life

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

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

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?

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

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.  

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

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

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.