff in her food that night, that's all I'm saying - and I never heard so much as a yap out of Fido.
As is usually the case at House of MSG, I'm basically waiting tables while having to make drinks for the entire restaurant - I could elaborate on this blatant exploitation of two jobs that require a fair amount of multi-tasking, but that's best left for another post as there's lots of humor in that scenario.
So I approach a table that is a two-top, but seated at this table is a woman alone. I notice on the chair right across from her is a large piece of luggage. I guess I thought she was on a business trip and may have been about to pull out a laptop, but that was not the case...
As I get close enough to the table to greet this woman and get her drink order, I notice that there is a small dog - perhaps a Pomeranian, not sure - but it's some kind of little yappy dog, cute enough I guess, but the fact that this woman has brought a small dog into the restaurant is a bit of a surprise and I have a lousy poker face. I glance at the dog and my surprise has to be noticeable to this woman, try as I might. Then I notice that on the table, facing me, is a table tent type of sign that reads "Service Animal - I'm working, please do not disturb me" - and there is nothing I can do about the fact that now there is even more surprise showing on my face, along with more than a little confusion.
It takes me perhaps three seconds to get my composure and look at this woman to ask her if she would like something from the bar or something other than ice water to drink. In this case, three seconds is a long time, and this woman wants no part of me doing my job until she justifies the tiny dog with its head sticking out of this luggage and breathing rather heavily through its tiny nostrils.
Woman at my table: You do allow service animals in your dining room don't you? My dog is a service animal and I take him everywhere with me....
Me (thinking): That is the smallest service animal I have ever seen - I didn't think they made 'em that small...what kinda service does this little dog do? I mean most of the service animals I've seen are larger dogs and I know not to give them attention despite my affinity for the breeds of dogs that usually have this kinda job....um, not really interested in putting my hand in a piece of luggage that a yappy little dog head is sticking out of...
All of these thoughts flash in about 4 seconds, which again is a long time.
Me (speaking): uh...yes, yes we do allow service animals in our dinning room.
I did my best to say that and make it sound like I never had any question that this tiny little dog in the duffel bag could be anything but a service dog. I also don't want to sound like I think the woman might be one of those over-the-top little dog owners that takes her precious little dog everywhere she goes. I'm normally pretty confident, but I rather doubt that I've been successful in how I wanted to sound at this moment.
Woman: Good - I think you're required by law to allow them anyway...I'd like some green tea please. You looked surprised to see my dog - I have severe food allergies and my dog is trained to recognize the smells of ingredients that I'm allergic to and let me know....
At that moment the woman's cell phone rings, she gives me a look that says "excuse me - stay right here" - so I use the time to think...
Me (thinking): How exactly does he let you know? It can't be jumping up and down - only his little head is sticking out of the duffel bag and it's a bit hard to tell how much room in there he has...he um, won't do his business in there will he? I mean if he's working in there I'd hope he's duffel bag broken right? Does he taste your food and play dead if there's something in there that you can't eat?? Does he get a treat when he does find something? I'll bet he yaps his little head off if he finds something right? this could get interesting...hey wait a minute....I don't have to take him back to the kitchen with me do I....I mean you've heard the jokes about Asian restaurants right.....I just.....this little dog is gonna bark his fool head off in this place!
Woman: I'll have the wonton soup to start please.
When I return with the woman's soup, I overhear a table next to this woman with a guy making loud remarks:
Guy at table, left his tact either at home or out in the car: Whaddya mean "Service animal "Ellen? what the hell kinda service does that tiny excuse for a dog do?
I have to admit, I had similar thoughts/questions myself - but my delivery would've been a lot nicer, even with my lousy poker face. At this point something about the woman's expression makes me feel that the dog isn't really a service animal, but rather mommy is just too attached to Fido to even think about leaving him at home, or anywhere she's not. Before this woman's meal and visit are through, I'll see proof enough that my suspicion is spot-on.
Woman (talking to me, but saying things loudly enough for the guy at the other table to hear): I can't have any MSG in my food and if there are any vegetables that aren't fresh that you use, either from a can or frozen, I need you to leave those out of my food as well, my dog is trained to recognize the scent of things I'm allergic to...
It is at this precise moment that I realize two things: One, the cooks tell me that MSG is in damn near everything in that kitchen - every sauce for every appetizer or entree. The chicken broth for the wonton soup? A powdered mix - add water, makes its own sauce...er, soup - so there's bound to be MSG in that too. Two, he's about to start barking his little head off any second now - I mean if he's working, he's gonna have to. Actually this dog just looks like he wants out of this duffel bag and given how small he is, I'm amazed that he's staying so calm up to this point - especially if he can smell MSG.
I remember thinking that there was probably nothing on the menu that wouldn't set off this little dog alarm and I try to prepare myself for the next 45 minutes of trying to set an entree in front of this woman that won't have this tiny dog barking like crazy in the dining room. In a span of seconds that seem like an eternity, I imagine the following scenario playing out:
Me approaching the table and setting our signature dish, Pad Thai noodles down in front of the woman, barely letting go of the plate before Fido sounds the alarm:
yapyapyapYAPYAPYAP!!!...yapyapyapyapyapyapyap!
I guess that would translate into something along the lines of:
T.S.D. (Tiny Service Dog): Wait! Don't eat that! Bad food, MSG, preservatives!! Not safe for you! I'll eat it - even though we both know that won't end well, I deserve a reward for saving you from an allergic reaction! This whole place smells like MSG!!
...or something like that. I bring the woman her entree and she eats what she can, asks me to bring her a take-out box for the rest, along with her check. When I do, she says:
Woman at table: So now what do you think of my dog? No trouble at all right?
Me (thinking): What do I think? Well...since you asked, and I KNOW that there's MSG in pretty much everything on our menu, and some of our most used ingredients are indeed canned...I think maybe you should get your money back from the person who sold you this dog I mean he sat silent in his duffel bag the entire time you've been here....or perhaps you just can't stand the thought of going anywhere without your precious little dog, that's what I think.
Me (talking): No trouble at all ma'am. Forgive me please, I didn't realize how many different kinds of service animals there were, but it makes sense given how we see more food allergies these days. I'll take your check up whenever you're ready.
The woman smiles, hands me her credit card. I'm pretty sure the dog wasn't a service animal at all really, because all the woman really said about the little dog seemed geared to the look of surprise on my face when I noticed him. Maybe the dog was having a bad day at the "office", or maybe...and this is a big maybe here, maybe there's not as much MSG in the food as I'm told there is. I have my doubts there. Maybe that's why people make jokes about common household animals being used as food in Asian restaurants- because I don't know what these places would do if they didn't have MSG around, so of course they would want to get rid of anything that lets people in on the secret right? I'm confident this woman had a healthy dose of the stuff in her food that night, that's all I'm saying - and I never heard so much as a yap out of Fido.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
The duality of helping...more from a wristband & Friday, November 18, 2011
A few years ago I was part of a group of people who organized raising money to help a friend who needed a bone marrow transplant. We sold rubber wristbands to raise money for the guy and we had his initials, J.A.M. put on these bands. I don't remember how many we bought, but it was a lot. I do remember how wonderful it felt seeing so many people helping out in so many ways and how quickly people did just that. I lost count of how many people donated money and told us to keep the bands. Thankfully the friend we helped, James Allen Martin, is alive and well today.
That was more than five years ago. I've had hundreds of these wristbands sitting in my attic since then. Didn't even think of them until the other day when I called an old friend. This particular friend's wife is battling breast cancer. He's an accomplished photographer and he's taken photographs of his wife's battle against cancer and they have shared these photographs all over the world. These photographs have won a People's Choice award and are they are a moving look at what these two people are dealing with on a regular basis in this battle that they didn't choose. At first glance these photographs are not easy to look at. Taken at first glance, some of these photographs show anguish, anxiety, fear and pain that are painful to contemplate - let alone live with. In the words of one friend, these photos are intense. Indeed many of them are.
For me, I found it possible to look beyond my first glance - because my first glance makes me want to look the other way and not have to see or give thought to what two people I care about are going through. It's sad, it's painful and I feel powerless to do something to help them. Wait a minute. Look beyond this painful first glance, and you can see wonderful things here. Stay with me. Look beyond your first reaction and you can see love. This is love that is standing up to being tested and you can see it in these pictures. You can see love between two people and it's a love that never gives thought to going away because life threw something at them that no one signs up for, that no one wants. You get a sense of a man that I've had the pleasure of calling a friend, a man who I've known as one of the most kind-hearted and thoughtful people to have ever been part of my own journey in this life be the very definition of husband that said "I do"
Beyond the first glance of these photographs I get a sense of the courage it takes to fight this daily battle and share it with the world. The most wonderful thing I get though, is the sense of love that exists between my friend and his wife. Perhaps there is no better example of the phrase there, but for the grace of God, go I - but I don't look at these photographs and think about the friend I met years ago. I think that in the blink of an eye, our roles could be reversed. What touches one of us touches us as well. We're all connected and I think God wants it that way. We have to think of others because no matter what someone is dealing with or experiencing, that is us. We are there. I look at these photographs and if I think for a second that it hurts me to look, or to feel even the smallest fraction of pain, that this is the normal that has been redefined for two people that I have love for - and there are many more people all over the world who are fighting their own battles like this.
I look because I care - would I rather see photographs of my friend and his wife on vacation or doing anything other than sharing their life moments in this battle? Absolutely. And I know they would rather be sharing those kinds of moments - but these are the moments that life has thrown at them. Their love for one another, their very souls and who they are as people, are bigger and stronger than cancer. The courage it takes both of these two to share moments like these is completely inspiring. It lets me in to the life of two people I care about. It lets me feel the energy and love, the empathy for them that comes from family and friends taking a minute to say that if these are the moments you have to share, all of us are going to share them with you and every one of us wants what the two of you want - life, love, happiness, pain free days and nights for both of you - miracles. If you're going to share with us that there is pain, fear and anything else you don't want, we're going to share with you how much we don't want that for you as well. And when you share your best moments with us, we're going to be happy and thankful with you. We're coming with you Jennifer and Angelo in any and every way we can. No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.
I hung up the phone with Angelo the other day and suddenly it hit me that these wristbands weren't done with their mission - I thought about how the initials could swap themselves out - James Allen Martin...Jennifer & Angelo Merendino - how connected all of us are. In small ways, in ways that are perhaps larger than any of us can know - we're all connected. Love wins.
Tomorrow night, Friday, November 18th, Angelo's exhibit of 35 photographs he's taken of Jennifer in their battle that they didn't choose, kicks off with an opening benefit at the 78th Street Studios. Here's a link to a radio interview Angelo did earlier this week: http://www.ideastream.org/an/entry/43565 - Angelo comes in around 37:15. Take a listen and see how amazing and inspiring his attitude is, because if you do, you'll hear what makes it easy for me to look at these pictures and not let these two people out of my thoughts and prayers. I don't take many weekend nights off in the line of work that pays most of my bills these days - but I can't think of a better reason than to attend tomorrow night's kickoff for my friend's exhibit. I know the turnout will be a wonderful show of love and support for two wonderful people. I know that everyone who comes out tomorrow night will be part of an incredible sense of people coming together to show love and support that is much more powerful than cancer and sadness. Those last two things will be there, hanging around like the uninvited party crashers they are - but no one is going to make them feel welcome, because they're not - they don't belong here. None of us know who let these two in, but all of us who show up tomorrow night - either in person or in spirit, will know that none of us came to see them. There is a much better reason to be a part of this and no party crashers are going to spoil that.
For anyone reading this who knows Jennifer and Angelo, me or anyone who's planning on going tomorrow night if you're in the Cleveland/Akron area, I want to encourage you to come and be a part of this show of love and support. There's more information at these links: www.angelomerendino.com, www.mylifewithbreastcancer.wordpress.com, or www.78streetstudios.com - if you can't attend tomorrow night but would still like to donate, you can contact Angelo at : bobpsbeats@gmail.com
Last night Jen went back to the hospital. Late this morning I got a text from Angelo: Heading to Cleveland at Jen's request. Enough said.
That was more than five years ago. I've had hundreds of these wristbands sitting in my attic since then. Didn't even think of them until the other day when I called an old friend. This particular friend's wife is battling breast cancer. He's an accomplished photographer and he's taken photographs of his wife's battle against cancer and they have shared these photographs all over the world. These photographs have won a People's Choice award and are they are a moving look at what these two people are dealing with on a regular basis in this battle that they didn't choose. At first glance these photographs are not easy to look at. Taken at first glance, some of these photographs show anguish, anxiety, fear and pain that are painful to contemplate - let alone live with. In the words of one friend, these photos are intense. Indeed many of them are.
For me, I found it possible to look beyond my first glance - because my first glance makes me want to look the other way and not have to see or give thought to what two people I care about are going through. It's sad, it's painful and I feel powerless to do something to help them. Wait a minute. Look beyond this painful first glance, and you can see wonderful things here. Stay with me. Look beyond your first reaction and you can see love. This is love that is standing up to being tested and you can see it in these pictures. You can see love between two people and it's a love that never gives thought to going away because life threw something at them that no one signs up for, that no one wants. You get a sense of a man that I've had the pleasure of calling a friend, a man who I've known as one of the most kind-hearted and thoughtful people to have ever been part of my own journey in this life be the very definition of husband that said "I do"
Beyond the first glance of these photographs I get a sense of the courage it takes to fight this daily battle and share it with the world. The most wonderful thing I get though, is the sense of love that exists between my friend and his wife. Perhaps there is no better example of the phrase there, but for the grace of God, go I - but I don't look at these photographs and think about the friend I met years ago. I think that in the blink of an eye, our roles could be reversed. What touches one of us touches us as well. We're all connected and I think God wants it that way. We have to think of others because no matter what someone is dealing with or experiencing, that is us. We are there. I look at these photographs and if I think for a second that it hurts me to look, or to feel even the smallest fraction of pain, that this is the normal that has been redefined for two people that I have love for - and there are many more people all over the world who are fighting their own battles like this.
I look because I care - would I rather see photographs of my friend and his wife on vacation or doing anything other than sharing their life moments in this battle? Absolutely. And I know they would rather be sharing those kinds of moments - but these are the moments that life has thrown at them. Their love for one another, their very souls and who they are as people, are bigger and stronger than cancer. The courage it takes both of these two to share moments like these is completely inspiring. It lets me in to the life of two people I care about. It lets me feel the energy and love, the empathy for them that comes from family and friends taking a minute to say that if these are the moments you have to share, all of us are going to share them with you and every one of us wants what the two of you want - life, love, happiness, pain free days and nights for both of you - miracles. If you're going to share with us that there is pain, fear and anything else you don't want, we're going to share with you how much we don't want that for you as well. And when you share your best moments with us, we're going to be happy and thankful with you. We're coming with you Jennifer and Angelo in any and every way we can. No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.
I hung up the phone with Angelo the other day and suddenly it hit me that these wristbands weren't done with their mission - I thought about how the initials could swap themselves out - James Allen Martin...Jennifer & Angelo Merendino - how connected all of us are. In small ways, in ways that are perhaps larger than any of us can know - we're all connected. Love wins.
Tomorrow night, Friday, November 18th, Angelo's exhibit of 35 photographs he's taken of Jennifer in their battle that they didn't choose, kicks off with an opening benefit at the 78th Street Studios. Here's a link to a radio interview Angelo did earlier this week: http://www.ideastream.org/an/entry/43565 - Angelo comes in around 37:15. Take a listen and see how amazing and inspiring his attitude is, because if you do, you'll hear what makes it easy for me to look at these pictures and not let these two people out of my thoughts and prayers. I don't take many weekend nights off in the line of work that pays most of my bills these days - but I can't think of a better reason than to attend tomorrow night's kickoff for my friend's exhibit. I know the turnout will be a wonderful show of love and support for two wonderful people. I know that everyone who comes out tomorrow night will be part of an incredible sense of people coming together to show love and support that is much more powerful than cancer and sadness. Those last two things will be there, hanging around like the uninvited party crashers they are - but no one is going to make them feel welcome, because they're not - they don't belong here. None of us know who let these two in, but all of us who show up tomorrow night - either in person or in spirit, will know that none of us came to see them. There is a much better reason to be a part of this and no party crashers are going to spoil that.
For anyone reading this who knows Jennifer and Angelo, me or anyone who's planning on going tomorrow night if you're in the Cleveland/Akron area, I want to encourage you to come and be a part of this show of love and support. There's more information at these links: www.angelomerendino.com, www.mylifewithbreastcancer.wordpress.com, or www.78streetstudios.com - if you can't attend tomorrow night but would still like to donate, you can contact Angelo at : bobpsbeats@gmail.com
Last night Jen went back to the hospital. Late this morning I got a text from Angelo: Heading to Cleveland at Jen's request. Enough said.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Cousins & Horses
When I was a kid I wanted a horse, I wanted a horse of my own of course... I remember being ten and deciding that I would get a paper route to pay for my own horse. The next summer I stayed with my paternal grandparents for most of the summer until my family moved back to Ohio from California. They had a horse, but sold her shortly before I came to stay with them. I tried talking my grandfather into getting another horse - to no avail. Fortunately the people who lived across the street from them had ponies and I got to ride them quite a bit that summer. After that summer I never gave having a horse of my own any thought - I'm not sure why really, I just didn't. I think the last time I rode a horse when when I was 19. Never mind how long ago that was.
My younger cousin Lori got a horse when she was almost 12. I never saw her horse until three years later when Lori was 15 and I went with my uncle Don out to the barn where Lori boarded her horse, Beauty. I guess now that I think of it, three years is a long enough time to get acquainted with a horse and all the work that goes along with having one - which I always thought I understood perfectly when I was ten and wanted my own horse. I stood there as a grown man, amazed and watching my younger cousin so confident around this animal. Beauty is a beautiful black horse and I was in awe of both this beautiful animal that was so gentle and how Lori handled her. She wasn't the least bit nervous about being around an animal of this size - I was, and mind you this horse seemed smaller than I remembered horses looking back when I wanted one. Then again, I was smaller at ten - so naturally everything looked bigger.
I couldn't believe the bond between this horse and my cousin - I could just tell they were very close. Lori showed me how Beauty would follow her around to get treats from her if she knew Lori was holding them in her hands. It was one of the sweetest displays of bonding between a person and an animal I've ever seen. I remember thinking back to when I wanted a horse and wondering if I would have been as good with one as I saw Lori being with Beauty that day.
Fast forward to 2011. Lori still has Beauty. She also has a husband and three beautiful children that she and her husband are wonderful parents to. Beauty is facing the end of the trail now, the equivalent of around 90 years old in human years, and my heart goes out to my cousin who has had this animal....well, I'll use Lori's words: since before I got braces, hit puberty, started middle school, got my driver's license, kissed my first boy, graduated high school, started college, bought a house and started a family - I'm struggling right now. It's never an easy thing to realize that at some point, there will come a time when you have to say goodbye for the last time, especially when the space between hello and goodbye is filled with so many wonderful times.
I know Lori's struggling with facing something that no one capable of love wants to see. The time to say goodbye. There's really no preparing for it - even when you know an animal is getting older and their life span is shorter than ours is. There is nothing that can make it any less painful but the miracle of time - and such moments may be the best examples of when time just doesn't seem to move fast enough. In time these slow moving moments make our best memories into things we cherish. We're just never ready for that moment, even though it's for the best. As I've learned of Lori having to contemplate this, I think back to that day I was with Lori at the place she boarded Beauty. She told me recently that her parents paid for the horse for her, but the upkeep was her responsibility. How many years later and Lori still is taking care of Beauty. I have just one wonderful memory of the one time I saw my cousin as a young girl, so happy and confident around her horse. While I'm sad to see Lori facing something I know is so painful, my heart is warmed by knowing that she has many great memories of her time spent with Beauty. Lori told me that her parents buying her the horse wasn't really them giving her a present or spoiling her - it was teaching her a lesson about love, commitment and responsibility. I'm sure she learned a lot of things from having Beauty that she wouldn't have thought about going into the horse ownership experience. Indeed - you learned that lesson about love, commitment and responsibility much better than many people would have Lori. Not only are you a wonderful owner/friend to Beauty, but you're a great mother to three beautiful children.
I know this is hard for you to go through Lori. I wish there was something I could say other than how much the memory of that day I got to see you with Beauty makes me smile, because it's one of my favorite memories and I hope I never forget it. I know you'll never forget the many wonderful memories you have with Beauty, and I hope there's still a few more yet to come. I love you guys and I miss you all!
My younger cousin Lori got a horse when she was almost 12. I never saw her horse until three years later when Lori was 15 and I went with my uncle Don out to the barn where Lori boarded her horse, Beauty. I guess now that I think of it, three years is a long enough time to get acquainted with a horse and all the work that goes along with having one - which I always thought I understood perfectly when I was ten and wanted my own horse. I stood there as a grown man, amazed and watching my younger cousin so confident around this animal. Beauty is a beautiful black horse and I was in awe of both this beautiful animal that was so gentle and how Lori handled her. She wasn't the least bit nervous about being around an animal of this size - I was, and mind you this horse seemed smaller than I remembered horses looking back when I wanted one. Then again, I was smaller at ten - so naturally everything looked bigger.
I couldn't believe the bond between this horse and my cousin - I could just tell they were very close. Lori showed me how Beauty would follow her around to get treats from her if she knew Lori was holding them in her hands. It was one of the sweetest displays of bonding between a person and an animal I've ever seen. I remember thinking back to when I wanted a horse and wondering if I would have been as good with one as I saw Lori being with Beauty that day.
Fast forward to 2011. Lori still has Beauty. She also has a husband and three beautiful children that she and her husband are wonderful parents to. Beauty is facing the end of the trail now, the equivalent of around 90 years old in human years, and my heart goes out to my cousin who has had this animal....well, I'll use Lori's words: since before I got braces, hit puberty, started middle school, got my driver's license, kissed my first boy, graduated high school, started college, bought a house and started a family - I'm struggling right now. It's never an easy thing to realize that at some point, there will come a time when you have to say goodbye for the last time, especially when the space between hello and goodbye is filled with so many wonderful times.
I know Lori's struggling with facing something that no one capable of love wants to see. The time to say goodbye. There's really no preparing for it - even when you know an animal is getting older and their life span is shorter than ours is. There is nothing that can make it any less painful but the miracle of time - and such moments may be the best examples of when time just doesn't seem to move fast enough. In time these slow moving moments make our best memories into things we cherish. We're just never ready for that moment, even though it's for the best. As I've learned of Lori having to contemplate this, I think back to that day I was with Lori at the place she boarded Beauty. She told me recently that her parents paid for the horse for her, but the upkeep was her responsibility. How many years later and Lori still is taking care of Beauty. I have just one wonderful memory of the one time I saw my cousin as a young girl, so happy and confident around her horse. While I'm sad to see Lori facing something I know is so painful, my heart is warmed by knowing that she has many great memories of her time spent with Beauty. Lori told me that her parents buying her the horse wasn't really them giving her a present or spoiling her - it was teaching her a lesson about love, commitment and responsibility. I'm sure she learned a lot of things from having Beauty that she wouldn't have thought about going into the horse ownership experience. Indeed - you learned that lesson about love, commitment and responsibility much better than many people would have Lori. Not only are you a wonderful owner/friend to Beauty, but you're a great mother to three beautiful children.
I know this is hard for you to go through Lori. I wish there was something I could say other than how much the memory of that day I got to see you with Beauty makes me smile, because it's one of my favorite memories and I hope I never forget it. I know you'll never forget the many wonderful memories you have with Beauty, and I hope there's still a few more yet to come. I love you guys and I miss you all!
Friday, November 11, 2011
Veteran's Day
When I was a child little boys played games like Cowboys and Indians, Cops and Robbers or Army. Often those games were played with toy guns - either cap pistols that we fired pointed at one another or a toy replica of a machine gun with realistic sounds that went off when we pulled the trigger. I thought nothing of these games, nor these toy guns when I was a child. I remember one of my father's artist friends coming over to visit with his son, who was just a few years younger than I was. I'll never forget asking him if he wanted to play any of those games and use the toy guns I had, because I'll never forget his response: "My dad doesn't allow me to play with toy guns because he said that someday I might grow up and be a soldier and I'll have to use real guns." I think I was seven or eight.
I remember riding in the car with my father, taking my mother to work at Continental Airlines and asking loads of questions about all the planes I'd see at Los Angeles International Airport. One morning we passed rows of military planes that looked a lot different to me than the commercial airline planes. I asked my mother what those planes were for.
Mom: Those are the planes that take young servicemen to Viet Nam
Me: Am I going to ride on one of those planes someday mom?
Mom: Well I certainly hope not son.
I had uncles who served in the Air Force and the Navy around this time. I remember asking my mother and my grandmother if my uncles were going to have to go to Viet Nam, I remember the military star decals my grandmother had in the picture window of her living room that told people she had sons serving in the military. I remember my grandmother's faith as being stronger than anyone I've ever known. Both of her sons came home never having to serve in a war.
I grew up never having to ride one of those military planes to Viet Nam, or any other place to serve in a war. I never had to register for a draft, though at some points I thought I might. I have had friends go to war and I have prayed for their safe return. Those prayers were answered and I have seen those friends return home safely, but I realize that there are many who didn't return home. There are many who returned home with their lives forever changed by injuries and haunted by memories that most of us can't fathom.
I'm left with the feeling that these games I played without any thought to the meaning behind them, were just wrong. To me those games allowed a sense of belief that there were human lives that were so meaningless that they could be ended in the split second it took to pull a trigger. As a child I gave no thought at all to what a machine gun is actually designed to do. If I'm grateful for never having to hold any type of firearm in my hand and be faced with the need to use it on another human being - one that probably has fears, hopes, dreams and more that are perhaps not much different than my own, what about those who have had to? So many young men and women have served, some have chosen to do so, some have not.
A friend and coworker of mine served in the first Gulf War. I remember how I felt as I thought about the fact that this was real and not some game - my friend might not come home. I thought about the games I played as a boy and how what seemed so normal then seemed frightening now. It seemed harmless having a toy machine gun that made realistic sounds, it seemed harmless to engage in games that had me pointing this toy gun at my friends, at anyone as I pulled the trigger. I know it was normal role-playing games that kids did in those days, but now when I think of it, I can't help but think of the comment that my father's friend made so many years ago and how many people have served in the military.
I am thankful for all of our veterans - I have friends who served, but never had to go to war, I have friends who have fought in a war. I have a friend whose brother's helicopter was shot down and I'm thankful that he's still alive and well. Somehow or another I avoided seeing war from a participant's viewpoint. It could easily not have been that way. I live in a country that has freedom in various forms that many people in this world may never know. I'm grateful for those who have served and I hope that on this Veteran's Day that all who have served are remembered and feel honored today. For all veterans on this day, and every day, THANK YOU.
I remember riding in the car with my father, taking my mother to work at Continental Airlines and asking loads of questions about all the planes I'd see at Los Angeles International Airport. One morning we passed rows of military planes that looked a lot different to me than the commercial airline planes. I asked my mother what those planes were for.
Mom: Those are the planes that take young servicemen to Viet Nam
Me: Am I going to ride on one of those planes someday mom?
Mom: Well I certainly hope not son.
I had uncles who served in the Air Force and the Navy around this time. I remember asking my mother and my grandmother if my uncles were going to have to go to Viet Nam, I remember the military star decals my grandmother had in the picture window of her living room that told people she had sons serving in the military. I remember my grandmother's faith as being stronger than anyone I've ever known. Both of her sons came home never having to serve in a war.
I grew up never having to ride one of those military planes to Viet Nam, or any other place to serve in a war. I never had to register for a draft, though at some points I thought I might. I have had friends go to war and I have prayed for their safe return. Those prayers were answered and I have seen those friends return home safely, but I realize that there are many who didn't return home. There are many who returned home with their lives forever changed by injuries and haunted by memories that most of us can't fathom.
I'm left with the feeling that these games I played without any thought to the meaning behind them, were just wrong. To me those games allowed a sense of belief that there were human lives that were so meaningless that they could be ended in the split second it took to pull a trigger. As a child I gave no thought at all to what a machine gun is actually designed to do. If I'm grateful for never having to hold any type of firearm in my hand and be faced with the need to use it on another human being - one that probably has fears, hopes, dreams and more that are perhaps not much different than my own, what about those who have had to? So many young men and women have served, some have chosen to do so, some have not.
A friend and coworker of mine served in the first Gulf War. I remember how I felt as I thought about the fact that this was real and not some game - my friend might not come home. I thought about the games I played as a boy and how what seemed so normal then seemed frightening now. It seemed harmless having a toy machine gun that made realistic sounds, it seemed harmless to engage in games that had me pointing this toy gun at my friends, at anyone as I pulled the trigger. I know it was normal role-playing games that kids did in those days, but now when I think of it, I can't help but think of the comment that my father's friend made so many years ago and how many people have served in the military.
I am thankful for all of our veterans - I have friends who served, but never had to go to war, I have friends who have fought in a war. I have a friend whose brother's helicopter was shot down and I'm thankful that he's still alive and well. Somehow or another I avoided seeing war from a participant's viewpoint. It could easily not have been that way. I live in a country that has freedom in various forms that many people in this world may never know. I'm grateful for those who have served and I hope that on this Veteran's Day that all who have served are remembered and feel honored today. For all veterans on this day, and every day, THANK YOU.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Assuming
I had an odd experience the other night at a bar that's walking distance from where I work. I don't frequent this place, but every now and then I'll go for a quick beer with friends from work. This particular place is a bit of a different restaurant that is open for breakfast and lunch and turns into more of a club in the evenings. It's not especially the type of bar I like to go to, but it's close to work and sometimes it's nice to unwind after some of the stress of work.
So we belly up to this bar, which actually has barstools that sit a bit lower than I'm comfortable with. I order an import beer and the guy behind the bar seems friendly enough. We're sitting there all of ten minutes when he shows us a trick I've seen and used myself many times - dropping a wine cork on the bar and getting it to bounce so it stands upright. Sometimes it's the simplest things that will amuse someone at the bar. The guy hands me the cork and encourages me to try it. I've done this trick loads of times when I'm working behind the bar and I think the key to success here is to drop the cork from about 3" high. I drop the cork twice and it stands upright both times. The bartender seems a bit too excited when I land my cork, but whatever. He seems like a nice enough guy, but he's got a little of a used car salesman with a dash of midway weight guesser vibe about him.
That's fine, at least we know he's not ignoring us. I'm pretty much over the cork trick, but I ask him if he's seen another trick using two wine corks where you switch hands and make it look like you're not letting go of either cork. The things we do to amuse people behind the bar...
At this point the bartender evidently thought we needed something a bit more interesting and decides he's got the perfect solution:
Proud, beaming bar guy: So do you guys wanna see a racy picture?
My friend looks at me, we look at the bar guy and shrug our shoulders as if to say, "fine...if you wanna show us a racy picture, sure."
It's not as if we walked into the place wondering if the bartender had any pictures to show us, but he seems pretty proud of the picture he shows us of him standing on a beach with his arm around a topless blonde woman. Okay, you've shown us a racy picture. We start to resume our conversation, but our bartender has other plans:
Proud, beaming bar guy: You guys OK with that? Alright...wanna see something more racy?
Me: (thinking) Not really - we kinda want to resume our conversation, but it seems you have other plans and they involve more pictures?
The guy really seemed proud of what he was about to show us and it didn't seem to matter if we wanted to see it or not. He turns around and pulls an 8 by 10 framed picture of him having sex with a woman - I guess it's the same woman from the first picture he showed us. Wow - vacation photos.
It's interesting that the guy's manager is standing a few feet away from him behind the bar and when he notices his bartender about to show us this picture, he smiles and laughs a bit. Clearly this is ground that has been covered more than a few times. In all my years behind the bar or even on the other side of it, I can't say I've seen anything like this - nor that I was looking to. I'm a little surprised at the guy's one-two punch of engaging us in this, not quite sure what to make of it...but we didn't have much time to think or discuss before the guy adds to it:
Proud, beaming bar guy: How 'bout that huh? Now I bet you wanna know who took the picture, don'tcha?
Me, thinking: well...not really. I kind of wanna know why you thought this was an appropriate way to engage your customers. I kind of wanna know why you carry around these pictures, one of which is in a frame and had other momentous touches in the photo, though for the life of me I can't recall anything else in the photo but you having sex with the woman - and I didn't even look but a split second. I run through a little imagery in my head about what the consequences would be if I had photos like this (I don't) and decided to use them as conversation pieces behind any bar that I've worked behind. (I wouldn't) - I just can't see it ending well.
I don't really get much time to think before the guy looks at us with a grin and delivers his line with pride:
Proud, beaming bar guy: HER HUSBAND....!!!...and then he puts his hand up to smack me a high five.
I dunno, maybe it's just me, but I don't really get the high five factor here folks. I wouldn't want to be any part of an equation like this. To each his own I guess, but imagining myself as any part of something like this just doesn't sit well with me. Clearly it sits pretty well with this guy and his manager. Call me crazy, but that was one of the oddest moments I've had behind a bar.
So we belly up to this bar, which actually has barstools that sit a bit lower than I'm comfortable with. I order an import beer and the guy behind the bar seems friendly enough. We're sitting there all of ten minutes when he shows us a trick I've seen and used myself many times - dropping a wine cork on the bar and getting it to bounce so it stands upright. Sometimes it's the simplest things that will amuse someone at the bar. The guy hands me the cork and encourages me to try it. I've done this trick loads of times when I'm working behind the bar and I think the key to success here is to drop the cork from about 3" high. I drop the cork twice and it stands upright both times. The bartender seems a bit too excited when I land my cork, but whatever. He seems like a nice enough guy, but he's got a little of a used car salesman with a dash of midway weight guesser vibe about him.
That's fine, at least we know he's not ignoring us. I'm pretty much over the cork trick, but I ask him if he's seen another trick using two wine corks where you switch hands and make it look like you're not letting go of either cork. The things we do to amuse people behind the bar...
At this point the bartender evidently thought we needed something a bit more interesting and decides he's got the perfect solution:
Proud, beaming bar guy: So do you guys wanna see a racy picture?
My friend looks at me, we look at the bar guy and shrug our shoulders as if to say, "fine...if you wanna show us a racy picture, sure."
It's not as if we walked into the place wondering if the bartender had any pictures to show us, but he seems pretty proud of the picture he shows us of him standing on a beach with his arm around a topless blonde woman. Okay, you've shown us a racy picture. We start to resume our conversation, but our bartender has other plans:
Proud, beaming bar guy: You guys OK with that? Alright...wanna see something more racy?
Me: (thinking) Not really - we kinda want to resume our conversation, but it seems you have other plans and they involve more pictures?
The guy really seemed proud of what he was about to show us and it didn't seem to matter if we wanted to see it or not. He turns around and pulls an 8 by 10 framed picture of him having sex with a woman - I guess it's the same woman from the first picture he showed us. Wow - vacation photos.
It's interesting that the guy's manager is standing a few feet away from him behind the bar and when he notices his bartender about to show us this picture, he smiles and laughs a bit. Clearly this is ground that has been covered more than a few times. In all my years behind the bar or even on the other side of it, I can't say I've seen anything like this - nor that I was looking to. I'm a little surprised at the guy's one-two punch of engaging us in this, not quite sure what to make of it...but we didn't have much time to think or discuss before the guy adds to it:
Proud, beaming bar guy: How 'bout that huh? Now I bet you wanna know who took the picture, don'tcha?
Me, thinking: well...not really. I kind of wanna know why you thought this was an appropriate way to engage your customers. I kind of wanna know why you carry around these pictures, one of which is in a frame and had other momentous touches in the photo, though for the life of me I can't recall anything else in the photo but you having sex with the woman - and I didn't even look but a split second. I run through a little imagery in my head about what the consequences would be if I had photos like this (I don't) and decided to use them as conversation pieces behind any bar that I've worked behind. (I wouldn't) - I just can't see it ending well.
I don't really get much time to think before the guy looks at us with a grin and delivers his line with pride:
Proud, beaming bar guy: HER HUSBAND....!!!...and then he puts his hand up to smack me a high five.
I dunno, maybe it's just me, but I don't really get the high five factor here folks. I wouldn't want to be any part of an equation like this. To each his own I guess, but imagining myself as any part of something like this just doesn't sit well with me. Clearly it sits pretty well with this guy and his manager. Call me crazy, but that was one of the oddest moments I've had behind a bar.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
What Sticks in My Mind From 9/11
Twelve years after the attacks of September 11, 2001 and I still remember what I felt that day. I still remember things from the next few days that followed. I had no idea what happened when I logged on to check my email and someone shot me an IM asking what was going on in New York. I turned on the television and watched in horror. Then my thoughts turned to a friend I'd heard was living in the city. I got in touch w/them and found that they had moved to the West coast a few months prior to 9/11. Some relief there, at least that this friend was okay, safe - but what about so many others?
I remember no planes flying for days. My parents were in Montana and their flight out was delayed for three days. During those three days there were no planes in the sky. To this very day it feels like there weren't any birds in the sky either - yet there had to be. I swear that every time I looked over the next few days I didn't see a bird in the sky, didn't see one anywhere else. Maybe I was just looking too high up in the sky, but I recall thinking that I didn't see any birds and that thought just really stuck in my head.
My parents were seated in first class for their flight out of Montana. They served them steaks in first class. They gave them knives to cut their steaks with and my stepfather told me that worried him a bit. Who wouldn't worry after what had just happened? I had a coworker whose father was killed in the 9/11 attacks. She's now away at college starting her freshman year. When she told me that her father died that day, I thought back to how I felt and how it felt to be sitting in front of someone who lost someone they love that day. She was a child on that day. I saw a post on her facebook page today that reads "I'm still the same seven year old girl" - and that makes my heart ache for her and her family.
When I was a little older than seven, my mother worked for an airline. I went to the airport a lot. My grandparents flew out to California to visit us, we flew home to Ohio to visit them. I loved watching the planes come and go. I loved walking right up to the gate and hugging my grandparents one more time before they left. Then we would stand there and watch the plane take off. Since that day ten years ago, you don't get to do things like that anymore. That's a small memory to lose compared to losing a loved one, yet I still miss that. So today, twelve years to the day, I remember. Peace - a good thing to hope for. Have a great day.
I remember no planes flying for days. My parents were in Montana and their flight out was delayed for three days. During those three days there were no planes in the sky. To this very day it feels like there weren't any birds in the sky either - yet there had to be. I swear that every time I looked over the next few days I didn't see a bird in the sky, didn't see one anywhere else. Maybe I was just looking too high up in the sky, but I recall thinking that I didn't see any birds and that thought just really stuck in my head.
My parents were seated in first class for their flight out of Montana. They served them steaks in first class. They gave them knives to cut their steaks with and my stepfather told me that worried him a bit. Who wouldn't worry after what had just happened? I had a coworker whose father was killed in the 9/11 attacks. She's now away at college starting her freshman year. When she told me that her father died that day, I thought back to how I felt and how it felt to be sitting in front of someone who lost someone they love that day. She was a child on that day. I saw a post on her facebook page today that reads "I'm still the same seven year old girl" - and that makes my heart ache for her and her family.
When I was a little older than seven, my mother worked for an airline. I went to the airport a lot. My grandparents flew out to California to visit us, we flew home to Ohio to visit them. I loved watching the planes come and go. I loved walking right up to the gate and hugging my grandparents one more time before they left. Then we would stand there and watch the plane take off. Since that day ten years ago, you don't get to do things like that anymore. That's a small memory to lose compared to losing a loved one, yet I still miss that. So today, twelve years to the day, I remember. Peace - a good thing to hope for. Have a great day.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
A Silly Yellow Wristband?
On my right wrist (say that five times fast) I wear a yellow rubber wristband from Lance Armstrong's LIVESTRONG foundation. It's been broken and replaced maybe half a dozen times in the six or seven years I've worn it. I put it there when I learned that a good friend of mine, a guy I consider to be the older brother I never had, had his cancer come back three or four years after his initial treatment for prostate cancer. I said that I would take it off when he was cancer free. While his cancer has yet to metastasize and take over his body and his life, along with severely affecting the lives of his family and those of us who know and love him, it's very much still there. Hence the yellow wristband has remained on my wrist for the last few years.
What exactly do I think that a silly rubber wristband will do to help my friend, or anyone else who is suffering from cancer? It's not as if I started wearing it as some sort of good luck charm. I started wearing it to remind me of someone I care a lot about and the very real possibility that he would leave this life much sooner than anyone wanted him to and that he would go through absolute hell on the way out. I started wearing it to remind myself that I believe in miracles, and that miracles come in infinite forms and sizes. I started wearing it to remind me of how ironic Chris Rock's standup bit about how there isn't any money in a cure for cancer makes me sad that we as a society don't declare an all out war on something that takes the lives of so many people every year - and how such a horrible disease causes those who suffer from it such pain, suffering and money. How it ruins lives of loved ones who see people that mean everything to them suffer. How much money it costs to get treated and how much it doesn't seem to matter how any life that is ended by this awful disease can't be brought back with all the money in the world - yet our insurance companies put a ceiling on dollar amounts that they will shell out for the care of someone. How sad it is that if you're wealthy you can afford better care almost as if you're paying God himself off to lengthen your life or lessen your suffering.
No, this rubber yellow wristband is far from being a good luck charm. Maybe it's there to remind me of the hell that others are going through and to pray for them, to keep believing in miracles. Maybe it's there to remind me that we're all connected as humans and that what happens to any one of us, good or bad, can and does happen to us all - and in the blink of an eye.
No one signs up for cancer. Some people smoke their entire lives and never have lung cancer. Some people never smoke at all and die from lung cancer. Shouldn't we know enough about the factors like genetics by now to be able to stop something like cancer from taking anyone? I've never smoked cigarettes in my life, but I have tended bar at places where people smoked, I lit cigarettes and emptied ashtrays and may well have been the equivalent of a guy who smoked a pack a day or more for a few years. I once lived with a woman who smoked so much that all of my clothes in the walk in closet smelled so much of smoke that every day for a year and a half, someone I worked with would come up to me and ask to bum a smoke. When I told them I didn't smoke, they never believed me - that's how much my clothes stunk. My point? I could very easily be writing about myself or about someone in my family - and the people that are my closest friends are family to me.
Maybe this yellow wristband is there to remind me that there are people I care about who are suffering in ways I can barely fathom - and sometimes I feel guilty about that. And these days there are people added to the list of lives I know that are being touched by cancer. Maybe you've noticed by now that I am not about to capitalize the word "cancer" - I don't think it deserves it, that's my little writer's mind way of saying "f*** you cancer!...f*** you for every life you've taken and every heart you've hurt with all the terrible things you do to life!"
I wish my list didn't have a single name on it - but it does have names on it, and they are the names of people who have shared my life with me and some have made my life so much better for having played a part in it. Some are people I never had a single word with in school. Some are spouses of dear friends. Some are people I can't even fathom not having in my life. All of the people on the list now are a very favorable part of my life - and I don't want to lose a single one of them, nor do I want anyone else to.
I have a dear friend whose wife is battling cancer. The most important thing this guy does extremely well is to be a great person, one that others would find it impossible to say a bad thing about. Some other things he does extremely well are playing drums and taking photographs. A few months ago he started taking pictures of the journey that he and his wife are going through with cancer and her battle/their battle. I've never met his wife, but I can say without any hesitation whatsoever that if my friend Angelo married her, she's one incredible person. Angelo's photographs are viewable on his website and I'd like to encourage you to go to the website and vote. It only takes a second and you can vote once a day until voting ends on July 29, 2011. Voting just might win them some prize money that my guess would offset medical expenses quite a bit. At the very least voting and looking at what others are going through can build awareness and through such awareness I would hope we would get to a place where something like cancer doesn't stand a chance on any living thing.
So please, take a few seconds to go to my friend's website and vote: http://bopmo.see.me/onelife2011. And please remember to keep good thoughts for anyone who is battling cancer - it could be any one of us at any moment. Thanks! (if the above link doesn't work, please try: www.angelomerendino.com)
What exactly do I think that a silly rubber wristband will do to help my friend, or anyone else who is suffering from cancer? It's not as if I started wearing it as some sort of good luck charm. I started wearing it to remind me of someone I care a lot about and the very real possibility that he would leave this life much sooner than anyone wanted him to and that he would go through absolute hell on the way out. I started wearing it to remind myself that I believe in miracles, and that miracles come in infinite forms and sizes. I started wearing it to remind me of how ironic Chris Rock's standup bit about how there isn't any money in a cure for cancer makes me sad that we as a society don't declare an all out war on something that takes the lives of so many people every year - and how such a horrible disease causes those who suffer from it such pain, suffering and money. How it ruins lives of loved ones who see people that mean everything to them suffer. How much money it costs to get treated and how much it doesn't seem to matter how any life that is ended by this awful disease can't be brought back with all the money in the world - yet our insurance companies put a ceiling on dollar amounts that they will shell out for the care of someone. How sad it is that if you're wealthy you can afford better care almost as if you're paying God himself off to lengthen your life or lessen your suffering.
No, this rubber yellow wristband is far from being a good luck charm. Maybe it's there to remind me of the hell that others are going through and to pray for them, to keep believing in miracles. Maybe it's there to remind me that we're all connected as humans and that what happens to any one of us, good or bad, can and does happen to us all - and in the blink of an eye.
No one signs up for cancer. Some people smoke their entire lives and never have lung cancer. Some people never smoke at all and die from lung cancer. Shouldn't we know enough about the factors like genetics by now to be able to stop something like cancer from taking anyone? I've never smoked cigarettes in my life, but I have tended bar at places where people smoked, I lit cigarettes and emptied ashtrays and may well have been the equivalent of a guy who smoked a pack a day or more for a few years. I once lived with a woman who smoked so much that all of my clothes in the walk in closet smelled so much of smoke that every day for a year and a half, someone I worked with would come up to me and ask to bum a smoke. When I told them I didn't smoke, they never believed me - that's how much my clothes stunk. My point? I could very easily be writing about myself or about someone in my family - and the people that are my closest friends are family to me.
Maybe this yellow wristband is there to remind me that there are people I care about who are suffering in ways I can barely fathom - and sometimes I feel guilty about that. And these days there are people added to the list of lives I know that are being touched by cancer. Maybe you've noticed by now that I am not about to capitalize the word "cancer" - I don't think it deserves it, that's my little writer's mind way of saying "f*** you cancer!...f*** you for every life you've taken and every heart you've hurt with all the terrible things you do to life!"
I wish my list didn't have a single name on it - but it does have names on it, and they are the names of people who have shared my life with me and some have made my life so much better for having played a part in it. Some are people I never had a single word with in school. Some are spouses of dear friends. Some are people I can't even fathom not having in my life. All of the people on the list now are a very favorable part of my life - and I don't want to lose a single one of them, nor do I want anyone else to.
I have a dear friend whose wife is battling cancer. The most important thing this guy does extremely well is to be a great person, one that others would find it impossible to say a bad thing about. Some other things he does extremely well are playing drums and taking photographs. A few months ago he started taking pictures of the journey that he and his wife are going through with cancer and her battle/their battle. I've never met his wife, but I can say without any hesitation whatsoever that if my friend Angelo married her, she's one incredible person. Angelo's photographs are viewable on his website and I'd like to encourage you to go to the website and vote. It only takes a second and you can vote once a day until voting ends on July 29, 2011. Voting just might win them some prize money that my guess would offset medical expenses quite a bit. At the very least voting and looking at what others are going through can build awareness and through such awareness I would hope we would get to a place where something like cancer doesn't stand a chance on any living thing.
So please, take a few seconds to go to my friend's website and vote: http://bopmo.see.me/onelife2011. And please remember to keep good thoughts for anyone who is battling cancer - it could be any one of us at any moment. Thanks! (if the above link doesn't work, please try: www.angelomerendino.com)
Saturday, July 2, 2011
The Mother?
I'm a bit of a foodie - a decent cook, though not a chef. I cook at least as well as any of the women I've dated, probably better than some. My real interest in good food came from The Inn at Turner's Mill. I'd won chili cook-offs before and always been a pretty fair cook, but not until my time at the Mill did I really start to take an interest in really good food.
These days there are loads of places to find both inspiration and information on how to cook anything I'm interested in. I also like to put my own twist on things. Lately I've become very interested in making my own salad dressings. My favorite is balsamic vinaigrette, but I don't want to overdose on that - wonderful as that dressing always tastes to me. I'm lucky that I've worked around some very inspiring chefs - Tom Ward, Sean Monday, Brandt Evans, Alan Ashkinaze, Paul Minnilo and Chris DiLisi. Oh I've watched, I've listened and I've learned.
As one might expect, I keep balsamic vinegar around my kitchen. I thought I knew a thing or two about balsamic vinegar, but I was...well, mistaken. After my workout yesterday, I stopped at the store and bought some stuff to make a healthy lunch of salmon with a salad of baby Romaine & vegetables. It's so easy to make balsamic vinaigrette and since it's been awhile...
Here's where a surprise showed up: I reached for the bottle of balsamic vinegar and started to measure out 1/3 cup for the dressing. That's when I noticed a big fat glob of gooey...stuff in the bottle. Never saw anything like it. It was a bit on the disgusting side, but I tasted the vinegar itself and it tasted perfectly fine. It didn't look like the glob was going to make it out of the bottle so I proceeded to add the rest of my ingredients to the mixer; brown sugar, chopped garlic cloves, dash of sea salt, cracked black pepper, some fresh lemon juice and then I added the oil slowly.
I nailed the dressing perfectly and made a mental note to ask either the chefs or one of the servers I work with about this strange mass in the vinegar bottle. When I got to work the first person I saw was Eric - a guy who has been a chef and got into cooking because he loved dressings. I told him about the strange gooey glob and he calmly smiled and said:
Eric: ah, that's the mother...
Me - thinking: the wha?? mother what??
Me - speaking: The mother
Eric: yeah, the mother - it's what the vinegar starts from.
Me - thinking: No sh*t. Is he messing with me? Mother huh? Never heard of it.
Me, speaking: How did it get in there? Do I need to throw away the vinegar?
Eric: It was probably in there when you bought it - might have grown a bit, the vinegar is fine...
Me - thinking: Grown a bit?? Will it keep growing and burst into my cupboard leaving a blackish-brown mass and a mess to clean up? Isn't this how The Blob started?
Me, speaking and trying not to appear totally ignorant: Huh, no kiddin' - it was in there when I bought it. Yeah I wondered what the hell it was, I mean I tasted the vinegar and it seemed fine, so of course (mock confident tone here) I figured there was no problem and I didn't panic....
Eric: yup, it's fine.
Me: cool.
Mind you I believed him, hard as it was to wrap my mind around this "mother" - and in the back of my mind I wondered why I've never heard anything about this, but no matter. I did kind of want to get the other guys in the kitchen to give me their take on it, but somehow I knew even without asking anyone that it was alright and nothing to worry about. If you have balsamic vinegar in your kitchen, you might take a look and see if your mother is in there - because if you've never seen your mother, I can assure you it's a bit of a shock when you first meet up. That is all.
These days there are loads of places to find both inspiration and information on how to cook anything I'm interested in. I also like to put my own twist on things. Lately I've become very interested in making my own salad dressings. My favorite is balsamic vinaigrette, but I don't want to overdose on that - wonderful as that dressing always tastes to me. I'm lucky that I've worked around some very inspiring chefs - Tom Ward, Sean Monday, Brandt Evans, Alan Ashkinaze, Paul Minnilo and Chris DiLisi. Oh I've watched, I've listened and I've learned.
As one might expect, I keep balsamic vinegar around my kitchen. I thought I knew a thing or two about balsamic vinegar, but I was...well, mistaken. After my workout yesterday, I stopped at the store and bought some stuff to make a healthy lunch of salmon with a salad of baby Romaine & vegetables. It's so easy to make balsamic vinaigrette and since it's been awhile...
Here's where a surprise showed up: I reached for the bottle of balsamic vinegar and started to measure out 1/3 cup for the dressing. That's when I noticed a big fat glob of gooey...stuff in the bottle. Never saw anything like it. It was a bit on the disgusting side, but I tasted the vinegar itself and it tasted perfectly fine. It didn't look like the glob was going to make it out of the bottle so I proceeded to add the rest of my ingredients to the mixer; brown sugar, chopped garlic cloves, dash of sea salt, cracked black pepper, some fresh lemon juice and then I added the oil slowly.
I nailed the dressing perfectly and made a mental note to ask either the chefs or one of the servers I work with about this strange mass in the vinegar bottle. When I got to work the first person I saw was Eric - a guy who has been a chef and got into cooking because he loved dressings. I told him about the strange gooey glob and he calmly smiled and said:
Eric: ah, that's the mother...
Me - thinking: the wha?? mother what??
Me - speaking: The mother
Eric: yeah, the mother - it's what the vinegar starts from.
Me - thinking: No sh*t. Is he messing with me? Mother huh? Never heard of it.
Me, speaking: How did it get in there? Do I need to throw away the vinegar?
Eric: It was probably in there when you bought it - might have grown a bit, the vinegar is fine...
Me - thinking: Grown a bit?? Will it keep growing and burst into my cupboard leaving a blackish-brown mass and a mess to clean up? Isn't this how The Blob started?
Me, speaking and trying not to appear totally ignorant: Huh, no kiddin' - it was in there when I bought it. Yeah I wondered what the hell it was, I mean I tasted the vinegar and it seemed fine, so of course (mock confident tone here) I figured there was no problem and I didn't panic....
Eric: yup, it's fine.
Me: cool.
Mind you I believed him, hard as it was to wrap my mind around this "mother" - and in the back of my mind I wondered why I've never heard anything about this, but no matter. I did kind of want to get the other guys in the kitchen to give me their take on it, but somehow I knew even without asking anyone that it was alright and nothing to worry about. If you have balsamic vinegar in your kitchen, you might take a look and see if your mother is in there - because if you've never seen your mother, I can assure you it's a bit of a shock when you first meet up. That is all.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
"Sonic" Boom
I'm experienced enough at high volume restaurant work to know quite a few tricks for being more efficient and working faster/easier. I'm more than willing to help anyone learning the ropes and there's a fair amount of logic to why I do some things the way I do them. What I usually tell people that I get asked to train, is that I'm not saying my way is always right and there isn't a way that might work better for them - but there is a reason they have asked me to show you how it's done.
I'm currently working in a new place that I'm very excited about for numerous reasons - the food is incredible, our chef is incredible and not one of those egotistical blowhards who is always yelling at the front of the house staff, our management is level headed, polite, rewarding and supportive, the place is beautiful and the entire staff feels like it was chosen like an all-star team...but there is one newer guy who just seems to be struggling and gets flustered quite often. Nice enough kid, I'm not one of those long-timers who wants to bash someone and get them tossed out of a job - I'd rather be supportive and realize that all of us are new at something sometime and that some of us do certain things better than others. What possible gain would I have in getting someone fired? I mean I have a better job there than this kid does, so he's no threat to me - besides, it's kind of funny at times.
So into a s-l-o-w Monday night we are, and a drink ticket comes up from the new guy - who really isn't that new any more, but who still seems to be struggling. Poor kid. This is what I read the ticket as:
S1 Tito's vodka
rocks
splash soda
splash water
S2 Tito's vodka
tonic
Our rocks glasses and our highball glasses are the exact same shape and height - the difference between them is that the highball glasses are wider and therefore allow for a wash to be added to the glass for things like, oh I dunno, say maybe some TONIC....
I make the drinks quickly, without needing to reach for my handy bartender's book, because yes, I'm that good. Actually I don't think we even have a book, but our computer system does have loads of drink recipes stored in the terminals. Nothing to read here folks...but then I see the name on the ticket and I know it's the new kid. I think I better stick around and mark one of the drinks with two straws and point out to him which is which on account the glasses being so similar and playing an optical illusion trick even on those of us who are more experienced and because the new kid is notoriously taking the wrong drinks. Poor kid is trying, I know he is and he is really nice...
So I stay put and wait for him to come for his drinks so I can give him the 411. Up he comes, up I speak:
Me - speaking: this one is your splashes, this one is your tonic - cool?
New Kid - speaking, most confidently I might add: Tonic??...it's not supposed to be tonic - supposed to be Sonic!...Sonic, not tonic!
Me - thinking: What. The. Eff...
Me - speaking: How's that? What?
New Kid - pointing to the ticket and reading aloud: Sonic dude, it says Sonic - NOT tonic! Look man!
Me - thinking again: What. The.Eff...
Me - speaking, again: What exactly do you mean by Sonic?? Enlighten me.
New Kid - speaking, even more confidently now that he apparently knows something I do not:
Sonic dude - half soda, half tonic!
Me - thinking again: Well I never...no, actually I haven't
I look closer at the ticket and see what I thought read "Tonic", is actually "sonic" - which is not in my mixology nomenclature. Now if we use that same logic, perhaps the first drink would have read Tito's vodka Swater - half soda, half water... I'm not sure. Just to make sure, I ask around to the rest of the more experienced peeps - and no, I don't give up the name of New Kid. Just as I suspected, nobody else knew what it was either. Poor kid. He really is a nice kid and he does try. I sure hope it gets easier for him. It does strike me as kind of funny.
I'm currently working in a new place that I'm very excited about for numerous reasons - the food is incredible, our chef is incredible and not one of those egotistical blowhards who is always yelling at the front of the house staff, our management is level headed, polite, rewarding and supportive, the place is beautiful and the entire staff feels like it was chosen like an all-star team...but there is one newer guy who just seems to be struggling and gets flustered quite often. Nice enough kid, I'm not one of those long-timers who wants to bash someone and get them tossed out of a job - I'd rather be supportive and realize that all of us are new at something sometime and that some of us do certain things better than others. What possible gain would I have in getting someone fired? I mean I have a better job there than this kid does, so he's no threat to me - besides, it's kind of funny at times.
So into a s-l-o-w Monday night we are, and a drink ticket comes up from the new guy - who really isn't that new any more, but who still seems to be struggling. Poor kid. This is what I read the ticket as:
S1 Tito's vodka
rocks
splash soda
splash water
S2 Tito's vodka
tonic
Our rocks glasses and our highball glasses are the exact same shape and height - the difference between them is that the highball glasses are wider and therefore allow for a wash to be added to the glass for things like, oh I dunno, say maybe some TONIC....
I make the drinks quickly, without needing to reach for my handy bartender's book, because yes, I'm that good. Actually I don't think we even have a book, but our computer system does have loads of drink recipes stored in the terminals. Nothing to read here folks...but then I see the name on the ticket and I know it's the new kid. I think I better stick around and mark one of the drinks with two straws and point out to him which is which on account the glasses being so similar and playing an optical illusion trick even on those of us who are more experienced and because the new kid is notoriously taking the wrong drinks. Poor kid is trying, I know he is and he is really nice...
So I stay put and wait for him to come for his drinks so I can give him the 411. Up he comes, up I speak:
Me - speaking: this one is your splashes, this one is your tonic - cool?
New Kid - speaking, most confidently I might add: Tonic??...it's not supposed to be tonic - supposed to be Sonic!...Sonic, not tonic!
Me - thinking: What. The. Eff...
Me - speaking: How's that? What?
New Kid - pointing to the ticket and reading aloud: Sonic dude, it says Sonic - NOT tonic! Look man!
Me - thinking again: What. The.Eff...
Me - speaking, again: What exactly do you mean by Sonic?? Enlighten me.
New Kid - speaking, even more confidently now that he apparently knows something I do not:
Sonic dude - half soda, half tonic!
Me - thinking again: Well I never...no, actually I haven't
I look closer at the ticket and see what I thought read "Tonic", is actually "sonic" - which is not in my mixology nomenclature. Now if we use that same logic, perhaps the first drink would have read Tito's vodka Swater - half soda, half water... I'm not sure. Just to make sure, I ask around to the rest of the more experienced peeps - and no, I don't give up the name of New Kid. Just as I suspected, nobody else knew what it was either. Poor kid. He really is a nice kid and he does try. I sure hope it gets easier for him. It does strike me as kind of funny.
Friday, June 3, 2011
More nods to Seuss
Greetings again...a rough day to get much new writing done and I'm a bit tapped out from writing something to some friends who are dealing with a very sad loss this week. I got asked about this little
piece too, and yes, there are lots more things like this - when I get a bit more time I will see what's worth posting.
Thanks to Steve and John for asking about this and saying I should post it for those who can relate - that makes a tough day on an even tougher week feel a bit better. Hope more people get a chuckle from this!
piece too, and yes, there are lots more things like this - when I get a bit more time I will see what's worth posting.
Thanks to Steve and John for asking about this and saying I should post it for those who can relate - that makes a tough day on an even tougher week feel a bit better. Hope more people get a chuckle from this!
The Waiters Who Wait
If you are the waiter, what, pray tell am I
Oh the things you don’t notice, every time you pass by
Our glasses are empty, from bottom to top
Yet nothing so obvious will make you stop
I know your job isn’t easy – for once it was mine
Worked too late to cook, so we came here to dine
To sit and be waited on, I thought we’d be able
If that’s going to work, then please come to our table
I don’t want to piss and I don’t want to moan
But please – you’re at work, so put down your phone
If you’d just turn around, it’s easy to see
Another round’s needed, by my date and me
We just want to relax, not clean and not cook
But you just don’t notice, every time that you look
Appetizers are gone, and I want more food
Good heavens you’re really an ignorant dude
I really don’t know why you’re working like this
I can’t understand all the things that you miss
And me on a night off, I don’t want to think
About where the hell is my food or my drink
So if you are the waiter, then how can it be
That the one who is waiting just seems to be ME?!
A gruesome chore...and a nod to Dr. Seuss
Greetings folks, got an email asking me about some goofy writing I did a few weeks back, then a phone call about it. You asked for it, here it is - only posting because you asked!
Super-duper, poopy-schmoopy
I do not like this toilet mess
But I won’t clean it, I confess
For cleaning causes too much stress
This toilet bowl, all clogged and brown
A mass of poo that won’t flush down
The smell of it does make me frown
And so I’ll tell you what I did
I turned my back and closed the lid
And there it stayed – I thought well-hid
A kindly man I know as Chris
Would try to plunge through the abyss
Because he wasn’t having this
His bagged hand reached – and pulled out half
This made my child, and myself laugh
Perhaps I’d call the maintenance staff
Into a Hefty, Chris plopped this poop
Big brown disgusting booty soup
Within which his bagged hand did scoop
We lay there & giggled – my child and I
While a good man choked and thought he’d die
That man must love me so to try
To save me from a gruesome chore
And flush it down forever more
My child asked him to shut the door!
Yet all his efforts went in vain
No brown would travel down my drain
My child & I thought Chris insane
He failed and left, oh what a drag
He’d carry out one poop-filled bag
No manly rights of which to brag
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Spring...finally!
Spring seemed to get off to a slow and rather rough start this year. The weather couldn't make up its mind and we shifted from hopeful warm days back into cold, rain and sometimes more snow. I try not to let the weather dictate my moods, but I find that the older I get, the more difficult that can be. I think my late grandfather's hatred of the cold weather is being passed on to me! Maybe it's just that I don't embrace the cold weather of Winter in ways that I used to - skiing being but one of those ways. At any rate, I think I'd be fine with the weather doing one thing or the other. If it were to stay cold, then I could at least roll with that and chime in when someone said they couldn't wait for warmer days of Spring.
I love how the tiny bursts of Spring start to appear. The tulip bulbs by my mailbox spend the Fall and Winter months looking sad, trampled and pathetic. I always notice that and think back to when they appear in the Spring growing tall and rapidly with beautiful bursts of red and yellow. Of course they never stay long, but I always feel like they stay just long enough to let me appreciate them. They never overstay their welcome and they never leave too early. Love it. In the Fall and Winter, I look at where they were blooming and standing tall and it never looks like they'll return in the Spring - but they always do. I find that very optimistic.
Then there's the two bushes right outside my door that bloom these light purple tissue-paper looking flowers - but again, not for very long. Those bushes look pretty miserable in the Winter months too. My dog lifts his leg and pees on them sometimes and when he does that I always try to stop him because I worry that if he does that too many times, the flowers won't come in the Spring. They always do - and it always makes me glad. They're out there in full bloom as I'm typing this - they look incredible this year!
I'm not up on my flowers - I know very few types by their names. I really just know I like noticing them and appreciating them for adding a burst of colorful visual effects. Maybe it's time I bought a field guide and started learning some names of more flowers...ya think?
Another thing that I love to see in the Spring, is how the green starts to appear on the trees so gradually. I love looking around at the trees when I'm driving to work and seeing the little green buds appearing scattered along the way - it always makes me feel good because I know what's coming.
I always feel philosophical and hopeful when Spring comes. It's like life itself waking up in a great mood in the morning. Yup. Springtime to me feels like life's morning on a day that is much larger than a mere 24 hours. Happy Spring everyone!
I love how the tiny bursts of Spring start to appear. The tulip bulbs by my mailbox spend the Fall and Winter months looking sad, trampled and pathetic. I always notice that and think back to when they appear in the Spring growing tall and rapidly with beautiful bursts of red and yellow. Of course they never stay long, but I always feel like they stay just long enough to let me appreciate them. They never overstay their welcome and they never leave too early. Love it. In the Fall and Winter, I look at where they were blooming and standing tall and it never looks like they'll return in the Spring - but they always do. I find that very optimistic.
Then there's the two bushes right outside my door that bloom these light purple tissue-paper looking flowers - but again, not for very long. Those bushes look pretty miserable in the Winter months too. My dog lifts his leg and pees on them sometimes and when he does that I always try to stop him because I worry that if he does that too many times, the flowers won't come in the Spring. They always do - and it always makes me glad. They're out there in full bloom as I'm typing this - they look incredible this year!
I'm not up on my flowers - I know very few types by their names. I really just know I like noticing them and appreciating them for adding a burst of colorful visual effects. Maybe it's time I bought a field guide and started learning some names of more flowers...ya think?
Another thing that I love to see in the Spring, is how the green starts to appear on the trees so gradually. I love looking around at the trees when I'm driving to work and seeing the little green buds appearing scattered along the way - it always makes me feel good because I know what's coming.
I always feel philosophical and hopeful when Spring comes. It's like life itself waking up in a great mood in the morning. Yup. Springtime to me feels like life's morning on a day that is much larger than a mere 24 hours. Happy Spring everyone!
Monday, April 25, 2011
A Slight Adaptation
Greetings! Some years back I was working at a place that was going to close for a month of renovations and scatter the staff to other restaurants within the company to enable us all to make our ends meet. All of this was going on when the movie version of how the Grinch stole Christmas was hitting the theaters, so I wrote a little piece about it and a friend recently asked about it - I thought I posted the piece here on the blog, guess I was wrong. Anyway, here it is per the friend's request:
How The Grinch Stole Gamekeeper’s Christmas
A Slight Adaptation By Christopher R. O’Hare
Every Who who worked at Gamekeeper’s liked food – a LOT…
But the Grinch, who lived beneath Gamekeeper’s in the depths of a very old floor…did NOT!
The Grinch hated Gamekeeper’s and their busy Christmas Season! Now please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be because of the noises he heard overhead
Which he still couldn’t bear on the nights they seemed dead
Some say the reason for his constant bad mood
Was he just didn’t care for the Gamekeeper’s food
But this Christmas season he could stand no more
The noises! The smells…that would come through the floor
He sat well below and he heard every sound
Of the owners and servers and cooks running ‘round
He heard as they’d wash up their dishes, plates and their pans…
He heard when they washed off their Gamekeeper’s hands
And all of this water will drain through the floor
Because this old plumbing can’t take any more!
I’ve got to do something to keep people away
Both patrons and workers and it must be TODAY!
So the Grinch sat to think about what he would do
As he smelled the aroma of Gamekeeper’s stew
I’ve got it! He said, as he sprang from the floor
I’ll close down the place and I’ll lock up the door!
That kitchen’s worn out the Grinch thought with no doubt
I’ll close for a month and take EVERYTHING out!
Now maybe I need just a month’s peace & quiet
And how would I know, unless I could try it?
I’ll come through the floor on January one
…and take every last bit of Gamekeeper’s fun!
I’ll take the barstools where they sit on their asses
They’ll have no more drinks, ‘cause I’ll take all their glasses!
I’ll take all the booze, I will don’t you know
Each and every last drop of GameSkeeper’s MERLOT
So he started to take all the things as he said
And he ripped from the walls every animal’s head!
He ran to the booths and yanked them both out
And he took every knickknack that hung in the trout!
He took all the tables, the lamps and the chairs
Why before he would leave he’d rip out the stairs!
He worked in a rage throwing things in his sack
No contractor knows when to put this stuff back!
He took all the coffee, the tea and the milk
And every last bit of the ostrich and elk!
Then once more around the whole place in a loop
There was not one drop left of Frida’s fresh soup!
Now the Grinch was certain they’d be back for no more
Why the Grinch even took out the Gamekeeper’s floor!
His Grinch sack was full and he struggled with it
Then Stephie-Lou Who yelled, “Hey, what’s all this shit?!”
The Grinch jumped back and was startled a bit
While Stephi-Lou said, “Answer me now you green piece of shit, you’ve got all our stuff, where ya goin’ with it??”
“Don’t lie to me now, it’s really no use – you’ve got all our stuff, even white chocolate mousse”
“And where will we work if we’re going to close?”…as she poked with the soda gun up Grinch’s nose
So the Grinch got his nerve and he thought up a lie
And he told it and looked Stephie-Lou Who in the eye
“Bartendress”, he said and he started to smile
“I promise you’ll only be closed for awhile”
“It’s just for one month then you know what I’ll do? I’ll bring EVERY Gamekeeper Who back…starting with YOU!”
As the Grinch spoke these words he patted her head
Stephie-Lou Who just frowned as she said
“Touch me ONE more time, and I swear you’ll be dead!”
And she yelled at the Grinch and she called him a liar
“I will not pour drinks at that place, Timberfire”
The Grinch just smiled his evil Grinch smile
And said “you can work at Bass Lake for awhile”
Now Stephie-Lou Who thought the Grinch was a fool
And convinced him to shell out five bucks for the pool
To win all this money you must guess the date
When the Whos will eat food from a Gamekeeper’s plate
Now the Grinch made a sneer as he heard of this bet
And he smiled as he thought of the money he’d get
“Who’s all in this pool…’cause betting, I LIKE…”
And Stephie-Lou Who smiled, “every Who who comes here – even Updike!”
We’ll open back up after all getting calls
The deer, elk and goat heads place back on the walls
The whole month of January looking so grim
Will give way to a full schedule of shifts done by Kim
Gamekeeper’s Who’s will be eating again
Denise and her volume will be cranked up to TEN!
The Grinch will sit down w/a cold glass of milk
And carve the first piece of the South Island Elk!
And the server Whos serving with smiles on their lips
All of them raking in Gamekeeper’s tips
And al the Who guests that will walk through the door
Will smile because Gamekeeper’s is open once more!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Odd...
Way back in October, I came home from work and got right to doing what I normally do as soon as I get home - I took my dog outside. Bentley knows that this is what we do within minutes of me getting home from work and it's not up for discussion. And so it was one October evening, I came home and took Bentley out for his short evening walk.
I didn't get but a few yards when I hear a guy's voice yell hey - which instantly started my dog barking. Seeing as how it was 11:00 at night, I wanted Bentley to stop with the barking. I turned and waved to the guy who yelled and continued on my way down the sidewalk. A few seconds later, the guy is yelling again and heading towards me, asking for help in very broken English. I notice he has a cell phone and a calling card. Bentley calms down and the guy moves a little closer to us and holds up the phone and the card:
"sorry...you can help me....Bosnia...phone - you understand yes?"
I think I understand - he wants some help with the calling card. At this point my dog is relatively calm & walks up to the guy sniffing, which is what dogs do. This suddenly freaks Bosnian Dude out - from the looks of things, almost as much as my dog sinking his chops into the dude's thigh would, because he yells and jumps back - as if the dog appeared out of nowhere to scare the B-Jeezus outta him. This starts another barking episode with my dog, and since it's after 11:00 PM, I want this to stop. I do my best to calm my dog down while trying to figure out why this guy seems to need my help.
Now is a good time to say that my middle-aged eyes can't exactly see the numbers on Bosnian Dude's calling card in the combination of moonlight and floodlight. It's also a good time to say that we end up going through the whole barking fits-calm-sniff-Bosnian Dude freak out thing about 5 more times before I finally tell Bosnian Dude that I'm going to have to take my dog in and come back if I'm going to help him. Things are about to get strange - though not as strange as I suspect Bosnian Dude would like them to get.
I tell B.D. that I'll take my dog home & return to see if I can help him.
Bosnian Dude: yes, my friend...you come my apartment. Understand?
Me - thinking: not sure I do understand - I mean the fact that you have the phone card
and a phone makes me a little suspicious of you being clueless here...
Me - talking: Yes, let me take my dog home and I will try to help you
As I walk back to my apartment with my dog, I don't feel great about going to this guy's apartment to help him figure out a phone card. Really? Nonetheless, I feel oddly obligated to try and help this guy - yet I feel a bit uneasy. I call a friend and tell her that if she hasn't heard from me in an hour to call the police and tell them the apartment and building number that I'm going to visit. As you might imagine, this sounds at least a little troubling to her. I tell her not to worry and that I'll explain later.
I knock on the guy's door and I hear:
Bosnian Dude: yes, yes...come
I open the door and walk into a sparsely furnished apartment. Small television set, small table with two chairs and the whole place smells like an ashtray. My eyes quickly try to scan the room for signs of any of the following: rope, shovels, knives, ball gags, hoods, more rope, guns, blood stains, pornography of any kind - any of these things would be cause for alarm and send me right back out the door, but I'm also willing to burst straight through his living room window if my life depends on it. My guess is that it's best not to let him think I'm looking for any of those causes for alarm and I'm praying my lousy poker face won't tip him off.
B.D. : sit my friend, eees beer for yoo, my friend...yoo drink, yes?
At this point he shoves a tall can of Budweiser at me & repeats the above statement in rapid succession. I don't care for Budweiser and I care even less for my location. What's even worse, I'm having trouble looking around the room to plan my emergency exit should he whip out a rope....uh, or worse. F***nuts! Am I really going to have to dive through his front window all Starsky & Hutch-like? Something tells me that's a lot harder than it looks on television. Before I can scan the room again - and note that this is something I'm doing at every chance I get, he shoves a pack of smokes, and ashtray and a lighter at me:
B.D. : Eeees smoke for yoo, my friend - yes?
Me - thinking: oh wow...way to put my mind at ease...buddy, a tall, perhaps ruffied Bud and some smokes. I guess that makes you a gracious host, but truthfully I'm getting more and more creeped out by the second. No really - I am.
Me - talking : No thanks - I don't smoke...
I make my first attempt to address his phone difficulties, but before I can get anywhere, he interrupts me....
B.D. : yes, yes!...eees smoke for yoo, my friend!...smoke is for yoo!
Honestly, smoke is so not for me
Right before we go through the whole drink-eees-for-yoo/no thanks/smoke-eeees-for-yoo/no thanks thing again, as we would several times, B.D. points his thumb at his chest and says proudly:
B.D. : Feef-tee I YAM feef-TEE! yoo...are feef-TEE, no?
Me: yes...fifty one soon.
B.D. : oh...very sooory my friend
Me - thinking : Holy God am I ever afraid for my life right now - please God, please don't let this guy realize that I'm about to jump through his window, and please, please, please don't let him be able to outrun me. Now my mind goes into full-on comic book superhero self-talk....must...get phone...must jump....through...window.....must not.....let B.D. know I'm 'bout to leap through apartment window. Explain that to the manager....."oh the window? I had someone over the other night and was planning on tying them up and torturing them, but he must've seen it coming and he jumped out my window!"
All of this happened so quickly, but it seemed like it was slow motion. Finally I grab the calling card while quickly scanning the table top for weapons, ruffies, you know, stuff that would scare me. All I see are a bunch of numbers scribbled on pieces of paper. I take a bit of comfort in the fact that I don't see any bloodstains. B.D.'s cell phone is tiny - roughly the size of a pack of JuicyFruit gum. Barbie calls - says it's her cell phone and she wants it back. Ha.
B.D. tells me that his LED display is "not work - but phone, phone is work - my friend", and he does the whole "drink eees for yoo, yes, my friend/no thank you/smoke eees for yoo, yes, my friend/NO THANK YOU thing about six more times. I try to use his phone to call the access code on his calling card, all the while I'm wondering exactly why he needs help w/this - it can't be that someone just gave him both the phone and the card and he has no idea what to do with it. Several attempts and the phone just doesn't seem to be working, so I say as much - which adds a new response from B. D. :
B.D. : OH yes! My friend - phone eees work, yes! My friend - phone eees work - yoo understand Bosnia yes?
Me - thinking: no, phone is not work, and I'm not sure I do understand Bosnia, but whatever dude - I just wanna help you with this phone dilemma and escape with my life...I mean, get home - alive.
At this point I've failed at no less than four attempts to dial the number on the calling card and suddenly, the guy takes the phone from my hand, turns it on and the keypad lights up as does its damaged LED screen. Really? You need my help for this? My ass you need my help buddy, but I don't want to trigger what I feel would surely be homicidal rage. I've got two options here - window, or help you with phone and then window. I'm hoping that helping you with your phone will buy me the time I need to burst through your window and flee to safety. Trust me folks, if you were in this walk-in ashtray of a lair, you'd have similar thoughts.
Two more attempts now that the phone is lit up. Five or six more of the drink, my friend...eees -drink for yoo/no thank you/smoke, my friend, smoke eeees for yooo/NO THANK YOU - and no, I'm not kidding. About four more of the phone-ees-work-my-friend thing too. Seriously. Finally I connect to the number and I hand him the phone and take my leave.
This whole incident happened back in October. A day or two after this all happened, the maintenance guys were installing blinds in my apartment and I told them about this. They laughed a bit, said I imitated B.D. perfectly and then proceeded to tell me that this guy is a bit strange. I would tend to agree. I never saw any more of the guy until two days ago - Sunday night, well actually it was the early hours of Monday morning - 12:15 AM to be exact. I hear a light knock on my door. The hell??? Most of my lights are out, not a television on, nor any music playing. I look through my blinds to see B.D. lightly knocking again, on my flippin' door at 12:15 in the AM. Bloody hell! As you might guess, this makes my dog bark. If I'm not mistaken, Bentley is saying "Creep! this guy's a creep - lemme bite him, can I huh, can I bite him? open the door and lemme at him!" - and the guy knocks again. Bentley ups his ante on the bark, I stand there struggling to quiet him down while wondering who the hell knocks on someone's door at such an hour - and I'm also thinking I'm going to hold Bentley by his collar, open the door and if the guy creeps me out, I'm going to turn him lose.
So I open the door, just when I think Bentley has made it all too clear as to how he feels about this intrusion, he ups his bark even more. B.D. waves this off. Again I'm wondering what this guy is doing on my doorstep at this hour. He holds up Barbie's phone again, and a handful of calling cards. Nice try, no dice pal. Really? Over five months and you still don't know how to use your own phone and the calling cards? Doubtful. Sorry folks, if this makes me seem unfriendly...then I guess I haven't done a very good job of illustrating just how odd this situation really was.
I didn't get but a few yards when I hear a guy's voice yell hey - which instantly started my dog barking. Seeing as how it was 11:00 at night, I wanted Bentley to stop with the barking. I turned and waved to the guy who yelled and continued on my way down the sidewalk. A few seconds later, the guy is yelling again and heading towards me, asking for help in very broken English. I notice he has a cell phone and a calling card. Bentley calms down and the guy moves a little closer to us and holds up the phone and the card:
"sorry...you can help me....Bosnia...phone - you understand yes?"
I think I understand - he wants some help with the calling card. At this point my dog is relatively calm & walks up to the guy sniffing, which is what dogs do. This suddenly freaks Bosnian Dude out - from the looks of things, almost as much as my dog sinking his chops into the dude's thigh would, because he yells and jumps back - as if the dog appeared out of nowhere to scare the B-Jeezus outta him. This starts another barking episode with my dog, and since it's after 11:00 PM, I want this to stop. I do my best to calm my dog down while trying to figure out why this guy seems to need my help.
Now is a good time to say that my middle-aged eyes can't exactly see the numbers on Bosnian Dude's calling card in the combination of moonlight and floodlight. It's also a good time to say that we end up going through the whole barking fits-calm-sniff-Bosnian Dude freak out thing about 5 more times before I finally tell Bosnian Dude that I'm going to have to take my dog in and come back if I'm going to help him. Things are about to get strange - though not as strange as I suspect Bosnian Dude would like them to get.
I tell B.D. that I'll take my dog home & return to see if I can help him.
Bosnian Dude: yes, my friend...you come my apartment. Understand?
Me - thinking: not sure I do understand - I mean the fact that you have the phone card
and a phone makes me a little suspicious of you being clueless here...
Me - talking: Yes, let me take my dog home and I will try to help you
As I walk back to my apartment with my dog, I don't feel great about going to this guy's apartment to help him figure out a phone card. Really? Nonetheless, I feel oddly obligated to try and help this guy - yet I feel a bit uneasy. I call a friend and tell her that if she hasn't heard from me in an hour to call the police and tell them the apartment and building number that I'm going to visit. As you might imagine, this sounds at least a little troubling to her. I tell her not to worry and that I'll explain later.
I knock on the guy's door and I hear:
Bosnian Dude: yes, yes...come
I open the door and walk into a sparsely furnished apartment. Small television set, small table with two chairs and the whole place smells like an ashtray. My eyes quickly try to scan the room for signs of any of the following: rope, shovels, knives, ball gags, hoods, more rope, guns, blood stains, pornography of any kind - any of these things would be cause for alarm and send me right back out the door, but I'm also willing to burst straight through his living room window if my life depends on it. My guess is that it's best not to let him think I'm looking for any of those causes for alarm and I'm praying my lousy poker face won't tip him off.
B.D. : sit my friend, eees beer for yoo, my friend...yoo drink, yes?
At this point he shoves a tall can of Budweiser at me & repeats the above statement in rapid succession. I don't care for Budweiser and I care even less for my location. What's even worse, I'm having trouble looking around the room to plan my emergency exit should he whip out a rope....uh, or worse. F***nuts! Am I really going to have to dive through his front window all Starsky & Hutch-like? Something tells me that's a lot harder than it looks on television. Before I can scan the room again - and note that this is something I'm doing at every chance I get, he shoves a pack of smokes, and ashtray and a lighter at me:
B.D. : Eeees smoke for yoo, my friend - yes?
Me - thinking: oh wow...way to put my mind at ease...buddy, a tall, perhaps ruffied Bud and some smokes. I guess that makes you a gracious host, but truthfully I'm getting more and more creeped out by the second. No really - I am.
Me - talking : No thanks - I don't smoke...
I make my first attempt to address his phone difficulties, but before I can get anywhere, he interrupts me....
B.D. : yes, yes!...eees smoke for yoo, my friend!...smoke is for yoo!
Honestly, smoke is so not for me
Right before we go through the whole drink-eees-for-yoo/no thanks/smoke-eeees-for-yoo/no thanks thing again, as we would several times, B.D. points his thumb at his chest and says proudly:
B.D. : Feef-tee I YAM feef-TEE! yoo...are feef-TEE, no?
Me: yes...fifty one soon.
B.D. : oh...very sooory my friend
Me - thinking : Holy God am I ever afraid for my life right now - please God, please don't let this guy realize that I'm about to jump through his window, and please, please, please don't let him be able to outrun me. Now my mind goes into full-on comic book superhero self-talk....must...get phone...must jump....through...window.....must not.....let B.D. know I'm 'bout to leap through apartment window. Explain that to the manager....."oh the window? I had someone over the other night and was planning on tying them up and torturing them, but he must've seen it coming and he jumped out my window!"
All of this happened so quickly, but it seemed like it was slow motion. Finally I grab the calling card while quickly scanning the table top for weapons, ruffies, you know, stuff that would scare me. All I see are a bunch of numbers scribbled on pieces of paper. I take a bit of comfort in the fact that I don't see any bloodstains. B.D.'s cell phone is tiny - roughly the size of a pack of JuicyFruit gum. Barbie calls - says it's her cell phone and she wants it back. Ha.
B.D. tells me that his LED display is "not work - but phone, phone is work - my friend", and he does the whole "drink eees for yoo, yes, my friend/no thank you/smoke eees for yoo, yes, my friend/NO THANK YOU thing about six more times. I try to use his phone to call the access code on his calling card, all the while I'm wondering exactly why he needs help w/this - it can't be that someone just gave him both the phone and the card and he has no idea what to do with it. Several attempts and the phone just doesn't seem to be working, so I say as much - which adds a new response from B. D. :
B.D. : OH yes! My friend - phone eees work, yes! My friend - phone eees work - yoo understand Bosnia yes?
Me - thinking: no, phone is not work, and I'm not sure I do understand Bosnia, but whatever dude - I just wanna help you with this phone dilemma and escape with my life...I mean, get home - alive.
At this point I've failed at no less than four attempts to dial the number on the calling card and suddenly, the guy takes the phone from my hand, turns it on and the keypad lights up as does its damaged LED screen. Really? You need my help for this? My ass you need my help buddy, but I don't want to trigger what I feel would surely be homicidal rage. I've got two options here - window, or help you with phone and then window. I'm hoping that helping you with your phone will buy me the time I need to burst through your window and flee to safety. Trust me folks, if you were in this walk-in ashtray of a lair, you'd have similar thoughts.
Two more attempts now that the phone is lit up. Five or six more of the drink, my friend...eees -drink for yoo/no thank you/smoke, my friend, smoke eeees for yooo/NO THANK YOU - and no, I'm not kidding. About four more of the phone-ees-work-my-friend thing too. Seriously. Finally I connect to the number and I hand him the phone and take my leave.
This whole incident happened back in October. A day or two after this all happened, the maintenance guys were installing blinds in my apartment and I told them about this. They laughed a bit, said I imitated B.D. perfectly and then proceeded to tell me that this guy is a bit strange. I would tend to agree. I never saw any more of the guy until two days ago - Sunday night, well actually it was the early hours of Monday morning - 12:15 AM to be exact. I hear a light knock on my door. The hell??? Most of my lights are out, not a television on, nor any music playing. I look through my blinds to see B.D. lightly knocking again, on my flippin' door at 12:15 in the AM. Bloody hell! As you might guess, this makes my dog bark. If I'm not mistaken, Bentley is saying "Creep! this guy's a creep - lemme bite him, can I huh, can I bite him? open the door and lemme at him!" - and the guy knocks again. Bentley ups his ante on the bark, I stand there struggling to quiet him down while wondering who the hell knocks on someone's door at such an hour - and I'm also thinking I'm going to hold Bentley by his collar, open the door and if the guy creeps me out, I'm going to turn him lose.
So I open the door, just when I think Bentley has made it all too clear as to how he feels about this intrusion, he ups his bark even more. B.D. waves this off. Again I'm wondering what this guy is doing on my doorstep at this hour. He holds up Barbie's phone again, and a handful of calling cards. Nice try, no dice pal. Really? Over five months and you still don't know how to use your own phone and the calling cards? Doubtful. Sorry folks, if this makes me seem unfriendly...then I guess I haven't done a very good job of illustrating just how odd this situation really was.
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