I am so hooked on his blog WaiterRant that I have to read a few of his posts daily over the past week. He is in a phase or should I say evolving from a waiter into a writer. Mmm… that’s not right. He is a writer who waits on table to make ends meet. Er… should be half right. Enjoy his life experiences and his humorous remarks. No… he is not those spitting-into-your-soup type of waiter as far as I know. Been feeding off his blog during my lunch break for the past week. He has been my lunch buddy making me enjoy my polystyrene lunch takeouts and occasionally making me gag myself with muffled chuckles.
Ok… here is one of his post made in January 2007. It’s titled Porn Demon and I hope that the title will entice any of you, you-know-who, to read on to discover his story telling talent. It might not be his best but the title is well, engaging.
Tuesday, January 2nd, 2007
It’s a Thursday night and I’m having a martini at Cafe American. On my way over I walked past The Bistro. It was the first time I’d seen the place since I left. As I peeked though the restaurant’s front window a weird sensation churned in my gut. It was the same feeling I had driving past my boyhood home after my parents sold it and the new owners moved in. I could see the usual wait staff running food and chatting with customers. If anyone saw me they didn’t let on. The Bistro looked busy. It also looked like the dark side of the moon.
“So,” Arthur, the cafe’s bartender says, “You’re not working at the Bistro anymore.”
“How long did it take for that news to travel the waiter grapevine?” I ask.
“About thirty minutes.”
“No one’s surprised you left,” Arthur says. “They’re just surprised it took so long.”
“No one’s more surprised than me,” I reply, looking into my drink.
“You gotta admit,” Arthur says, “That place has blown through a lot of staff.”
“That’s true about a lot of places,” I reply.
A customer walks up to the bar and asks for a Manhattan. Arthur and I let our conversation hang in the air while he makes the drink. Its a pleasure to watch Arthur work. All his movements are precise and economical. Not a movement or drop is wasted. Arthur passes the cocktail across the bar, rings it up, and hands back the change. A few seconds later he palms his tip off the wooden countertop, grabs a towel, and walks back towards me.
“So whatcha doing now?” Arthur asks, toweling his hands dry.
“Oh,” I reply, “A little bit of this and that.”
“Working in a restaurant?”
“Not yet,” I reply. “But soon.”
“Want to work here?”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I reply. “I want some of my watering holes to remain sacrosanct.”
“I hear that brother.”
“How’s things with you?” I ask.
“Auditions, auditions, auditions,” Arthur replies, half smiling.
“Same old,” Arthur says. “How’s the writing thing going?”
“Harder than I expected,” I say. “But thank God for computers. I can’t imagine typing this all out on a typewriter.”
“Computers are great,” Arthur says. “Until they go wrong.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“My old computer was so infested with porn I had to throw it out,” Arthur says.
“No way,” I reply, taking a sip from my martini.
“I’m not kidding.”
“Couldn’t you reformat the hard drive?”
“My ex brother-in-law tried to fix it,” Arthur says, wiping down the bar with his towel. “He’s a computer geek and even he couldn’t do it.”
“What the hell were you looking at?” I ask.
“Nothing illegal,” the bartender says, suddenly defensive.