I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

How the hell did it get to be the end of May already.

Memorial Day weekend is next weekend.

The official kickoff to summer.

The official kickoff to tourist season in Maine.

Like the cicadass, the rich folks from Florida are awakening from their 7 months slumber, and migrating to the northeast.

We are made aware of this by the uptick in business at both mine and Adam’s restaurants. It’s funny, because the change is actually not overnight. It’s more gradual than you’d think. Adding 5% to 10% more business every week or so, until we get to the middle of June when it’s full tilt.

Straight out.

I can say that so far, except for tonight, the guests at my restaurant, are so much sweeter than they were in Kennebunkport. The level of privilege. The level of assholery is so much better.

That being said, mine and Adam’s schedules are quickly changing.

We’ve gone from dinner together most nights to dinner a couple of times a week.

We’ve gone from TV at home, together, four or five nights a week, to being exhausted at the end of the day and going to bed early.

As we have for the past two summers, we have lots of fun ventures planned for the next four months. We are going back to NYC for a quick trip in June and then again in September, to see favorite shows of ours.

We bought season tickets to The Ogunquit Playhouse and we see our first show there next Wednesday.

We have dinners planned with friends.

We have nights at home on the patio planned.

We find if we do this, it gives us things to look forward to, other than work.

We are very lucky though, that my new schedule is MUCH more flexible, with me being able to schedule my days off around the rest of the team.

It also means that I’m home most nights and in bed by midnight.

Believe it or not.

It also means, that we are up around the same time and are not going days at a time without a hug, or smile, or a quick conversation.

I consider myself very lucky for the new job, the new drive, and the new situation.

I’m still working on when to write though. I’m not a get up and write at 6:00 a.m. person, like so many of my writer friends. And I’m often exhausted when I come home. I used to write when I got home from work, but now I’m home earlier and actually get to spend time with my bf.

It truly is a work in progress.

I do miss the creative outlet. I miss the built-in therapy. I miss the connection with my friends.

So creative friends when do you do these things? When do you write? Paint? Play the piano? Garden? Ride horses?

I’ll look forward to your comments.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Thank you all for the very kind and sweet messages. You know how to make a boy feel special.

I felt better today.

Actually I felt better after I posted my story last night.

It does help to talk about it.

It helps a lot.

Best of all, as of 11:06 I’m on vacation. We drive down to nyc tomorrow and are there till next week. I’m hoping for sun, glorious shows and amazing food. And bourbon. Maybe some bourbon.

I’m taking my laptop with me and will keep you up to date on my adventures.

The one thing several people said today that rang true is that talking helps and that they know my writing helps me. They’ve watched it keep me sane for almost three years.

So I’m going to commit to getting back to writing.

Thanks again to everyone who reached out.

I love you all.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Now that you ALL know that I’m gay.

And the Bennigan’s team all know that I’m gay.

There are so, so, so many stories to share of my two years in Atlanta.

I went home for the holidays, infatuated with Duane.

I quickly discovered his interest was one of a conquest and little else.

I’d love to say that I felt used and taken advantage of, and maybe 22-year-old Jeff thought that.

58-year-old Jeff knows very differently.

After that, I jumped into the deep end of the pool and started learning what life was like on the other side of the closet door.

Turns out it’s a lot more fun.

I could flirt with the boys I found attractive.

I could say the things I’d been thinking for 22 years.

I learned that the shame I felt was only in my head and had no basis in reality.

As I mentioned before, there were really only two straight front of house male employees. A bartender named Craig and another bartender whose name escapes me.

If I remember correctly, we all believed that Craig was dealing coke out of the bathroom, as someone would come in from the outside, go to the restroom, he’d follow them in and come back 90 seconds later. He wasn’t in the men’s room long enough for other activities, and trust me with the boys I worked with they’d have known.

The other members of the cast there were equally fun.

Paul, whose parents had kicked him out of his house in North Carolina, for being gay. He’d go on to be one of my mother’s favorite people I knew in Atlanta, and she’d asked about him for more than a decade after I moved away and lost touch with him.

Kelly, who was super flamboyant, wore make up, had a cigarette in his hand any time he could and was caddy, caddy, caddy. PS. He and Duane were on again off again, the whole time I knew them.

There was Tracy the host who hated me. Hated me. Hated me.

The hosts at Bennigan’s were responsible for checking side work. She once told me I needed to redo my salt and pepper shakers. I assured her that I had done them. She took the top off the salt, dumped half of it into the carpet and said, now you need to do the salt and peppers, and Bissell your section.

There was Billy, who was super cute, super flirtatious who’d flirt and flirt with me, but never went beyond that.

There was David, who is 12 posts of his own, who taught me about musical theater and gave me a cassette of the original cast recording of Evita, which I listened to and listened to in my un-airconditioned Nissan Sentra.

There was Shelly who I used to joke was the worst server I’d ever met…until I started hiring servers. Shelly was funny, and gorgeous, and had a boyfriend Mike who was going into the Navy. The boys at work, used to tell her that boys in the Navy do everything but kiss. I lived with Shelly the last two months I was in Atlanta, when I was trying to figure out what I was going to do with my life.

Stacy still worked with me. But it would be a good 9 months before we really started being friends. We really became friends when she went off to a fine dining restaurant, and stepped up in the business.

Let’s not forget about Jason, who to this day still has some of the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, although as I type this, they might have been contacts.

There was Clay Boye, who was an amazing artist and was the person who told me to only buy art that spoke to me and to never hang art on the wall because it matched the sofa. If I wanted art to match the sofa, hang the sofa on the wall and sit on the floor. The last time I saw him, was in NYC while I was dining with a friend, a decade after I left Atlanta. PS. He looked a lot like John Malkovich.

There was Maeve, who I learned thru social media, lives in the boston area. She moved back after her stint in Atlanta. She came to visit last summer, and brought Duane with her. It was so fun to see them both. I have photos of her somewhere in an album.

Let’s not forget Sonya, who fell in love with Keith and they got married in Louisville. He was the evil manager, who fired me for destroying company property. That’s a whole story in and of itself. I was not invited to the wedding.

Let’s also not forget Bob, who I’m friends with today on social media. Hmm, I’m about 99% sure he took me to see the Indigo Girls, about 12 minutes before Closer to Fine hit big. It was a small club/bar and all I remember about it, is that they performed the best version I’ve ever heard of Summertime from Porgy and Bess.

Reggie was our kitchen manager. He was the boyfriend of Karen our General Manager. Although, if memory serves me, he might have had a wife at home. He was one of the most beautiful men ever, and was so, so, so, sweet and nice. We all loved him.

There are so many more.

Adam asked last week if I really remembered the details. 99% of what I share is exactly how I remember it. Although, we all know memory is fickle. (I just had to look up how to spell fickle). But, once I start down the path, I can still see, clear as day, the restaurant entrance. I can feel the heat on the pavement, as I walked the fifty yards from the back of the parking lot to the front door. I can smell the aroma of cinnamon bread. I can see the tile floor that was slippery as all get out when it got wet. The restrooms were off to the right. My favorite section was up three steps just before the restrooms. The bar was straight ahead up three stairs, with high tops on the main level. About 6 months into working there, they replaced the high tops to the left with a row of booths, that became everyone’s favorite. To the left was another section, and behind that was an aisle that went out to a patio, that we never used, until Shelly convinced the manager, to let her clean it up and we started opening it for service.

The one thing that was unique to this restaurant, was the service bar was in the kitchen. There was a window in the middle of the kitchen across from expo that opened, and on busy nights, all service drinks came from the kitchen, and NOT the bar itself.

This time in my life was so precious, and I had no idea in the moment.

The journey I was on would create the foundation of who I am today.