It ain’t so much a question of not knowing what to do…

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s funny.  

My day is filled with, lets write about that.  

Let’s write about this. 

Then I sit down to write and sometimes it’s there.

Sometimes I feel like it’s the first time I’ve written and can’t think of a damn thing.  

So, it is today.  

As a result, I’m going to comment on a post from this week.

On Friday, I wrote a post about a friend passing away.  

The first line of the post was:  But who would I be, if you had not been my friend. 

Most of you read my posts on Facebook.  

Because of this, you probably don’t know that on my blog, where I repost, I have a title to start the post.  

On my post from 3 days ago, it was, But who would I be, if you had not been my friend.  

What you don’t know, and my guess is, the people who read my blog might not know, if that the title is 99% of the time a lyric from a song.  And 99% of the time, it’s a lyric from a Broadway song.  

Sometimes it takes longer to find the right title than it does to write the post.  

And sometime, I come up empty handed and use a non-musical lyric, or sometimes I just leave it blank. 

But when I can, I love to find a lyric from a musical that is a comment on the post.  

If you’d like to see my blog, or even better share it with a friend the posts can be found here:

https://wordpress.com/view/id-like-to-speak-to-the-manager.com

I’ve sometimes wondered if I should include the lyric on Facebook, but except for the one time because it was so perfect, I have not.  

Let me know what you think, and if I haven’t said it lately, thank you for listening to my stories.  

Coin Toss to Begin It!!!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Super Bowl is tomorrow.  (Today if you are reading on Sunday). 

For the first time in a long time, I have the day off.  

Fun fact, that I believe, without any scientific proof:  Super Bowl Sunday is one of the slowest days of the year, even for sports bars, because most people watch at gatherings at their homes.  

The Monday after Superbowl, before it was moved to just before Valentine’s Day, has always been the very, very, very slowest day of the year.  

Anyway.

I have the day off.

I’m going to sleep late. 

And then Adam and I have, it turns out, plans for tomorrow night.  

I can’t wait.  

Go Taylor!!!

I smile. I don’t complain. I’m trying to keep sane as the rules keep changing.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

In September of 2023, I approached the owner of my current restaurant about working for him.  

I’d had the summer from hell, as you all know.  

I’d been told that I couldn’t take a day off, after working sixteen 6-day weeks.  

I said fuck that, and decided to explore my options.  

One of my options was to reach out to my old boss from ten years ago, and see if there was any possibility that he’d have space for me.  

We talked over the course of three weeks.  

The conversations were part interview, part venting, part just being friends. 

At one point, he told me that he had concerns about my writing.  

He was very clear, that he’d never tell me to stop. 

 He’d never edit what I wrote. 

Nor would he censor what I wrote about.  

But.

He did think that I often demonized the guest, when telling my side of the story.  

We didn’t discuss it for long, but he had made his point.  

We moved on.

However, I heard what him.  I thought it about it.   

He was not wrong.  

I did demonize the guests occasionally.

Probably more than occasionally.  

I wasn’t always empathetic to their side of the story.  

Within days, I started to write differently.  

I approached the stories differently.  

That’s not to say, I didn’t still share the evil, horrible things people did and said to me, but I tried to frame it in a different light.  

I was ultimately, offered the job, and I turned it down.  

I was promised, gold and silver and shiny things if I stayed.   The owner of my old job, actually cried when I told him I was going to leave.  Looking back, I realize I had seen this on a Lifetime movie before.   

Fast forward a year, and I have the new job, and I’m in a much different place.  

The reason I share all of this is because several of you have reached out to share that you noticed that I seem lighter.

Last night a friend texted that she liked how calm most posts are now.  

Another friend asked if my restaurant didn’t have assholes that dined there.  

The truth is.

I’ve changed.  

Because my circumstances have changed.  

Yes, there are still assholes.  One is sitting upstairs at table 22 right now.

Yes, there is still stress.

There is always stress. 

But it’s kinder, gentler stress.

It’s what one might call normal stress.  

I’m also generally not tired when I deal with It, because I didn’t work a 12-hour day the day before, then drive an hour, and get 6 hours of sleep.  

I’m also very much supported by my boss, who is a collaborator.

 Who asks my opinion and then considers it.  He might say no, but he doesn’t make me feel stupid when he does.  

So.

Yes.  

I’m lighter.

And because I’m lighter, I write about different things these days.

And the things I write about are considered differently.  

Last night, at 1:30 in the morning.  I couldn’t sleep.  Not because of stress, I just couldn’t sleep.  

So, I pulled out my phone.

Opened the Notes app.

And listed things I could write about. 

In all seriousness, about 50 new subjects.  

And not one of them victimized a guest.  Or an employee.  Or a manager. 

They are stories from my past.  

Colorful stories of the golden era of Jeff’s youth.  

Stay tuned.  

But who would I be if you had not been my friend?

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’m old.  

Much older than I ever thought I’d be.  

Seriously.  

I remember reading about HIV and AIDS in the early 80’s thinking that it was a big city disease. 

This was long before I told the first person that I was gay.    

I would sneak off to Lexington, where the boys were, and although I’d think about the stories on the news, it was definitely a big city problem.  

Then I moved to Atlanta, and I found myself in a big city, and the reality of the disease was everywhere. 

You didn’t go on a date, have a one-night stand, or even kiss a guy, without thinking this might be the one. 

Not the one you marry, but the one that passes along the death sentence.  

This worry continued when I moved back to Lexington, and became a BIG worry when I moved to NYC.  

I’ve known hundreds of people who were positive.  I’ve dated lots of men who were positive.  

I spent my adult life not wondering if I’d become infected, but when.  

But somehow, I’ve managed to skirt under the wire and remain healthy.  

This is not a post about AIDS.

It’s a post about me being old, and believing I’d never live to see old.  

But here I am two months away from turning 59.  

How the hell did I get here?

I say all of this, because tonight a friend from college, one of my best friends from college, texted to ask if I had time to talk.  

I didn’t, but I hadn’t heard from her in several years, and I worried something was wrong.  

So.  

I called her.

Even though I worried something was wrong, I knew why she was calling.  A beloved professor from our undergrad days passed away this week.  

He taught theater, in a very small theater department, at a very small college.  

Even if you weren’t in the theater department, chances are you knew.  The school was that small.  

I was correct.  She was calling to chat about George.  

We reminisced for a long time.  He had been a big part of our formative college years.  The department was so small, that if you were cast in a show, you were also building the set, selling tickets, and you might be expected to go in search of a dining room table. (We borrowed my parent’s dining room table for You Can’t Take It With You).  

At one point, I said it kind of sucks to be so old that the older people in your life start to move on.  

And it is.  

It’s been 40 years since I started college.  And it’s been 39 since I met George. And even if we weren’t talking every day, you still see their lives happen through friends, through college posts and social media.  You are still in each other’s lives.  

But that story is changing. 

My parents have moved on. 

My Aunt Doo has moved on. 

My friend Chris has moved on.  

My friend Tony has moved on. 

I’m starting to know way too many people my own age, that have gone on a trip they won’t return from. 

This idea of a journey is not new to me.  My friend Tony from Atlanta was the first truly close person to me, to die from AIDS.  We hadn’t spoken in a few weeks.  I was scheduled to visit him in Atlanta.  He had been positive for a bit.  He took a turn for the worse and past in three days.  

When I learned of this, it felt as though he’d gone on a trip, and I was just waiting to hear from him when he returned.  

I’m still waiting.  

………………………………………….

My friend and I joked about our age for a few minutes, then I changed the subject and asked about her daughters, her mom, her job.  

I invited her to come visit Maine.  

After a bit, we said our goodbyes and hung up.

I sat at my desk thinking about the conversation.

About my professor.

And I thought to myself, that I don’t find myself sad about the permanent journeys my family and friends have taken.  I find myself glad that I was a part of their life on earth.  That for a brief moment, we shared the same spacesand the same stories, and that they probable never knew the ways they made my life better.    

For someone like me, who struggled in college, to find myself,  they made my life tolerable.  

They taught me to love myself.  

To find the best in the world.  

All of these people laid the ground work,  that has allowed me to create the life that I have today, and  be happier than I have ever been.  

Life is good.  

And it’s because of George. 

And Chris.  

And Ton.  

And my mom.  

And my dad.  

And my Aunt Doo.  

All of these people created space for me.

Ultimately.  

They loved me

I am eternally grateful for all of them.

PS.  Thank you for the phone call, Liz Smith.  I’m grateful for you as well.  

It’s all about the job and getting it done around here…

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I love talking to people at work.

I love, love, love it.

Which comes in handy when you are conducting interviews.

I like to just have a conversation with the person, peppering the chat with the questions I like to ask.

However, when you need to hire someone, especially more than one someone, it can make for long days going through the process.

Especially, when you have put aside the day to do so.

Yesterday, our restaurant manager, and I had interviews set up from 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.

One interview every half hour.

And miracle of miracles they all showed.

Which never, ever, ever happens.

At least not in the last 10 years.

The interview at 11:00 was great. The conversation flowed, the person was normal. Great experience. We laughed a lot.

Such was the case for all 8 (6 servers, 2 hosts) interviews. It’s the most successful day of interviews I’ve had since 2013.

However, by 3:00, when the last interviewed finished up, I was exhausted.

It’s literally ground hog day.

Hi. Tell me about yourself.

Where are you from?

What do you do for fun?

Why do you want to work here?

Why did you leave your last job?

You get the gist.

Actually, I didn’t even ask any of these questions yesterday.

By 3:00 the manager and I couldn’t remember who was who. Who said they had open availability? Who was a sommelier? Who was a psychology student? Who moved here from Boston? Who moved here from L.A.?

Yes, we had notes, and resumes, and we had to look at them to remember the details.

And then the appointments wind down, and you realize that the emails have kept coming, the voicemails is full and you are now behind a day.

I actually look forward to the first day of interviews in the spring. Which was yesterday.

It means that spring is approaching. That winter will be winding down around the time everyone is trained. It’s kind of like seeing the buds on the trees, or a crocus peaking through the ground.

However.

We have the same schedule tomorrow. And oh, my, god. I’m already stressed about all the work I need to get accomplished besides 8 interviews.

AHHHHHHH!!!!

Whew. I feel better.

I’ll get off my poor, poor me soap box.

It’s great to have people apply.

It’s great to have people show up.

It’s great to have people qualified for the position to interview.

It’s nice to have choices.

The real stress from yesterday, and probably tomorrow is who we’ll have to disappoint because so far, we have 6 great serving candidates, and only have 1.5 positions available.

It’s the first time I’ve been able to make decisions like this since 2017.

Let’s hope the trend continues.

Pick a little, talk a little, cheap, cheap, cheap talk a lot.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

10 days ago, Adam and I went to Norway, Maine with 3 other couples. We’ve done this a number of times. At least a couple of times before we moved here, and three or four times since.

We’ve always enjoyed the chance to get away, sit in front of a fire, sip on a bourbon or glass of wine, and eat great food we all prepare as a team.

This time was no different.

We also enjoy playing games.

One of the games we played this time was “Intrusive Questions.”

Two of the couples had come up with 200 questions of a personal nature that we could ask while, doing other things and we’d all take turn answering. There were a few questions that might have been a bit personal for some people, however in general, I’ve been an open book most of my later life.

I don’t have a lot of things I hide, that I am ashamed of, or that would bother me if people knew. I’d be surprised if any of you didn’t already know this, as I share a great deal of my life online.

There were an assortment of questions like:

If you HAD to eat one vat of anything, what would it be:

For me it was vanilla ice cream. I love all vanilla ice creams. The cheap grocery store brand, the organic fancy ones, or even soft serve from Dairy Queen. Even if it’s not even really ice cream like at McDonald’s.

If you had to call someone and say thank you, I love you, I’m sorry, and fuck you, who would those people be and why?

If you could trade lives with anyone here this weekend, who would it be and why?

If you could read anyone’s mind dead or alive just for a day, who would you choose?

You get the idea.

The funny part of the night was that except for one question, I always answered right away. Without thinking.

The answer would come to me. I never wavered or wanted to change my mind after others started to answer.

One of the questions was:

What is your least favorite personality trait:

Without thinking, I said, I interrupt people when they are talking to me.

And I do.

I’ve known this since forever.

I had a colleague, who yelled at me in a meeting to stop interrupting him. I hope he sees this and know that I still think about that. Not badly, just knowing that it was the beginning of me working on trying to stop.

As I’ve gotten older, I concentrate on listening.

I practice, choosing my words.

I try to stay quiet while others are sharing their voice.

But it’s a struggle and I’d say I am successful about 49% of the time.

It truly is a struggle.

It’s even worse, when it’s something I’m passionate about like the restaurant business, or theater.

I get excited and want to share my thoughts.

When it does happen, I spend the rest of the conversation apologizing for interrupting.

Just like I often share with people my struggle with anxiety and depression, I l have learned as I have gotten older to share with people that I know that I do this. I apologize as it happens. And sometimes, sit on my hands to try and keep quiet and still.

I know why it happens, but it doesn’t make it easier.

It’s from excitement.

Anxiety.

Growing up being told to keep quiet. You should be seen and not hear.

Having my opinion ignored as a child and young adult.

Being told that I wasn’t smart enough to know what I was talking about.

Having to shout over others to be a part of the group.

I could go on.

And I’m always embarrassed when it happens.

I called last week to talk to a manager about something that happened while having repairs done on our furnace. And I talked over the manager the whole time. I just could not control myself.

I wasn’t even upset or yelling.

But I ended up apologizing and ending the phone call. He probably thought I was crazy.

And I guess in a way I am.

Just know that at 58, I continue to work on this.

Every day.

Every minute.

One Day More!!!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s been 15 weeks since my knee surgery.  

If I had it to do over again, it would be 52 weeks since my knee surgery.  

My biggest regret of the last year was putting off the surgery for someone else.  

Lesson learned.  

15 weeks.  

105 days.  

When I started my job in December, it was ever apparent that I’d just had a knee replacement.  

After a few hours on my feet, my knee would be the size of Nebraska, bending it was far from easy, and I never went back downstairs at the end of the night.

Never.  

I realized this week, that none of that was true anymore.

I hadn’t really realized it.

My knee is hardly swollen at all at the end of the day anymore.  

I’ve started doing the stairs like a normal person, as opposed to one at a time.  

I don’t skip going upstairs for a coffee refill in the morning, because it hurts.  

Every day it gets a little better.  

Even in NYC this past weekend, there was no pain or swelling after walking around the city all day.   

In NYC, the worst thing, is that 6’0” people doesn’t fit in theater seats.  They were designed in 1904 for humans that were 5’5”.  For me to cram my body, into a theater seat, and sit with my knee at a weird angle, or slammed against the seat in front of me, causes real discomfort.    

But we sacrifice for our pleasures, and so I suppose Adam and I will continue to try and squeeze into the seats.  

Except at the Emerson Colonial in Boston.  Those seats were designed for 3 year old children.  Just say no.  

Which brings me to tonight’s story.  

I was starting down the stairs to the office, as a woman appeared coming up from the restroom.  I was farther along than she was, so she gestured to come on down.  

Even though, I take the stairs regular style these days, it’s a slow process.  

I apologized my pace and explained that I’d just gotten a new knee.  

She laughed and said, no need to apologize, and I bet you feel a million times better.

I assured her that I did, and she went on to explain that her mom had just gotten a new hip and was so much happier.  

I told her that I was much happier with the new knee and that my only regret was not doing it sooner. 

She said her mom had said the same thing.

I then replied, so in 20 years when you are told you need a new knee, doing it then.  Schedule the appointment and get it done.  And you’ll think back to the strange man on the stairs of a restaurant, telling you to book the appointment and get it done.  

And you will.  

She laughed, and said, you don’t seem that strange.  

I thought to myself, if you only knew.

Cabin in the woods (oooh) –A cabin in the woods (yeah)

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I’d like to speak to the manage!!!

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles-.

It’s a Saturday night.  

I’m seated at a desk, in lovely Norway, Maine, where I have escaped the clutches of the big city and am relaxing with a bourbon and a soda, water in the middle of the woods.  

It’s the first time in three years, I’ve been able to take a Saturday off, without using a vacation day.  

We started planning this adventure last July.  

Back story.

When Adam and I first moved to Maine, every year or so, our friend group, which is 16 lesbians, and the two of us, would plan a getaway.  Most of these trips were in the winter.  We’d rent a lodge in the middle of nowhere, caravan in, and spend two to three days hibernating in the woods.  

One of the most fun trips was watching The Shining, in a mountain lodge, in the middle of a snow storm, with only a fire to light the room.  Super scary.  

We, however, have not had the opportunity to get away since Covid for a multitude of reasons.  

Our friends decided last summer to change that.  

The planning commenced, the air bnb was secured, the meals were planned and here we are.  

There are four couples this time, in a 1790’s farmhouse, 5 miles out of town, on a snow covered hill.  It’s as beautiful as it sounds.  It has lightly snowed all day, while we’ve gathered in front of a fire and played games, read books, discussed politics, and since about an hour ago, enjoyed pre-batched cocktails that Adam whipped up yesterday.  

It really is a serene setting.  

The house is super quirky as it was originally built in the late 1700’s and has been added on to several times.  First a kitchen.  Then a family room.  Then a mud room.  Then a game room, that eventually connected the house with the barn that was built the same time as the house.  

It’s chilly, and squeaky, and has all the charm you’d think.  There is plenty of room to spread out.  I’m upstairs in an office nook.  Several people are playing ping pong.  Adam and a couple of helpers are prepping for lesbian taco night.  More about that some other time.  

Like I said, It was awesome to know that I could take the weekend off, without being beaten up, asked why I needed time off, or be given a guilt trip about why I needed to be a the work. I get two days off a week, and I just scheduled those days to be yesterday and today. 

And here we are.  

The only real funny part of the trip, is when we got here, we discovered that the owner is a huge fan of a past administration, my friends and I don’t support.  There are photos, and books, and articles, and even an official White House statement about someone who received a pardon for campaign finance convctions.  

None of this really matters to us, as the money is already spent, and there wasn’t much to do when we got here.  However, had we looked closer at the photos in the posting on Air BNB, we might have seen the photos.  

That being said, it’s truly nice to get away, and hang out with our chosen family, and share meals, and laugh.  

It feels really good to laugh. 

https://www.graniteridgeestate.com/norway-maine-rental-farmhouse

https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/1008771597936231282?check_out=2024-01-28&adults=8&check_in=2024-01-26&viralityEntryPoint=1&s=76&unique_share_id=85FAB7EF-CE76-4422-9C84-D45946FCCFAF&_branch_match_id=1279940669520854458&_branch_referrer=H4sIAAAAAAAAA8soKSkottLXT0zKS9LLTdX3dA40s3Avr0h1SwIAFu1fVRsAAAA%3D&source_impression_id=p3_1706399862_KQtzPlWvqIf7XWNv

How to succeed in business, with out really trying…

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I just spend the last 5 minutes counting all the restaurants that I’ve worked at.

I believe it’s 28.

28 different businesses, buildings, co-workers, policies, uniforms, menus, managers, etc.

It also means that I have 28 different restaurant jobs with a million stories attached to them.

This is why when someone suggests that I’m limited on what to write now, I kind of laugh to myself.

The stories are endless.

Truly endless.

Got up to get a water and thought of 1 more.

The point is, if I brainstorm for more than 6 seconds, I think of hundreds and hundreds of posts.

Most of these involve me, some co-workers.

Oops.

Just thought of 1 more.

That makes 30 now.

That doesn’t even touch on my experience in retail, corporate, teaching, designing, etc.

The fun part of this realization, is that I can write without PTSD.

Most of the time.

I can remember fun stories, of my wasted youth.

I haven’t decided if I should write chronologically, starting with Day’s Inn.

Or

If I should bounce around from Georgetown, to NYC, to Alabama, to Atlanta, to Lexington, back to NYC.

Or

If I should write them as I think of them.

Who knows at this point.

In truth it will probably be a little of both.

Oops.

Though of 1 more.

31.

You left me lists, everything in lists, well your little lists aren’t very helpful I fear

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Since my first manager job, I’ve always had pen and paper in my pocket.  There are a million things you think of as you move around the restaurant that you need to remember for later.  

In the past, my staff has always gotten nervous as I write something down, when they are standing next to me.  They always assumed it was about them.

As often as not, it might be nothing more than don’t forget to get gas on your way home.  Or remind Adam to pick up more soda at the grocery store. 

Usually it’s a word or two, quick in the moment.  

Chairs.  

Candles.

Music.  

Temp.

Pre-bus.

Sometimes, when I look at the paper that has been jammed in my pocket all night, I have no idea what I meant.  

Today, I went through all of my scraps of papers from the past week  or so and added the new notes to my legal pad full of notes.  

I then transferred all of my note from the legal pad s, to the note’s app on my laptop, dividing them into categories so I’d know who to ask to get an answer from later.  

As I was doing this, I realized that my note app had headings that I didn’t recognize.  

When I was finished, I looked at what was already there.  And I found notes, from my phone from 2013.  

These are from my GM job in 2013, two days after the restaurant opened.  

Chairs

Trashcan

Three courses 

Up charge for dinner salad. 

Dessert.  Napkins. Menus. 

Windows

Cold hot.  

Buttons in micros. 

Tv channels. 

Milk

Candles

Kj chard

More dinner special papers.  

Sides.    Prices.

Staff

Linens floor.

Liquor boxes 

Cords dressed

Towel in belt. 

Tables in place

Change guest count. 

Wait station. 

Prawns. 

Lights at night. 

Drive away. 

Some of them I remember.    

Other’s I have no idea.  

It’s fun to think that 11 years later, these notes, jotted on a piece of paper, helped get me to where I am today.  

I do think it’s funny that the last note says drive away.  

Hmmmm.