A couple of days ago, I hit 999 days without a Diet Coke.

For any of you, who have known me for a while, you know what a feat that is.  

I, to this day, consumed more Diet Coke than any other person I know.  

I had a Double Gulp on the way to work.  

I didn’t get a coffee at work, I got a Diet Coke.  

I was very specific about which gun the Diet Coke came from, as they were not all the same.  

I could always tell the difference.

I trained the staff to bring a Diet Coke to the office, anytime they came to ask a question.  

If someone did something wrong, a bottle of Diet Coke would appear on my desk the next day as an apology.  

Once I came in and there were 6 bottles. I don’t remember why, but I do remember that it made me laugh.

I ALWAYS made sure to leave work on a night that I closed, in time to get to McDonald’s for a Diet Coke for my ride home.  

I’d have 4 or 5 cans before I went to bed at night.  

I had to have a Diet Coke anytime I was in the car, often stopping 4 or 5 times a day, on a day off at McDonald’s because they still have the best fountain soda.  

My friends knew to have Diet Coke if I was going to come for dinner.  

My mother, always had a case or two of cans when I’d go home.

Adam’s parents did the same.  

I’d stop everyone 90 minutes on road trips.

Always at McDonald’s.

I know where every McDonald’s is on the way NYC from Portland.  

Adam and I once got into a huge fight, becauseI insisted we wait in line for 45 minutes for a Diet Coke in Hartford, Connecticut before I drove us home, three hours at 11:30 at night.  

Way, way, way back when I was a lighting designer, lightning struck the theater, that we had just loaded in to, and dumped the memory of the light cues we’d just programmed, frying the disc that was in the computer.  

It was 45 minutes till curtain.  

I recreated the patch. I programmed submitters. (Face book won’t let me type sub master as one word).  

But before any of that, I instructed the couple who ran the theater that I’d need the largest Diet Coke from a fountain that they could find by curtain.

We opened the house very late, we dimmed the house lights, and I was handed a fountain Diet Coke, just as the overture to The Music Man started.  

The show looked great, if I do say so myself.

Fun fact, turns out the that couple who run the theater are friends of Adam’s from Texas.  

I was obsessed with Diet Coke.  

OBSESSED.  

And then in July of 2020 a friend of mine quit smoking and challenged me to give up Diet Coke saying if she could quit smoking I could give up Diet Coke.  

Meanwhile, another friend in Florida was posting about his finally drinking his last Diet Coke.  

I mentioned it to Adam but I think he thought I was full of shit.  

On July 31, 2020 I drank my last Diet Coke.  

For the next couple of weeks, Adam bought me every flavor and every brand of soda water that existed.  

I finally settled on Polar pomegranate. I drink that full stop now.

And it’s plain soda water at work, which I’ve trained the staff to keep full.  

I don’t feel healthier.

I haven’t lost weight. 

It has not affected me at all.

And with that, time to get another can of soda.  

PS. that famous non smoking friend…she’s smoking again.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Ding.  Ding.  

I’m going to assume everyone knows who Pavlov is.  

He is famous for conditioning dogs to react to certain outside stimuli.  

Ding.  Ding.  

Two years ago, I opened a restaurant, 30 miles south of here.  

It was a fun and exciting experiment, and I lasted three months.

I was often on the door during service, to help facilitate seating.  

We came up with the method of ringing the kitchen bell once if food runners were needed.  

Twice if a manager was needed. 

It worked great.

I carried this system along to my current restaurant.  

I can hear the kitchen bell ring twice, most anywhere except the closet I call my office.  

I’m conditioned to move quickly to the kitchen window when I hear the bell.  

Ding.  Ding.  

It’s most often to run an steak that needs a little more time on the grill.    

Of if Chef has a question about a table, an order, or a guest.  

Ding.  Ding.

I run. 

Here in lies the problem. 

A lot of restaurants use bells to summon people.

Adam’s restaurant uses a bell to summon food runners.  

The restaurant we ate at in Boston two weeks ago, used a bell.

It is almost impossible to relax when the bell goes 

Ding.  Ding.  

And fun fact:  Most restaurants ring it twice for food runners. 

Ding.  Ding.   

Meanwhile in my world 

Ding.  Ding.  

Means that I am needed. 

And if I don’t appear, someone comes to fetch me.  

Ding.  Ding.

Even typing this has made me feel like I need to get up and go to the kitchen.  

And what’s really interesting, is that most guests in the restaurant never notice it.  

And I do mean. 

NEVER.

I’ve learned that if I need to excuse myself from a conversation, I just say, did you hear that 

Ding.  Ding.

That means that they need me in the kitchen and I walk to the pass.  

I make my escape, and they never know there was no sound.  

Ding. Ding.  

Next time you are in a restaurant, and hear a bell ring, it’s not because an angel got its wings.

It’s because there is food to run.  

I am needed.  

Ding.  Ding.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hi all.  

This is a public service announcement for all that dine out.  

Would you like to know one of the most annoying things many of you do as a guest at a restaurant?

You go to the restroom one at a time at the end of the meal.

If you are a four top you’ve just added 15 to 20 minutes to turn your table.  

I didn’t even realize this until Adam pointed it out 14.5 years ago.  

You are finished with your meal.

The coffee cups are empty. 

Desserts been cleared.

The check has been subdivided, you’ve presented four credit cards.  

You are done.  

The restroom fits at least two people at a time.  

You are just waiting for everyone to do their business before you head to wherever you are going next. 

Tonight a 5 top that had paid their check took almost 30 minutes to leave, as they one by one got up to pee.  

By the time they left, I was 20 minutes late for seating their replacements.  

So.

My suggestion:

A couple of you go while you are waiting on dessert.  

A couple of you go while you are waiting on the check to be dropped and processed.

And one of you should hold it till you get home, since you live 1.4 miles from the restaurant.  

This has been a public service announcement.

We will now return to regular programming, already in progress.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s been a tough two weeks.  

It’s hard to be the only manager in a very busy restaurant. And it’s not for lack of trying. I’ve been advertising the need for an AGM since last October.  

To no avail.  

I just keep putting one foot in front of another and doing the best that I can do.

Which is still pretty good. If I do say so myself.  

This is my way of saying I’ve been taking care of myself and going to bed early. And if not early, at least when Adam goes to bed, because we both sleep better when we turn off our lights at the same time.  

Meanwhile.  

I have four pages of things to write about.  

But one story popped up twice so I decided to post about that.  

We are about to open 2 new concepts housed in one building. The basement will be an elevated bistro, the main floor will be upscale casual. A shared kitchen.  

When I say about, I do mean in the next two to three weeks.  

I’ve begun getting daily phone calls from folks asking about reservations. When I say we aren’t taking them yet, you’d think I’d told them I hated their kids. I’ve been asked how we are supposed to be successful, if we won’t take reservations already.  

Here’s the thing.  

The furniture for the main floor has not arrived yet. We know how we want to arrange it, but until we see if it fits and know for sure, we aren’t going to commit to a floor plan. And until we commit to a floor plan, we are not going to take reservations for tables that might not even be there when all is said and done.

Also, this will be the third and fourth restaurants that I’ve opened.  

Last week an employee asked if we were going to have a grand opening. In truth, we’ll quietly unlock the doors and hope that no one notices. Your first week, you want things to be calm and smooth, while you iron out the kinks. You do not invite 100 people and expect to have a smooth opening.  

Last week, a local (I typed regular, but he isn’t really) was in with his wife.  

His wife and I have history, because when I worked in town ten years ago, she hated me. In many ways I think she still might.  

They call me over, and she asks about a large reservation for the first week of June. For the new restaurant.  

I explain, that we aren’t taking reservations yet. AND we will not be taking any large party reservations until after Labor Day.  

She is aghast. How can this be?

But what about the private dining room.

Yes, we have a private dining room. But no. We will not be using it until the fall.  

What about two tables in the main dining room. 

We will not be pulling tables together so, unfortunately we can’t do that. We will not be doing any tables over 8 to begin with.  

We can accommodate you here, if that will work?

But they are from out of town and want the full Maine experience, with views of the water and lots and lots of seafood.  

I explain that while I appreciate all that, we unfortunately won’t be able to accommodate them.  

She continues to push on. Beginning to get angry.  

But. But. But.

I keep explaining that unfortunately, it won’t be able to happen.  

She continues to push on.  

I remind her that we can do it here, then she wants to know exactly where she’d be sitting and tells me that she doesn’t want to sit there.  

I explain that it’s the only place we can accommodate a party that size, and she continues to push. What about here? What about there?

I finally give up, tell her I have to get back to work and leave.  

I fully expected them to call Chef directly, as Chef does business with the husband.  

I discuss all of this with Chef, he agrees with my decision and tells me to stick to my guns.  

___________________________

Last night, I was at the host stand, and the host answers the phone.  

I hear her side of the conversation, and it’s someone wanting to change their reservation from 6 people to 8 people, but they want to remain at the chef’s table. The host explains, that unfortunately, the table only holds 6 people and if they want to increase they’d have to change tables and we’d have to move the time to 8:00. There is much back and forth and they finally give up.  

Guess who it was? The same couple.  

Ten minutes later, the phone rings again, and I see from caller ID it’s them again.  

I take the call.  

I explain everything that the host has said, except that I say, I am willing to leave them at the chef’s table, but I have to change the time. He is hearing none of that, and says, here speak to my wife. 

And once again, there is no telling her no. I even go so far as to explain, we’ll have to pull two tables together, I need to seat them separately in the first turn, so I have to change the time.  

She asks about seating two of them at the bar, as well as just letting them squish together.  

She refuses to take no for an answer.  

Once again, I tell Chef all of this and he loses it. There is no way he wants 8 people at the Chef’s table. I was right to say no.  

________________________

As I said, Chef does business with this man.  

But.

I had an appointment with his company next Wednesday to start using his services as well.  

I cancelled said appointment today.  

I have no interest in working with someone who can’t respect boundaries, business practices, and just being a good neighbor.  

I want to ask him how he’d respond to someone at work treating his staff like this.  

Thing is, he’s really nice. It’s his wife, who is the problem, thus the reason he lets her do the talking. 

Oh my. Look at that range. That intensity. The drama. Definitely channeling some Stanislavsky.

Mostly, look at the hair.

Seriously.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

So much to write about tonight.

In truth, not much has happened lately. At least nothing that I haven’t written about before. 

And I composed a list of 8 things.  

And then I sat down at the Chef’s Table at the end of the night.

There were three tables in the dining room. And a couple at the bar.  

A server comes up to me and says Is it true that it’s Paul’s last day.

I ask her to clarify.

She said, that he hugged everyone goodbye, said it was great working with them and to be well.

I asked her to clarify again.

She called another server over who confirmed this to me. 

I asked again, if he didn’t just mean for the weekend, as we are off Monday and Tuesday. 

They assure me that he said, it was goodbye.

I ask them to clarify, one more time.

I then called him. He did not answer.

I texted him and he’s not responded. That was 3 hours ago. 

I guess he doesn’t work for me now.  

Of course, two weeks would have been nice. 

Even an, I’m not coming back would have been nice.

I’m not surprised.

I’m not disappointed.

I’m not even bothered by it.  

For a whole host of reasons.  

But I’ve never had anyone quit and not tell me they were quitting.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s 2:00 a.m. again. Where does the night go?

I’m annoyed, as it appears that replying to Happy Birthday posts on Facebook goes against their standards as you are only allowed so many comments at a time. Seriously.  

Fun things that happened at work tonight.

At pre-shift I mentioned that I only knew a couple of tables coming in tonight.

As the night when on, I knew more and more people. I then realize, it was all the husbands who had booked tonight. Without fail. In this case the women always book and I didn’t know the husbands name on the reservation.  

It was seriously 6 or 7 tables.

To quote my friend Mark, I was the govenah tonight. 

I did nothing after 7:00 except chat with people.  

Around 8:00 there were three people checking out the restaurant. I thanked them for coming in, and asked if it was their first time. It was.  

They are from the UK and their son is here on a J1 visa and they’d come to visit. Turns out they also have a house nearby and that they are preparing to sell.

I asked when the son was going home and the mom said, at the end of the summer unless he can find a way to stay.
Do you want to marry him?

I replied, my boyfriend my not like it, but we do have a king size bed, so there is room if he says yes.  

The son turned bright red, and the mom loved every second of it.  
At the end of the night, there was a local sitting at the bar, and they’d made friends with the couple next to him. They all got up to leave, they were the only people in the building.

The man of the other couple is a little tipsy, and comes over to shake my hand says, they keep calling you chef, so I wanted to introduce myself. I explained that I am Jeff, and Chef had left about 15 minutes earlier.  

He goes on and on about how much he loved the meal.

And he finally says, I just love your meat.  

And I replied, I get told that all the time.  

The local couple got the innuendo, and couldn’t stop laughing.  

I really think it went right over the drunk guy’s head.  

I know for some of you office folks a 175 emails is not a lot.  

But I seriously get 6 a day that are important. Most are stupid.  

However, I had 175 emails left after I deleted the junk and at least 35 of them were requests for large parties. It’s insane. The people just keep coming. 

I did get them ALL answered today. I’m about 10 months shy of being out of the weeds.  

And we should be opening the downstairs restaurant, in the new location the first week of May.  

So wish me luck.  

I’ll be up for air in December.  

That is all. 

It’s 2:00 AM again.

And I’m sitting down to write.  

Today was one of those days.  

First.  

I had 6 interviews scheduled. 4 showed up. I hired three. And I’m going to do a 2nd interview with the 4th.  

We are inching closer to opening day. 

The chandeliers were hung today. I haven’t seen them in person, but the video Chef sent to me, is impressive.  

It was finally spring here today. Mid 60’s. Sunny.  

I was in a bad mood.  

It didn’t start that way.

But I found my way there.  

I had to apologize to a server for snapping at her tonight. 
Fun fact.  

10 years ago, I started a rule, that if I snap at you inappropriately, I will buy you a beer.  

I gave the server 10 dollars tonight at the end of her shift.  

It really keeps you from losing your temper if it costs you money.  
It was a long drive home tonight as I contemplated the evening. 
I was frustrated.

But it turns out, by the wrong situation.

I knew that by the time I turned the lights off and locked the door behind me.

I was even grumpy with Adam at the end of the night and that hardly ever happens.  

The one take away for me tonight, was to remind myself, that I’m human. It’s going to happen. Everyone gets frustrated. Everyone gets angry.  

The key is to own it. Not make excuses. Not pass the blame.
Tomorrow, Saturday, I’ll go to work as always, and reset myself to my original setting and start over.  

I’ll apologize to the Friday crew, next week. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

For the start of a new year on our lovely planet, I told Adam that I was going to get back to writing. I miss it. I enjoy decompressing (I typed decomposing) at the end of the night.  

So let’s get caught up.

Yesterday was my birthday.  

My 58th birthday.

How the fuck did that happen?  

Seriously.  

Two months ago, I was in 2nd grade with Ms. Smith, who I wanted to marry. I was so pissed when she married Mr. Smith between my 2nd and 3rd grade years.

One month ago, I was in college for the first time. Gay Jeff in a Southern Baptist Liberal Arts College. Go figure.  

3 weeks ago, I was in Kansas City, Atlanta, Lexington, Cincinnati, Lexington, Tuscaloosa, Cincinnati, New York, San Diego, New York, Iowa, Oklahoma, New York, Maine.  

2 weeks ago, I was in grad school. 

1 week ago, I moved to Maine. 

And fuck, just last week Adam and I bought a house.  

58!

Yesterday was my birthday.

For my birthday, we went to NYC. This is one of many trips we’ve taken to NYC on my birthday since moving to Maine.  

It was a great trip. Wonderful actually.

We saw some wonderful theater. We saw some mediocre theater.  
We ate some amazing food. We ate some mediocre food.  

We discovered that when staying in a luxury hotel, NO ONE. And I repeat. NO ONE. Wants a bathroom that is a wet room. All tile. No tub. No barrier. ¼ inch of water every time you go into the bathroom especially at 3 a.m. getting back into bed with wet feet. And I appreciate you providing a squeegee, but at these prices, I don’t won’t to squeegee a fucking floor to get out of the shower.  

We flew back home today. 

That was an adventure.  

I realized on Tuesday night that I had not brought enough medicine for the trip. 3 days not 4. When I don’t take my depression medicine it fucks with my sleep. I split the pill, which resulted in bad sleep both Tuesday and Wednesday.

Wednesday night was the worst.

The A/C in our luxury hotel was permanently set on 72. It was 88 degrees outside. I was sweating like crazy. At 3:00 a.m I was still awake. The alarm went off at 7:00. We got into an uber at 8:00. I was fucking beat.  

We get the airport, check in, walk 4,698 miles to our gate. PS. My knee is cooperating, but not that much.  

We get to our gate. 133 C. We leave at 10:15. For Bermuda.  
What the fuck. 

Fun fact: Adam plans all of our trips. Without fail. I get to offer suggestions. I can say no. I can say perhaps we should do this.  

But he plans them. For almost 15 years now.  

We are at the gate, going to Bermuda.

He approaches the gate. I’m standing far, far, far away.

I know what the agent is saying without hearing what the agent is saying.

For the first time in almost 15 years, my wonderful boyfriend has fucked up.  

He booked us on the 10:15 PM flight back to Portland.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  

The agent rebooks us on a flight leaving in 10 minutes. It’s 1.9 miles from where we are. 

I take a deep breath, and start walking.  

We got there with time to spare…because they were holding the gate for someone else.

However.

It’s 9:30. I’m dehydrated. I’m tired. We are not sitting together. And I’m pretending to be mad.  

The plane takes off. I doze. I have an aisle. I hate aisle seats. I’m a big guy. I can be small on the window.

46 minutes later we land. I turn on my phone. My boyfriend has texted me hands holding each other. We always hold hands when the plane accelerates. Because that’s when it’s most likely to explode into a fiery ball.  

We land. He gets the car. We drive thru McDonald’s for a soda water. I drink it in five seconds. 20 minutes later I’m on my way to work.  

Get to work.

I’m in the fucking weeds. 170+ emails. All needed responses yesterday.

If anyone reading this, can tell me how to put an out of office reply using the Apple Mail app, let me know. The last time I tried, I emailed everyone who’d ever emailed me in two years.  

At pre-shift, my staff gave me a birthday card with a gift card to Ticketmaster so we can buy more theater tickets.  

At 8:30 tonight, a food runner comes to find me and says Chef needs to see me. I go up to him just as a regular approaches. We all talk, and I’m still waiting to see what I did wrong, when the entire staff comes out of the kitchen singing Happy Birthday, holding an ice cream cake…everyone’s favorite.  

It’s not approaching 2:00 a.m. I got home late because of the crash on I-95. I’m tired.  

But you know what. It was all worth it. To spend time with Adam for 4 days in NYC.  

To have a break before the madness starts in 3 weeks.  

To be celebrated by my staff.  

Oh, and my favorite Sous Chef is back at work.  

Life is good.  

Please tell me that in 6 weeks I won’t be 96 living in a home wearing a diaper.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

In January, Chef was at the new restaurant, checking on things. As he was leaving an older man came up and introduced himself and they started talking. He explained that he was excited about the new restaurant and that the remodel was looking great.

And he finished by saying that he wanted to be the maître d when the new place opened.

The brilliantly smart Chef told the man he’d have to contact me, as I dealt with all things front of house.

Of course he did. He’s done this before.

About a week later, I got an email from him that I responded to, saying I needed him to send me a resume.

I never hear back.

Saturday night, I’m running (hobbling) around when a man calls me over, asks if I’m Jeff, and proceeds to introduce himself. It’s the same man, and he’s annoyed that he never heard back from me. I assured him that I did email, asked for his resume, and never heard back.

We talked for just a second and I moved on.

As I was leaving he reminded me that he still wants to be the maître d at the new restaurant.

And I’m at a loss as to what to say to him.

First, does any restaurant, that’s not in a major city even have a maître d any more?

And what does he do? I can assure you he can’t host? I don’t have the money to pay someone to wander around and chat with people.

Adam said I should interview him, but I feel likes that’s creating false hope.

And to make it worse, he looked like he gotten off his fishing boat and come right into the restaurant. He had a green cap on, about 6 week’s worth of wild growth on his neck, and he was rough around the edges to say the least.

I really am at a loss as to what to do or say with him. He was perfectly nice, but what to do, what to do???