If you worked in the restaurant business long enough, sooner or later you're going to be exposed to a celebrity. Or at least someone who everyone in the house recognizes, and has to do a "Flyby" of the table, to check out. Which is not to be confused with "Crop Dusting" which hopefully doesn't have to be defined. Having worked in Hollywood, I've been fairly jaded to celebrity spottings, so it doesn't really quake me in my boots to see a recognizable face at my bar.
I've served people like Clinton Kelly, John Lithgow, Jamie Foxx, Jack Black, and Keanu Reeves. (I'm experimenting with hyper-links, can you tell? What can I say? This blogging thing is new to me, *shrug*) All of whom were generally pleasant and polite the the exception of Jamie Foxx, who was kind of mean and a terrible tipper. I know name dropping is kinda douchey, but for the sake of telling a good story, who cares.
I was working at the Bookstar while I was studying actor in my twenties. It was a somewhat mind numbing job, but I loved to access to all the bios, plays, screenplays, and how-to books that came along with that job. I could ride my bike to work, and it had some benefits. But during the holliday season of '98 I was working one of the registers when one of my coworkers put an elbow in my ribs. "Do you know who that is?" he asked.
I had no idea. He was about 5' 9" dressed in a black suit. Medium length black hair and reading glasses. He was peering some new Historical Fiction book. Just as I'm about to ask my co-worker who he is a tall lanky blond with a husky piercing voice emerges from around the corner where he's perusing books and says, "Shadow, look at this." The man puts down his book and joins is blond companion around the corner and out of site. My eyes got wide. "I know who that is!" I thought to myself.
"Cover me." I said to my coworker, and ran into the back of the Bookstar to rummage through Old Rock Rags. (magazines that don't sell and are out of date) All magazines, if they don't sell, get the cover torn off, and sent back to the publisher for credit, and the rest of the magazines get thrown away or recycled. There is always a stack of magazines two or three feet high that get thrown away every month.
I begin tearing through magazines, one after the other. I finally find what I'm looking for. A foldout poster that can be ripped out and autographed. Perfect.
I run back up to the register to see if "Shadow" and his blond escort is still hanging around. I don't see them anywhere. "Bummer" I think to myself, "Christmas is coming and that would have made a great gift".
I check out a few more people, and am getting ready to go on my break, when I look up and there is the dark haired man with his blond companion. My whole body get's that shot of adrenaline like I've unexpectedly come across a snake. I may have.
I help them purchase their books, and as they are finishing up, I pull the poster that I had stolen from the magazine out, and ask. "Can you sign this for me? If my brother finds out I saw you and didn't get your autograph he'll kick my ass." This is true.
"For your brother huh?" Says the dark haired man. "What's his name?"
I tell him my brothers name, and he signs the poster. "Sweet" I'm thinking to myself, "I got my brother's Christmas present this year".
They leave the store, and as they leave I look down at the autograph. It reads. "To Chad, Rock All Night Long!!! Gene Simmons".
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
"Do you know who the f$?k we are?"
I've only been fired twice. The first time was by this lady that ran a Hummus Restaurant in Studio City right across the street from Billy Banks studio. The owner fired me for being a smart ass, and hugging her everytime I saw her. I knew she didn't like me, but I'm kinda like a cat that way, if I know you don't like me, I can't change that, so I'll just hug you till you run away. Her brother ran the kitchen there and spoke very little English. He would always confuse the word "Kitchen" for "Chicken". He'd say. "If you need me, I'll be in the chicken". Sometimes, you just can't change it if people don't like you.
The second time I got fired was a completely different story.
Mexicali, is a Mexican restaurant on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City. It's right across the street from an old movie theater that got turned into a bookstore. I waited tables there in '00 with my roomate at the time, Jimmie Lee (yes that's his real name) who was the bartender. It's a pretty happening restaurant that for some reason brings out the worst in people. Tequilla does strange things to peoples behavior, and there were some nights when I was working, that I swore the bottom of the restaurant would open up, and little impish demons would seep up from hell and start whispering in peoples ear to do awful things. It was no exception on the day I got fired.
In the state of California, if you are going to serve Alcohol outside, you must have it enclosed, so Beer Gardens are abundant. Mexicali had some outside seating, and there is a rod iron fence closing it all in. They squeezed as many tables as they could out there, and there was just enough room for one person to squeeze between the tables and the fence. If you've ever worked on a patio you know how challenging it can be, because you're so freakin' far away from the kitchen.
During Happy Hour, I had a couple sit down get their basket of chips and salsa, and order a Margarita to split between them. They weren't going to order anything because they were expecting some more people.
I think to myself "I understand that, happens all the time." No big deal. Well this couple blows through three baskets of chips in like 15 minutes. I could tell that was going to be dinner for them. I wasn't really bothered by that, it happens all the time.
Their Joiners finally showed up, and each one of them ordered a Margarita, and of course, more chips and salsa. They hung out for a while, and the rest of my tables were turning with diners, so I was doing fine, and makin' money. We were busy that night, and the reservation list was pretty full. It was an hour wait for most of the evening. Sometimes, when you get busy, it's kind of a blessing to have one table, just hangin' out, and not ordering. It allows you to catch up with your other table, and be out of radar range for a while.
But then, the original people who sat down at the table got up and left, leaving the new party there by themselves. And a few minutes later, a new couple, sat down with the two that were already there, and repeated the drill. Margarita, and more chips.
Now, I'm starting to get a little urked. This cycle went on for six and a half hours. By around midnight, there were 5 people sitting at the table that is only supposed to have 4, one guy, had taken a chair from table beside him, and put it on the end between the table and the fence. So every time I went by I had to squeeze my ass between this guys chair and the fence. The guy sitting in the chair, never once helped me out by leaning in, or had any idea that I would have to balance trays of drinks right over his head in order for me to get past him.
A little after midnight, I was trying to deliver some fajitas (if you've ever worked or been to a place that served fajitas on the hot Irons, you know how dangerous, and precarious those things are) and the guy sticking out off the end of the table was leaning back in his chair.
"What the" I'm thinking to myself. I stand right beside this guy for a moment thinking he's going to lean back in and let me squeeze past him. Nothing happens, finally, in fear of burning myself and someone else, I loose it. I kicked the back of this guys chair and said "Move it!!". Everyone at the table turns and looks at me. The guy slides his chair in, and I walk by and safely deliver the fajitas.
I turn around and have to walk back past them on my way to the kitchen, and the guy stands up and keeps me from passing. He says, "Do you have a problem with us?"
At this point I had two things running through my head. One, be humble, appologize, be a servant. Two, rage. I chose poorly.
"Yeah, I have a problem with you, you've been here for six hours, you've got a $45 bill, and you're not letting me do my job!!"
The guy looked at me and said, "Do you know who the f$?k we are?". People in LA are so bloated.
I fire back,"I don't care who you are, you are trashy people!!" I coldly stare. Another guy stands up and yells at me, "No one calls my woman trashy", (as if I wasn't also talking to him) and grabs me by the throat.
Now in my mind, I know he's not going to rip out my esophagus or strangle me, we're in public arguing about unimportant things, so my reaction, is to not react. I remember staring at him and smiling. Thinking to myself, "how surreal is this right now, how did I get to this point?" It was right about that time, that Jimmie Lee jumps over the bar and separates us before and punches were thrown.
That's the closest I've ever gotten to getting into a fight. I'm not a fighter by nature, and in retrospect, I was sabotaging myself a little bit because I was no longer happy in LA. I didn't care about my job, and I didn't really know what I wanted. I just knew that I no longer wanted to be serving fajitas on a patio. I knew I was wrong, I knew that was no way to act, but just once, I wanted to know what it felt like to say what you sometimes think, when peoples behaviors, break the unwritten rules we have in customer service.
As I'm standing behind Mexicali smoking a cigarette, Jimmie Lee walks out and says, "You know your fired, right?" I reply "That's a relief." I didn't even have to finish my shift, I just gave all my paper work and cash away. It was a pivotal point for me on many avenues. I may never know who those people were, but after that whole experience I had a much better understanding who I was.
The second time I got fired was a completely different story.
Mexicali, is a Mexican restaurant on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City. It's right across the street from an old movie theater that got turned into a bookstore. I waited tables there in '00 with my roomate at the time, Jimmie Lee (yes that's his real name) who was the bartender. It's a pretty happening restaurant that for some reason brings out the worst in people. Tequilla does strange things to peoples behavior, and there were some nights when I was working, that I swore the bottom of the restaurant would open up, and little impish demons would seep up from hell and start whispering in peoples ear to do awful things. It was no exception on the day I got fired.
In the state of California, if you are going to serve Alcohol outside, you must have it enclosed, so Beer Gardens are abundant. Mexicali had some outside seating, and there is a rod iron fence closing it all in. They squeezed as many tables as they could out there, and there was just enough room for one person to squeeze between the tables and the fence. If you've ever worked on a patio you know how challenging it can be, because you're so freakin' far away from the kitchen.
During Happy Hour, I had a couple sit down get their basket of chips and salsa, and order a Margarita to split between them. They weren't going to order anything because they were expecting some more people.
I think to myself "I understand that, happens all the time." No big deal. Well this couple blows through three baskets of chips in like 15 minutes. I could tell that was going to be dinner for them. I wasn't really bothered by that, it happens all the time.
Their Joiners finally showed up, and each one of them ordered a Margarita, and of course, more chips and salsa. They hung out for a while, and the rest of my tables were turning with diners, so I was doing fine, and makin' money. We were busy that night, and the reservation list was pretty full. It was an hour wait for most of the evening. Sometimes, when you get busy, it's kind of a blessing to have one table, just hangin' out, and not ordering. It allows you to catch up with your other table, and be out of radar range for a while.
But then, the original people who sat down at the table got up and left, leaving the new party there by themselves. And a few minutes later, a new couple, sat down with the two that were already there, and repeated the drill. Margarita, and more chips.
Now, I'm starting to get a little urked. This cycle went on for six and a half hours. By around midnight, there were 5 people sitting at the table that is only supposed to have 4, one guy, had taken a chair from table beside him, and put it on the end between the table and the fence. So every time I went by I had to squeeze my ass between this guys chair and the fence. The guy sitting in the chair, never once helped me out by leaning in, or had any idea that I would have to balance trays of drinks right over his head in order for me to get past him.
A little after midnight, I was trying to deliver some fajitas (if you've ever worked or been to a place that served fajitas on the hot Irons, you know how dangerous, and precarious those things are) and the guy sticking out off the end of the table was leaning back in his chair.
"What the" I'm thinking to myself. I stand right beside this guy for a moment thinking he's going to lean back in and let me squeeze past him. Nothing happens, finally, in fear of burning myself and someone else, I loose it. I kicked the back of this guys chair and said "Move it!!". Everyone at the table turns and looks at me. The guy slides his chair in, and I walk by and safely deliver the fajitas.
I turn around and have to walk back past them on my way to the kitchen, and the guy stands up and keeps me from passing. He says, "Do you have a problem with us?"
At this point I had two things running through my head. One, be humble, appologize, be a servant. Two, rage. I chose poorly.
"Yeah, I have a problem with you, you've been here for six hours, you've got a $45 bill, and you're not letting me do my job!!"
The guy looked at me and said, "Do you know who the f$?k we are?". People in LA are so bloated.
I fire back,"I don't care who you are, you are trashy people!!" I coldly stare. Another guy stands up and yells at me, "No one calls my woman trashy", (as if I wasn't also talking to him) and grabs me by the throat.
Now in my mind, I know he's not going to rip out my esophagus or strangle me, we're in public arguing about unimportant things, so my reaction, is to not react. I remember staring at him and smiling. Thinking to myself, "how surreal is this right now, how did I get to this point?" It was right about that time, that Jimmie Lee jumps over the bar and separates us before and punches were thrown.
That's the closest I've ever gotten to getting into a fight. I'm not a fighter by nature, and in retrospect, I was sabotaging myself a little bit because I was no longer happy in LA. I didn't care about my job, and I didn't really know what I wanted. I just knew that I no longer wanted to be serving fajitas on a patio. I knew I was wrong, I knew that was no way to act, but just once, I wanted to know what it felt like to say what you sometimes think, when peoples behaviors, break the unwritten rules we have in customer service.
As I'm standing behind Mexicali smoking a cigarette, Jimmie Lee walks out and says, "You know your fired, right?" I reply "That's a relief." I didn't even have to finish my shift, I just gave all my paper work and cash away. It was a pivotal point for me on many avenues. I may never know who those people were, but after that whole experience I had a much better understanding who I was.
Monday, August 24, 2009
My Achy Breaky Heart
I got my first real job in 1990, working at a book depository in Redfield, South Dakota. I was 14 years old, just the legal age to be slave labor in SD at that time. I made $2.81 cents and hour, ripping shingles, tarring roofs (getting the worst sunburn of my life), moving books and magazines, and hauling railroad tiles. I don't know if you've ever picked up a rail road tile before, but each one weighs between 120 and 160 pounds. They're beasts! By the end of the summer I was in fantastic shape, and how could you not be, you're frickin' 14 for peet's sake. This was the hardest work, I've ever done in my entire life, and at the end a work week, I earned a whopping $112.40.
That's obviously not enough money to pay for private schooling (a whole other chapter) so I had to pick up a job at the local Pizza Hut. Which was some of the finest dining in Redfield at the time. It was my first waiting job, and most nights were filled with serving cowboys wearing ropers, trucker hats, and smelling like a combination of motor oil, old spice, and horse hide. It was primal, but all I knew at the time, and I was greatfull for my extra $18 a night. I remember making $26 one night, $9 of which were in quarters, and wondering what could I do with so much cash. I think I spent that on "Days of Thunder", the epic summer Tom Cruise Vehicle.
One of my most jarring memories of that summer, was that the Jukebox of the Local Pizza hut used to play "Achy Breaky Heart" in upwards of 10 times a night. I'm pretty sure my sister (who was also employed there) had a secret thing for Billy Ray's mullet, and tortured us with this swingin' ditty of the day. To this day, if I hear that song, it sends me into an epileptic convulsion, that in order for me to break out of, requires a stranger throwing a half eaten pizza crust at me.
A couple of weeks ago my Sister-In-Law informed me that the Pizza Hut has finally closed, and some new Pizza restaurant has gone in. I was sad for a moment thinking about the two summers I spent there, and the amount of mischief that I was a part of. RIP Redfield Pizza Hut. Gone, but not forgotten.
That's obviously not enough money to pay for private schooling (a whole other chapter) so I had to pick up a job at the local Pizza Hut. Which was some of the finest dining in Redfield at the time. It was my first waiting job, and most nights were filled with serving cowboys wearing ropers, trucker hats, and smelling like a combination of motor oil, old spice, and horse hide. It was primal, but all I knew at the time, and I was greatfull for my extra $18 a night. I remember making $26 one night, $9 of which were in quarters, and wondering what could I do with so much cash. I think I spent that on "Days of Thunder", the epic summer Tom Cruise Vehicle.
One of my most jarring memories of that summer, was that the Jukebox of the Local Pizza hut used to play "Achy Breaky Heart" in upwards of 10 times a night. I'm pretty sure my sister (who was also employed there) had a secret thing for Billy Ray's mullet, and tortured us with this swingin' ditty of the day. To this day, if I hear that song, it sends me into an epileptic convulsion, that in order for me to break out of, requires a stranger throwing a half eaten pizza crust at me.
A couple of weeks ago my Sister-In-Law informed me that the Pizza Hut has finally closed, and some new Pizza restaurant has gone in. I was sad for a moment thinking about the two summers I spent there, and the amount of mischief that I was a part of. RIP Redfield Pizza Hut. Gone, but not forgotten.
Sunday Funday @ Clyde
All my years working in the service industry, every time I had to work Sundays, I used to roll my eyes, roll up my sleeves, and bite the bullet. In most restaurants, Sundays are sluggish and not terribly exciting. But Clyde Common has been the exception. The clientele, is mostly restaurant employees, bartenders and a odd combination of cocktail savvy tourists.
For example, last night later in the evening, around ninish, I had a group trickle into the bar, and they ordered a couple drinks, and one guy (who I didn't recognize) leans into the bar and asks, "What kind of Rye do you have in your well". Immediately, my ears perked up.
I thought to myself, "ok, this guys a bartender, but I don't recognize him from around town". Portland's a very small town and everyone knows eachother. I rattle off the rye that's in the well (old overholt) and grab a couple more options. Finally he say's "ok, make me some kind of Rye Sour variation."
Cool, I knock out a sour for him, he drinks it, likes it, leans in again about 15 minutes later and orders another one. "Different this time".
I love people like this, it keeps me creative, and I always learn something. While crafting his second cocktail,
2 oz Rye
1 oz Lemon
3/4 Lillet
3/4 Simple
1 dash Fees Lemon Bitter.
Simple, but really tasty. The natural flavor of rye Blends with Lemon nicely.
I made it for him, and he reaches out and shakes my hand, he says "My name is Sean". I greet him, and ask him where he works. He says "PDT (Please Don't Tell). One of the hottest bars in New York City. WTF? Why is a bartender from PDT rolling into Clyde on a Sunday night? It turns out he's from Portland, but living in NYC, and came up at PDT as a barback, and is now tending bar 3 nights a week there.
After geeking out together for about 45 minutes, he buys me a shot of Van Winkle "Lot b", and we geek out talking cocktails, and spirits for another hour before his posse' pulls him away and they roll off to another bar.
In talking to Sean, I was amazed at the amount of respect that Portland has in the National Cocktail scene. At Clyde Common, you never know who you're going to meet on a moment to moment basis. And these interaction tend to happen more often than any other restaurant I've ever worked in. And oddly enough, it mostly happens on Sundays.
For example, last night later in the evening, around ninish, I had a group trickle into the bar, and they ordered a couple drinks, and one guy (who I didn't recognize) leans into the bar and asks, "What kind of Rye do you have in your well". Immediately, my ears perked up.
I thought to myself, "ok, this guys a bartender, but I don't recognize him from around town". Portland's a very small town and everyone knows eachother. I rattle off the rye that's in the well (old overholt) and grab a couple more options. Finally he say's "ok, make me some kind of Rye Sour variation."
Cool, I knock out a sour for him, he drinks it, likes it, leans in again about 15 minutes later and orders another one. "Different this time".
I love people like this, it keeps me creative, and I always learn something. While crafting his second cocktail,
2 oz Rye
1 oz Lemon
3/4 Lillet
3/4 Simple
1 dash Fees Lemon Bitter.
Simple, but really tasty. The natural flavor of rye Blends with Lemon nicely.
I made it for him, and he reaches out and shakes my hand, he says "My name is Sean". I greet him, and ask him where he works. He says "PDT (Please Don't Tell). One of the hottest bars in New York City. WTF? Why is a bartender from PDT rolling into Clyde on a Sunday night? It turns out he's from Portland, but living in NYC, and came up at PDT as a barback, and is now tending bar 3 nights a week there.
After geeking out together for about 45 minutes, he buys me a shot of Van Winkle "Lot b", and we geek out talking cocktails, and spirits for another hour before his posse' pulls him away and they roll off to another bar.
In talking to Sean, I was amazed at the amount of respect that Portland has in the National Cocktail scene. At Clyde Common, you never know who you're going to meet on a moment to moment basis. And these interaction tend to happen more often than any other restaurant I've ever worked in. And oddly enough, it mostly happens on Sundays.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Ok, I'll start a blog
I wasn't sure whether I would have time to do this or not, but I'm gonna take a stab at it since I'm the OBG Board Member not to have a Blog. Be patient as I'm still learning my way through this.
My intent on starting a blog, is that I feel like I have something to offer in understanding the History, and the evololution of the Culinary, and bar scene here in Portland. As I develop the theme for this blog, it's important for me to utilize the collective experience of the community.
Community has always been important to me, and that importance seems to grow as, I've seen the community really flourish around me. I'm looking forward to re-living some memories with this blog, and making new ones. Let's just enjoy the ride while it lasts.
My intent on starting a blog, is that I feel like I have something to offer in understanding the History, and the evololution of the Culinary, and bar scene here in Portland. As I develop the theme for this blog, it's important for me to utilize the collective experience of the community.
Community has always been important to me, and that importance seems to grow as, I've seen the community really flourish around me. I'm looking forward to re-living some memories with this blog, and making new ones. Let's just enjoy the ride while it lasts.
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