fiction

I spoke to the manager!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I spoke to the manager!!!

Yes. I did. I actually asked to speak to the manager!!!

Adam and I had a reservation at 5:30 for dinner tonight. The only reason Adam wanted to go there, was because last year, when we dined there the mashed potatoes, and chocolate cake were some of the best he’d ever had. He wanted to relive that.

However, the rest of the meal last year was less than stellar. The service was weird. It started fine, but at some point, the server got annoyed with us, and basically treated us like crap from then on. The timing of the food was weird. Our second course came before we were ready for it, then we waited almost 30 minutes for our main course. When it did arrive the mashed potatoes were cold. Not like they had been plated 15 minutes early. Cold as in, they’d been in the walk-in and just pulled out. When we finally got the warm potatoes, as I said, they were great. But the meal was just weird.

So tonight.

We arrived and were seated at 5:20 for our 5:30 reservation.

We get situated and start looking over the menu. A server assistant comes by and offers water, and we ask for tap. Then after a longer time than it should have been our server arrives. Guess who. The same server we had last year. And it’s awkward from the word go. It’s like we were being waited on by a high school student. She’s asking us about our show, but asking kind of weird questions. It’s clear she knows nothing about the theater world, which is fine, but she keeps asking more and more questions, then responding with no idea what she’s talking about.

At this point, we discuss leaving. This is not the experience we want to have, and it’s not going to be cheap. However, we don’t want to be those people, and really, once we’ve ordered it will be fine.

Finally, she asks if she can take our drink order. And we ask for two minutes. This was a mistake because it’s another five or so minutes before she comes back. When she comes back she asks for our drink order. Adam orders a Kettle One martini, dirty with regular olives. He specifies regular olives. I order a Bulliet Rye Manhattan, not the one on the menu, but a regular Manhattan. We also order our meal. Shrimp cocktail to start. Two apps to share after that. And we’ll split an entrée. She walks away and by now we have decided it will be fine.

Then at least seven or eight minutes go by and she reappears to say that they don’t have Bulliet Rye, and gives me other choices. I choose Michter’s. She disappears again. 90 seconds later our shrimp cocktail lands on the tables.

No sign of the drinks.

And we wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, a runner appears with our drinks. My Manhattan doesn’t look like a Manhattan, but I’ll make it work. BUT. There are three blue cheese olives in Adam’s martini. Neither Adam nor myself like blue cheese. In fact, we both kind of hate it. So he asks for the martini to be remade.

Did I mention that the shrimp cocktail is on the table. We are waiting for our drinks before we eat.

And we wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

During this wait we are discussing whether we want to stay. As I mentioned its going to be an expensive meal. It hasn’t started well. And we’ve been there for a bit and we still don’t have our drinks.

It’s about this time the martini arrives and I look at my watch. It’s 6:05. We’ve been in the restaurant for 45 minutes and we’ve just gotten our drinks.

I look at him and say let’s go. We don’t want to make a seen, but we’ve decided we’ll walk down the street, have a cheeseburger, then get a drink at The Rum House before the show. He wants to pay for what we’ve gotten even though we haven’t eaten or drunk anything. I push back but I’m over ruled. The server comes by and he explains that we are going to call it a night and would like our check for the things we’ve gotten.

The server walks away.

And we wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, I’ve had enough. I go to the host stand and ask if we can please pay our check. The host looks at me like I’m crazy. Then the server appears and hands me the check. I give her my card and she goes away. At which point I turn to the host and ask him if he can tell me what time I was sat. He looks at me and smirks and says, “You were seated when you arrived and requested to be seated.” I’m not having that so I say, “Yes, and you have a machine at your finger tips, that will tell you exactly what time we were seated at said table.”

He pushes a lot of buttons, and I can assure you, it takes not one button pushing. The counter is on your name; it will tell you. He says you were seated at 5:20. And I say, yes, it’s been 45 minutes and we’ve just gotten our drinks. And NOW, I would like to speak to a manager!!!

I wasn’t angry during any of this. Just annoyed.

But get this.

We wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, she appears, just as the server arrives back with my credit card.

I explain that we are leaving, why were are leaving, and she says, I’ll give you my card next time you want to come in let me know and I’ll make sure you have a different experience. I say, we don’t live here and she say’s well let me get a card for you anyway.

By now Adam has arrived, and we wait, and wait, and wait.

Fun fact: Carry your cards on you.

She brings the card. We leave.

We paid 100 bucks for food we didn’t eat or drink. The manager was nice, but if it had been me, I’d have insisted that the guest not pay anything. I’d have immediately cancelled the charge. And I would have made a bigger effort to apologize.

Then we walked to Joe Allen. Got right in, and 15 minutes from the time we left the first restaurant, we had drinks in hand, and our appetizer had just been delivered.

We really didn’t want to be those people, but it was clear we were not going to get the experience we wanted and sitting there was just going to annoy us even more. So we left.

You are the wind beneath my wings.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 6:

Today was a fairly boring day for Adam and Jeff.  Until it wasn’t.  

I’ll start with the fun stories for those who only read a paragraph or so.  

Adam and I were meeting an old work friend of his.  We were going to have a very quick dinner at Legasea, at the Moxy Hotel.  It was near her work, and since she got off late and we had a show to get to it had to be quick.  

We were running late, and my right knee was being a pain in the ass, so when I saw the long flight of stairs to the second floor, I requested the elevator.  We pushed the button and waited.  It came pretty quickly.  We entered first, followed by two couples and a single man.  The single man pressed the buttons we needed and the elevator began to move.  

The elevator lifted about a foot, then dropped suddenly about a foot, then the screen you used for buttons went dark.  We waited.  Nothing.  The single man pressed the screen but nothing was happening.  At first we were all joking and laughing, until we realized that we were stuck.  

I lived in NYC for a long time, and I’ve used elevators all my life, even in some questionable buildings, but I’ve never gotten stuck.  It was true for everyone in the elevator.  

The man standing behind me announced that we all should stay calm.  No one was panicking, but okay.  The man on the other side of me popped open a can containing a margarita.  I jokingly asked if he had another and he showed me he did.  Still no one was panicking.  

Soon the single guy, who was next to the screen took control.  First, he tried calling for help on the elevator system.  No one answered.  At my new job, if you call on the elevator it goes to 911.  He tried again.  Still no answer.  

He then pressed the alarm.  Now a loud alarm was going off.  Still, no one was responding.  Eventually, he pried open the door enough to realize we were still on the first floor.  He ended up prying them open about 6 inches and suggested we call for help, at which point the woman behind Adam on the other side of the elevator let out a blood curdling scream.  Like something you’d hear on Friday the 13th.  The man in charge announced, no more of that, why don’t you let me call for help.  So he stood next to the doors and began to call for help.  

Here’s the fucked-up part.  We could see people walking by, but no one was interested in helping.  The alarm is still going off.  He’s calling for help.  And after what seemed like forever, maintenance showed up, pried the doors open from the outside and let us out.  In all it was ten minutes at the most, but it’s a long time to be stuck, when you don’t know the outcome.  

Adam was very sweet when we got out.  He said, “I was just upset we weren’t standing together so I could hold your hand.” 

Once we were out, we walked up the stairs, had dinner and caught up with our friend.  

As for the rest of the day:

We had bagels again.

We saw The Outsiders again.  With NINE high school groups.  (There was a print out of the schools inserted in the Playbill).  The show was great.  And it’s a great first Broadway experience for kids, as there is fire, and rain, and the sets and lighting are wonderful.  And it really is a great score.  I cried again, even though I knew how it ended.  

After the show we grabbed a snack at Shake Shack, and NYC institution at this point.  

After dinner, we saw Beaches.  

On the way home we stopped at Dante Apertivo for a night cap.  I had the best boulevardier I’ve had all week.  The only thing that would have made it better would have been if they’d had Rittenhouse as the base spirit.  

Now it’s approaching midnight.  I’m sleeping, so I’m going to shower and go to bed.  

Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 3:

The best part of being on vacation is getting to sleep late.  We typically have such late nights that we rarely start the day early.  It felt nice at 8:30 to turn over and go back to sleep.  

We finally got our day started at 11:30. We had a 1:00 lunch reservation so we needed to get up, to have time to stop for coffee and club soda.  There is a Starbucks and a McDonald’s about 20 feet from our hotel.  What more could a person want.  

We got our morning libations and headed south in a cab to SOHO to have lunch at Balthazar.  Balthazar is the restaurant Adam and I ever went to that wasn’t a diner in our neighborhood.  One that first trip, we got chicken liver mousse, and steak tartare.  Both are part of our restaurant favorites whenever we eat out.  We also have them at home occasionally when Adam is feeling adventurous when he cooks.  His version of both are great.  

Balthazar is great, but the tables are SUPER close together.  The kind where you have to pull your table out so that one of us can go in.  I always sit on the outside, since I usually don’t fit in the tight space and I get super claustrophobic.  We got lucky today, we were on the outside table, next to the window.  However, it was still tight.  Tight enough to admire the gentleman’s Rolex next to us.  I love watches, and I have to admit, it was very pretty.  And the table that replaced them one of the girls had an engagement ring the size of Texas.  The tables were also so close that I felt like I was getting intimate with the super cute server, who kept reaching around me to pour water and wine.  

Lunch consisted of chicken liver mousse, shrimp cocktail, frisée salad, and French onion soup for me.  We then split a chicken club with fries for our entrée.   I have to admit, that by the time the club came, I was stuffed so I picked at the fries and enjoyed the last of the wine.  

After lunch we walked across to Hudson Street.  It was a perfect day in NYC.  Bright blue sky, and warm, but not hot.  Not quite perhaps warm enough for shorts, but you definitely didn’t need a jacket.  

We took our time walking as my right knee is in the throws of needing surgery.  It’s not quite there yet, but the time is fast approaching.  I have to take it slow, and not push it.  I’d like to keep away from the doctor for at least another year.  

When we got to Hudson, we hailed a cab and headed up town to the Whitney Museum of American Art.  Neither Adam, nor myself had ever been and we thought it would be a great way to spend the afternoon.  We started on the top floor with, as we were instructed to do, with a stop at the coffee shop, for a soda water.  We grabbed a table outside on the patio to enjoy the view of the city scape.  

We were sitting there, when we were approached to take a photo of a man with a very big, very expensive camera.  I stood up to do and he kept speaking to me in a very thick German accent.  I had no idea what he was saying.  After he handed the camera back to me, he back to talk to us.  I could only make out about every third word, but I did understand that before he retired he worked as a gas man installing pipes.  He was concerned about the fact that NYC infrastructure is over 100 years old.  He then perched his leg up on the railing so his crotch was somewhat in Adam’s face and begin to talk about how you need to have big hands if you want work with pipes.  

I was sitting there watching the interaction Adam and the old man (probably in his mid 70’s) and I could see Adam getting more and more uncomfortable.  I kind of found of funny, because Adam hates talking to strangers.  When the man left to grab his glasses Adam turned to me and tersely said, “Save me.”  I laughed and stood up.  And we told the man to have a great afternoon and we started our tour of the museum.  

It’s a wide variety of modern American Art, with Warhol, Jasper Johns, Edward Hopper, Basquiat, Georgia O’Keefe, moving to really modern art with artists who were born in the 50’s that I do not know.  I have to admit that I like the older stuff more than the more modern stuff, but it was amazing to see the political overtones about race, war, etc. in the creation of the different pieces.  

After the Whitney, we walked The High Line.  For those of you not familiar, NYC took an old elevated railway line on the west side of the city and turned it a park, that wanders up the west side.  It’s full of plants and art, and many times you are walking by buildings that you can see into.  There are places to sit and in the summer, people sell wares and food etc along the way.  It’s a great way to get from The Village north through Chelsea.  

When we got to 23rd Street, we grabbed another cab to go up to Times Square.  

In Times Square, we went to The View in the Marriot Marquis.  It’s the revolving restaurant and bar on the top floor.  We’ve been before and what it lacks in quality it makes up for in scenery.  

We took the elevator up to the 47th floor and got seated at a nice table next to the window. 

Do you remember how I mentioned that Adam doesn’t like to chat with strangers.  Our server was a chatty Kathy.  She asked about his tattoo.  She asked where we were from.  She would not stop talking.  Even when we were ready to order.  

Finally, we ordered, and she disappeared.  Adam went to wash his hands and she delivered our drinks while he was gone. Thus began a conversation about our drink choices, whether he was a chef, and what brought us to New York.  We also learned that she lived in California, Las Vegas, Boston, where she would drive up to Vermont.  

Finally, we were on our own to enjoy the view and look at our phones.   At which point I asked Adam if he would order a club soda, since she’d conveniently forgotten the one I ordered with my drink.  He did and she brought it.  

15 minutes later she reappeared to ask if we wanted another drink.  We ordered and at which point she cleared our empty glasses.  Including the soda water she’d brought that I’d take one sip from.  I was soda waterless again.  

It really makes me laugh when the soda water shenanigans start.  

We finally paid our check, said thank you and left to go thte theater.  

Tonight was Titanique.  An amazing show about Celine Dion actually being on the Titanic when it sank.  It’s a laugh riot.   We saw it Off Broadway three or four years ago, and it’s bigger and better on Broadway.  Once again, the audience was involved right from the beginning and they never stopped laughing or engaging till curtain call.  

After the show, we grabbed a cab, headed back to our hotel and now Adam is watching TV and looking at his phone and I’m about to post this and take a shower.  

Tomorrow is another two show day.  

Another Openin’ Another Show!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s the last week of April, which could only mean one thing. Adam and I are in New York. We actually left early and drove to Wallingford, Connecticut. It’s about 3 hours into the drive. We stayed at the Hilton Garden Inn there.

This caused the first argument of the drive because, when Adam got sleepy while driving, we traded places and he hooked up my phone to the car. I, however, had only put in Wallingford, to see how long it took to get there, NOT the actual address of the hotel. We figured this out when we didn’t get to the hotel with the directions. It was only a couple of miles out of the way, but it was late.

We got up early this a.m. and drove the rest of the way, making great time. We were in NYC a few blocks from our hotel by 11:30.

But.

Fun fact. You could not drive east on any cross street south of 34th street today. They were all blocked off. So, we could not in fact drive to our hotel. We finally managed to get close on 6th Avenue, and we parked illegally, while Adam took our bags in and checked us in early. Then we parked the car, and finished getting the rest of our things in our hotel.

Once again, we are staying at the Hilton Garden Inn. Not fancy, but we don’t spend a lot of time in the room. But it is clean, but small, and the a/c works which is always great.

On the way back down to the lobby, we were joined in the elevator by two 20ish guys. They are hucking it up about whether a girl becomes your girlfriend if you spend the night at her house. They were being loud and we were trying to ignore them, when one of them says, Hey. Let’s ask these guys. So he says, “if this dude here spent the night last night at a girl’s house, does that make her his girlfriend.” Without a beat, I said, only if you are a lesbian. They cackled and wouldn’t let it drop. The friend said, I told you. She’s your girlfriend now. As we got out of the elevator I said, let us know where you register for the wedding and we’ll buy you some China. And they started laughing again.

And we were off.

It was raining as we left, so we hustled to the subway. Uptown to Times Square for a snack.

At least once during our NYC trips we stop at Los Tacos No. 1. The line is long but moves fast. The food is delicious. And you can be in and out in no time.

Then we headed around the corner to our first show of the week.

Becky Shaw.

I had no idea what it was about. All I knew was that Jeanine from Handmaid’s Tale was in it. The show was excellent. So funny. And the set had lots of surprises.

The show came down at 4:30 and we ran in the rain to up the street to see Every Brilliant Thing. It was so moving. And sweet. And how they pull off the logistics of audience participation is amazing. I have to admit that I had tears in my eyes for the last 20 minutes of the show. It is a one man show, and Daniel Radcliffe commanded the stage even before the show opened. The audience participants were amazing when being put on the spot.

The 10,000th brilliant thing is “waking up late, with someone you love.”

And then, we had to move it back to the subway to get downtown for our next show.

First though, Adam needed a snack so we stopped for pizza at Two Boots. I hadn’t eaten at Two Boots in at least 25 years. It was perfect for what we needed.

Adam had suggested that since we had about 50 minutes before the show we should stop in Ty’s, a gay bar for a drink. I had not been in Ty’s since the early 2000’s. It has not changed much except that they take credit cards now. The clientele has not changed either. The same men who were going there in the 20’s are now going there in their 60’s. Adam was by far the youngest man in the bar.

Neither of us are “bar” people. At one point Adam leans over and says that he’d forgotten that at bars people just walk up and talk to you. This is after we met a very nice lady named Candy. She moved on, and someone asked if they could stand and share our table. We said of course. We were one and done, and so Adam ran to the restroom while I waited and while Adam was gone the man who had joined us asked, “Are you all going to the Eagle tonight?” I said, I don’t think so, and he replied, well that’s too bad I’d have like to have seen you both naked later.

I thanked him for the compliment and said that we had tickets to the Ken Rex across the street and had to go.

Adam commented that it was the second time I’d been hit on in the past two weeks.

Ken Rex is a one man show, about a true crime in Kansas in the early 80’s. It is a play with live music accompaniment and is very tech heavy. And I thought it was great.

I have to admit that I didn’t know much about any of the play we saw before seeing them today, but so far, we are 3 out of 3 for winners.

The night ended with dinner at a French Restaurant across town called L’Express. It is open late and worked great for having dinner after our show. We were seated next to a couple, who was soon joined by friends, because they’d just flown home from Paris where they had gotten engaged. The ring was a brick.

Now we are home and Adam is in the shower.

Today at the first show, the woman sitting next to us had the best cat shirt on with big black cats all over it. Adam complimented her.

At Ken Rex, the woman in front of us had the best purse and Adam asked if he could take a photo of it for someone at work. I’m glad he did, because while he was using the restroom at intermission, she pulled a burrito out of the purse and ate dinner.

Oh. The times they are a changing.

PS. Today is the one year anniversary of Adam giving me a pre-engagement, engagement ring.

I put a little more mascara on!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Adam and I went to Boston yesterday to see a play.  Not a musical.  But a play.  Miracle of miracles.  We went down early, had dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, which we had not done in years, then walked from The Prudential Center, the Four Seasons, where we had a drink in the lobby.  

It’s fun to go to places that focus so much energy on hospitality.  The doors were held open for us when we entered.  The front desk agent walked us to the bar.  The host walked us to the table.  The server was warm and friends and brought our drinks which were delicious.  The host checked back in on us.  We paid, and were thanked by at least six people as we exited.  

We then made our way to Huntington Stage, which was about a 10 minute walk away.  We arrived early, took our seats and took in the room.  It was closing night for When Playwrights Kill, and there was a buzz in the room.  There almost always is on closing nights as often there are a large number of friends and colleagues in the room.

We did see Laura Bell Bundy during intermission who I assume was there to see here Legally Blonde co-star Marissa.  The show was a lot of fun, loosely based on the experience the playwright had years ago when he wrote a show staring a well-known movie actress.  The show had lots of inside theater jokes, the cast was insanely good and the audience had a great time.  

Now to the meat of the story.  

I am a man of a certain age.   We’ll call me old.  There was a time when I was not old, much thinner, and much more mobile when I might turn a head or two, but those days are long past.  

So imagine my surprise, when I’m outside the restroom, during intermission, waiting for Adam, when I look up the stairs to see a man gazing at me.  I think to myself, he must be looking at someone behind me and turn, but nope.  He’s looking at me.  I divert my eyes and pretend not to have noticed.  When I look back, he’s looking at his phone, and for a moment, I think he’s with the kids in front of him.  But nope.  He sees me looking and gazes at me again.  

I divert my eyes again.  I think to myself, WOW, this hasn’t happened in a long time.  I don’t even know how to respond.  It actually makes me self-conscious and nervous more than anything.  

I look again, and he’s still gazing at me.  Perhaps he thinks I’m someone he knows, but I swear I’ve never seen him before.  This time I smile, and he smiles back.  Now I’m even more nervous.  

Finally, the line he is in moves down the stairs and he’s past me.  However, he keeps looking over his shoulder at me.  

Then Adam arrives.  

He grabs my hand, and say, “Don’t look, but I think my next boyfriend is line for the restroom.”  He looks behind him and sees the guy who finally has his back to me.  

Adam goes, he’s cute.  And he was.  Probably late 30’s early 40’s.  Nice building.  Sandy blonde hair.  Blue eyes.  He’s also about 6’ tall.  

Adam and I head back upstairs and watch the room.  There once again is energy in the room.  Lots of people moving about from group to group.  

We take our seats.  The second act starts.  We love it.  

The show ends, gets a rousing standing ovation. (What show doesn’t these days?”).

We have a two-hour drive in front of us so we make our way back down to the restrooms.  I finish first, I always do, and am waiting at the bottom of the stairs once again for Adam.   It’s still kind of crowded when I notice an older gay man waiting across the room.  And what would you know, my new boyfriend comes out and greets him. 

Fifteen seconds later, Adam walks out, has to maneuver between them and grabs my hand.  I say to Adam, “My new boyfriend has a type.”  And wants to know what that means and I reply, “Take a look, his boyfriend looks just like me only shorter.”

And he did.  He was older, with a bigger build and bright blue eyes.  Only shorter.  We were even dressed a like.  

Before anyone panics, I’m not looking for a new boyfriend.  But I do have to say, that it made my heart patter, to know someone, other than Adam might find me attractive.  It has been a long while since this has happened.  

As we exited the building, joining the crowd on the sidewalk, Adam grabbed my hand and we started toward our car back at the Prudential Center.  We waited the appropriate 500 feet before we really started to discussing the show.  

He loves me so, that funny honey of mine!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

This morning about six minutes after I got up, Adam’s alarm went off.  He’d snoozed it when it sounded at 8:30.   Both of our alarms go off at 8:30.  We both have I-phones, but his alarm sounds about 15 seconds before mine does, I have no idea why.  

I digress.  

I was getting ready to get in the shower, when I realized he had not shut his alarm off.  I waited.  And waited.  Finally, I went in and said Babe?  Babe?  He didn’t answer.  I then said, Adam?  Adam?  A little louder.  He still didn’t budge.  Adam is not a super hard sleeper, so I was surprised he didn’t respond.  I have to admit, for about 1/16th of a second I thought he might be dead.  Then I tapped him on the shoulder and he awoke with a start.  It’s one of the reasons I started out quietly; he is easily startled when he’s asleep. 

He had not heard the alarm at all.  He was surprised that it was going off, and he was surprised that I had to wake him. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and then went back to take a shower. 

As I was trying to wake up in the shower, I realized that calling Adam by his given name was not something I do often.  We hardly ever use each other’s names.  We both use “BABE” as a term of endearment.  In fact, he called me at work today and I said, “Hello, Babe” and my boss referred to him as Babe 30 seconds later.  

It always feels awkward when I say Adam, when speaking to Adam.  I say his name all the time at work.  They probably get sick of hearing about the meals he cooks for me, or the things he did for my birthday.  But to say, “Hey Adam, what’s for dinner?, just doesn’t flow.  

The only thing worse than using his name to address him is him calling me Jeff.  It’s like nails on a chalkboard. He does it so seldomly that I always think I must be in trouble, or something must be wrong.  Neither is usually true.  

Which brings me to the point of this story. 

When we first started dating, and it became clear that we were going to be something more than just a casual fling, he started calling me “Honey Bear.”  I don’t know why?  I don’t know where it came from.  I, however, loved it from the start.  At some point, we moved past Honey Bear to Babe.  He does usually write cards to me addressed as Honey Bear.  And it makes my heart grow three sizes.  It makes me smile. 

I’ve only ever called him Babe, that I remember.   

Which brings me to the question:  What do you call your significant other?  Your spouse?  Your boyfriend?  Your girlfriend?  Your lover? 

I have to go now, because a voice from the kitchen just said, “Babe, dinner will be ready in 5!”

The prompt today was honey.   

When you’re gone, I’ll go mad. So don’t throw away this thing we had. Cuz when push comes to shove, I will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!

I’ve worked for a lot of restaurnts in my restaurant career. A LOT!

My best count if my memory serves me correctly, which is doubtful these days, is 24.

During those experiences, I worked for some amazing people. I also worked for some assholes.

Keith was an asshole.

Karen was an asshole.

Mike C. was an asshole.

Christine was an asshole.

Eddie was an asshole.

David was an asshole.

Mike S. was an asshole.

When I first started managing I decided that I would emulate the manager’s I’d had who were great. And do the opposite of the manager’s I’d had who were assholes.

I’ve already listed the managers who were assholes. The managers who were great.

Danny.

A different Karen.

Reggie.

Buddie.

Deborah.

Mary.

Follow the good ones. Deny the bad ones.

This week I posted a New Times Article about the chef at the world’s greatest restaurant. NOMA. He had defied all odds, and created something very special. The restaurant was amazing and set the gold standard.

However, the chef, Rene Redzepi, set the gold standard in EVIL. He not only verbally and emotionally abused his team. He physically abused them as well. He’d punch, slap, and hit his team with items, when he decided they had failed him in some way.

I’d love to say that I didn’t understand, but when you are getting experience in the world’s greatest restaurant you turn the other cheek.

Fuck, when you are getting experience in Maine’s best restaurants you turn the other cheek. Trust me I know. Been there done that.

One of the weirdest situations ever, was at Rafferty’s on Nicholasville Road in Lexington. The General Manager’s name was Karen and she was a beast. When you think of the hospitality industry you think of people who are hospitable. She was anything but.

The Saturday, before I quit without notice, around 6:30, she started to yell for all of the staff to meet her in the walk-in. Screaming at the top of her lungs. We all jammed into the small space. It was about 20 of us. Bartenders, servers, etc. There was no one on the floor at this point.

She began to tell us all the ways we were horrible at our jobs. This went on for a good 10 minutes before she told us that if we couldn’t go out there and do a better job then perhaps we should start looking for another job.

And out we went. I knew at the time it was a shit show, and I quit the following week.

Looking back, if I had to do it over, I’d have asked her if she as general manager wasn’t the problem if her entire staff was dropping the ball. The fish rots from the head back and she was the fish head.

In NYC, I had a manager who hated me for no reason. I requested time off to go on vacation. My request, was for the end of one schedule and the first day of the next schedule. She honored my request, but a week later scheduled me on the day I was traveling home.

I called and told the management team that I would not be there as I was traveling. When I showed up for work, for my next shift, she asked to see me, to tell me that I was going to be suspended without pay for missing my shift.

I said okay. The next day I met with the GM and dropped the word harassment about 17 times. By the time I was finished, I was not only not suspended, I was guaranteed quality shifts for the next month. PS. I got her transferred to a different restaurant but that’s another story.

When I worked in Kennebunkport (this deserves its own post) I reported an owner for inappropriate behavior and the next thing I knew I was being reprimanded in the corporate office for a whole host of things that weren’t true. When I documented my experience for HR, I was asked to change the facts so they wouldn’t get in trouble with the owner.

When I worked at David’s, I was once accused of being as bad at my job as the air traffic controllers who caused the plane crash in DC with the helicopter. My restaurant manager, walked out of the meeting, and I still am still amazed at how horribly I was treated. Fun fact, when I started working for him and employee of Adam’s told him I’d last a month as his reputation was known for being someone who was volatile and mean.

The truth is, there is still a belief that hospitality workers have no rights. They should tolerate the abuse. They should tolerate the hatred. They should tolerate the insanity. Because they aren’t as important as the owners, the chefs, the bosses.

I can’t say that I’m perfect. There are things that I’ve said that embarrassed me. BUT I have never verbally assaulted an employee. I’ve never treated my staff without respect.

In the meantime, the backlash at the chef at Noma shows how the times are changing. These horrible people are a dying breed. They have outlasted their usefulness. And hopefully will be a thing of the past very soon.

In the meantime. I ask myself what Mike, David, Karen and Christine would do. Then I do the opposite. Because I’d never want to be known as the asshole boss.

I was lost for you to find. And now I’m yours and you are mine

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve written before about working at Bennigan’s. It was my first “real” serving job. I started there in the fall of 1987 about three months after I moved to Atlanta. I lied to get the job, saying that I had experience. I don’t think anyone ever figured it out.

What I do remember is that the staff had all been there for a while and were pretty friendly with each other.

The story I’m going to tell is about Diane. She was older than me, probably in her late 20’s. About five minutes after I started she discovered she was pregnant. From the moment she knew she was pregnant she wore maternity clothes. Well, a baggy polo and she carried herself like she was 15 months pregnant.

The larger she got, the more she embraced it, as she realized it was good for the pocket book. She embraced the belly and would do anything she could to encourage people to ask her about being pregnant.

Eventually, she had the baby. I couldn’t tell you 40 years later if it was a boy or a girl. What I do know, is that when she came back to work after giving birth, she still looked pregnant. And she continued to look pregnant for another six months. Eventually, it became so ridiculous that the manager told her it was time to have the baby, once and for all and stop being pregnant.

So she did. And from that point on, a photo of her baby, was taped to her tips trays that she presented her checks on. I have no idea, how long this went on.

It has always made me laugh to remember her waddling around the dining room, up and down the stairs six months after she gave birth.

But a girls got to do, what a girls got to do.

Oh, the stories, I still have to do share.

Why, it’s almost like being in love!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!

I was not in a great space after the 2024 presidential election.

I was in a worse space after the inauguration on January 20th.

Like most of my friends we all coped in different ways. I turned to alcohol and reading.

I kid, I kid. I’d already turned to alcohol.

The one thing I did do, was not look at my phone before bed. I limit my social media access to the 30 or so minutes that Adam takes to shower before bed. Once I’m in bed, I’ve gone back to reading fiction. I’m almost to the end of my 6th book since then.

Not as impressive as my friends who read 6 novels in a month. But I only get about 30 minutes before bed each night. The books are as varied as you can imagine. Gay love stories. Award winning fiction. Best sellers. Historical fiction.

All of this leads me to last night.

I’m currently re-reading Wally Lamb’s She’s Come Undone. It’s a disturbing book on many levels but I’m enjoying it again after reading it 20 or so years ago.

Last night the main character Deloris, is taking an English class at a community college. They are given a writing prompt to write about a daily activity that brings them pleasure.

I read the sentence. And stopped and thought to myself, what daily activity brings me pleasure. In fact I didn’t go back to reading till I made a decision.

For me it’s doing the dishes.

It’s not that I enjoy it. What I do enjoy, is that it brings Adam joy.

When we are home together, Adam almost always makes dinner.

It’s a several hour project. He cuts and chops. He bakes desserts. He preps for other projects.

It usually starts with a cocktail, and I cue up NBC nightly news. Then Wheel of Fortune. Then Jeopardy. Then I move to my computer to write. He piddles in the kitchen enjoying the process.

He uses all the pots and pans. All the measuring cups. He uses all the cutting boards and knives.

Around 10:00 he’ll announce “Five minutes.”

This is my cue to set the coffee table with cloth napkins and silverware. I get the wine glasses. Open the wine and pour. We toast and then he plates dinner, on par with a Michelin starred restaurant. The garnishes, the plating, all spectacular.

Then we head to the living room, cue up whatever show we are watching and before either of us takes a bite we toast and say we love each other.

This is our ritual.

We finish eating, sometimes finish our show, before Adam falls asleep on the couch.

I quietly get up and head to the kitchen, to do the dishes.

It never takes long, even though sometimes it’s a mess.

I get everything into the dishwasher that can go in it. I handwash the rest. I scrub down the counters and clean the stove top.

30 minutes to an hour later, I’m sitting back on the couch with a cat in my lap, a night cap on the tables, and I get to watch what I want for an hour.

60 minutes later, I tap him on the leg and tell him it’s time for bed. He’ll stir and come down to myside of the couch and sleep on my shoulder for another 20 minutes or so.

Eventually he gets up.

He goes to the kitchen and always calls out “Thanks for cleaning up, babe.”

It always makes me smile.

After almost 17 years I never mind.

Last week I even cleaned up for a dinner party that he had with friends that I didn’t attend.

Washing dishes, is the one task I do that gives me pleasure, because it makes Adam happy.

People will say we’re in love.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I didn’t mean to drop off the face of the earth. This past week, I spent 6 days in the theater designing lighting and directing my friends in their drag king show. It was a wonderful way to spend the week.

This is my next to last gay pride month post.

It’s the story of how Adam and I came to be.

We met on a cold January day. He approached me while I was browsing at Barnes and Noble in Union Square in New York City. His friend Jon worked there, and he’d stopped in to say hello. It was January 5, 2009, and I just happened to be looking at journals in that section of the store. I turned and bumped into him, not realizing he was behind me.

I said excuse me, and went back to browsing. For some reason he decided my excuse me wasn’t enough. He wanted to know more, so he quietly asked what I was browsing for. I admitted that I didn’t know. I was actually just wasting time until the movie started at the theater down the street. The conversation lasted about 5 minutes and he asked if he could get my number. I laughed. He asked why I was laughing and I assured him that if I gave him my number, I’d never respond. He insisted. I finally gave him my number and he entered it into his phone. He told me he’d look forward to chatting with me, touched me on the arm and walked away.

I was moved by the entire exchange.

Funny the things you remember.

About 90 minutes later a guy named John, also asked me for my number. I told him the same thing I’d told Adam. I’ll give you my number, but I’m not looking for anything, and won’t respond. He said sure you will, entered my phone number into his phone and walked away.

They both texted a three days later. About four hours apart.

Adam texted and asked me to join him for brunch on Sunday.

John texted a photo of his penis. It was a very nice penis I must say, but penises in New York City are a dime a dozen. It was brunch that intrigued me.

I still don’t know why I said yes. I was adamant that I wasn’t looking for anything, and wanted no part of a relationship.

Adam and I texted back and forth for a couple of days and finally connected at 1:00 on Saturday afternoon. He called and we chatted. There was an ease that existed in our conversation, and the exchange flowed between us. We were winding down when he said I have something to tell you. Uh. Oh. He has a boyfriend. He’s moving next week. He’s a criminal.

Instead, he said, I need you to know that I’m HIV positive.

I wait.

What’s the news he’s going to break to me?

There is silence.

I ask him if there is more.

He says no, but I want you to know he was HIV positive before we go further.

I laughed. I seriously laughed. Out loud.

I thought it was going to be something bad. Like he’s wanted by the FBI. His father’s a gangster. His ex-boyfriend is crazy and is trying to kill him. That he has three kids from a marriage in his 20’s.

He asked why I was laughing.

I assured him that I didn’t care. I hadn’t care with the other guys I’d dated who were HIV positive. I certainly didn’t care with him.

He asked if I was sure?

I laughed again and assured him that as long as he’s not wanted by the FBI, I’d meet him for brunch.

We met the next day at 12:30 for Sunday brunch. We lived a few blocks from each other in Inwood, the northernmost part of Manhattan. I didn’t have to ride the subway or take a cab. I walked the 10 blocks to the restaurant, and of course I got the street wrong. He called to see if I was still coming and I told him I’d changed my mind. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when I said, I’m kidding, I’m just kidding! I’m just down the street. Sorry I’m late. I got the address wrong. Give me five.

He laughed and told me he liked a man with a sense of humor.

I entered the restaurant and he was seated in the middle of a bank of 2-tops. He stood to welcome me. We hug. I realize that he is taller than I remember. Much taller. I say, “Oh my, you are tall.”

We sit. I stare at the menu. We begin the awkward stages of a first date. Where are you from? Where do you live? Where do you work? What do you do for fun?

We order. I learn after we order that he doesn’t like eggs. Especially the yokes. I laugh again saying that brunch was a weird choice if you don’t like eggs.

The couple next to us, have realized that we are on a first date, and are listening closely.

Surprisingly the conversation flows. There aren’t gaps or pauses as we search for something to say. We wrap up brunch. He pays, and asks me back to his place.

We walk, in the cold, casually talking about our lives. I can see his breath, as we continue our conversation, shoulder to shoulder.

We get to his apartment, and it’s NICE. Very nice. Everything in its place. Big for someone who lives alone in NYC. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. What the fuck? He has two bathrooms? Can I move in now?

We got settled on the couch, him on the chaise, me at the other end. We talk. About our love of theater. Our love of food. Our love of NYC. Where we grew up. Our parents. Our siblings. We discover that we are both from the south. Me from Kentucky, him from Texas. We learn a lot about each other.

Eventually he takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom.

We lie on the bed. Still dressed.

Funny, the Adam, that I would grow to love, would never get into bed fully clothed. To even come near the bed, you need to be freshly showered, and clean, clean, clean.

We lie on top of the comforter and hold each other for a bit whispering to each other. Then I turn over and become the little spoon. He hugs me as we lie there breathing, feeling the closeness of each other. It doesn’t take long before we are both asleep.

I wake up. It’s dark. I am aware that I’m in a strange room. There is an arm draped over my chest.

I look at my watch.

It’s 7:00.

How the fuck did that happen?

I can feel him breathing. In. Out. Gentle sighs. The same sighs that would eventually lull me to sleep every night for 17 years.

I shift and he stirs. I realize he is awake now.

We lie there with him holding me. Finally, he asks if I’m hungry.

I confess that I’m starving. We get up. It’s been a wonderful afternoon and I am happy that it’s not over. We walk to Piper’s Kilt, the Irish pub up the street from his apartment. He loves their cheeseburgers. We hold gloved hands as we walk.

It’s the first time I’ve held hands with someone in public.

I realize that I don’t much care what people think.

We get seats, have two cheeseburgers and around 9:30 we pay the check.

We sit looking at each other knowing the day is coming to an end. We get up and go outside.

It’s much colder now. The wind is blowing and it’s starting to snow, just the tiniest bit. We stand on the street chatting. I tell him I have to get home, but that I hope that we can do this again.

He hugs me. I hug him back. We hold each other for a moment. He leans down and kisses me. I kiss him back. We hug one last time and I turn and walk away.

I take about 20 steps, stop and look back. He is standing on the street watching me. I wave. We look at each other for about 10 seconds and then we both turn.

I walked home in the snow.