KILLED IT (IN A GOOD WAY)

MANAGER: "You know *** isn't working tonight?"

ME: "Yeah, um, you make the schedule, but I'll be fine". 

Despite that slight hesitation, I seamlessly acted as a conduit between:

-4 Managers

-3 Servers

-5 Chefs

-4 Food Stations 

-2 Bussers

-1 Restaurant

-2 Bars

-70+ guests

-2 Floors

And no body cried, screamed or threatened to quit. To be honest, I was concerned. Ensuring quality and timely service to 70+ people isn't like climbing a mountain; and I don't want to let my head swell, but it's not easy keeping all these disparate elements together, especially when the majority of the guests arrive in limited time frame. 

Like when 50 people arrive within an hour of each other, ordering 4 courses (not including bread or drinks). Sure I have help. But besides the managers, my co-workers have their specific tasks. Taking orders, making drinks, prepping and/or cooking the actual food, busing tables, etc. I don't have to much of those things, but...hold the FUCKING GLUE together. 

While I was ducking for cover for a brief minute, this image popped into my brain: 

That is what I do. And also present the actual food to people, with lavish descriptions in hushed tones, careful to NEVER revel the back of my hand to plates I am laying ever so carefully down. OR letting anything fall out of place, lest the person paying $$$ for a 4oz piece of fish be let down. I actually take it to heart if a single piece of lentil falls astray. 

It's frustrating...but also really fucking rewarding. When things so right, as they did tonight, I mean...the money doesn't even matter that much (lies). What really does is just KICKING FUCKING ASS. And it's not that I am that smart, it's just that I have absorbed the knowledge other people have been generous to lend me, and me passing it on. 

Just an random example: this particular plate of scallops is accompanied by exactly 8 dots of japernero yogurt. This guy asked for more of it, "OK, no problem sir)". I knew it would be easy to ask chef for more...but how to properly present it? I ran around for 3 minutes, sweating, looking for the correct container, a tiny piece of ceramic I could blink and miss, buried in the kitchen that is four times bigger than my apartment, and found it. 

What I mean is, compared to the restaurants I used to work at, even if the money isn't too much different...I just GET OFF on being challenged. Sure, I might have a day or two when I just don't feel like working, but had I stayed busting out beer/burger joints, GOD - HOW FUCKING boring. 

PS - Best quote of the night = "Tonight's cheviche is..."

CHICAGO IS MY HOME

"Fuck it, I'm not leaving, I'll die here". - My Brother

Many years ago my older brother said that, and I must concur. Months ago I was high on mushrooms with one my dearest and best friends, sitting on the banks of the Ohio River, in Louisville (great place) when she told me I should move to another city, just to gain a different set of life experiences. And she's right, I should. 

There are several cities where I can see myself living: London is one in particular, so is Vancouver, and perhaps I'd be happy in Toronto (where I was born). Or perhaps (wild card) Mexico City. But certainly not LA, or New York City. I have tried both, and although I like both places for various reason...they can both go FUCK OFF. 

Chicago is like a vacuum. People all over from the Midwest, be it Iowa, Indiana, Michigan or even Ohio move here in there early 20"s, seeking the "Big City" life, get a taste and then fled for higher ground for reasons ranging from having kids or seeking better employment. To each there own. I could have done the same, and who knows, perhaps one day I will. 

But for now, with all the various uncertainties that is my life, there is one thing that I am 100% sure of, it's that, Chicago is my home, and GODDAMN if I'm leaving anytime soon. I've watched close friends, family and co-workers take off and then in hushed whispers, reveal that they didn't leave and in more importantly, desire to return. 

There is a reason why I have the flag inked on my arm. Because no matter where I go, or what I do, I will represent/defend/embellish where I am from. 

No matter where I go, I will come back here to die. 

THE POOR SERVING THE WEATHLY

Although my current job involves many of the same qualities as my previous jobs, in that it involves "putting on a 'service smile'", there are a myriad of subtle yet significant differences, both positive and not that I have embraced, or perhaps, become accustomed to. As a self-identified optimist (and closet realist) I have come to accept, if briefly thrive within the confines of my new captor(s). 

Here's the deal: I went from working in a neighborhood grill, which slung burgers to rich. young couples with little kids - the kind that are recently married/parents who have great jobs but maybe still yearn for their early 20's, but will probably move to the 'burbs soon so their kids can get a decent education (I can't blame them) to a very different sort of clientele.  

I work at a Four Star Hotel, or rather the Restaurant within it that serves these guests. I used to wear whatever I wanted to work, and now I must wear a suit and tie. 3 months ago I couldn't tie a tie and now I can do it without looking in the mirror. I still wear ratty clothes to work, but in the space of 10 minutes, I seamlessly transform into a person that doesn't have a hair out of place. 

Or that's the goal. I'm not bragging that I serve people whose name's I can't name, and the money isn't all that much different from slinging burgers and beers...it's just different, and it can be really fucking annoying for a variety of reasons. But the simple fact is this: whereas before I sweated away in a good, but typical neighborhood bar, one old with age, I now stroll down a street and see a Gleaming $300 million tower...

...and think: That's my OFFICE. 60-some stories tall. Of course I just work in the restaurant, or mostly in the kitchen (expatiating orders - i.e. YELLING AT THE COOKS TO MAKE SHIT) and ever, so, gently delivering food to the very wealthy people who can afford this product. It's a ongoing learning process, and I make mistakes daily, but when I get it right...it feels so GOOD.   

OTHER PERKS:

-Health Insurance! 

-Paid Time Off!

-My uniform is dry-cleaned and pressed!

-I don't have to change/lift kegs!

-The latest I have to work is 11PM (instead of 3AM)!

-At least 75% of my co-workers are "family"!

That all being said, it's not all chocolate covered roses. The cooks can be dicks, and wearing a suit in a hot kitchen is less than comfortable. And I need to watch my fucking mouth. But so far the benefits outweigh the opposite of that. And instead of getting drunk at work after the doors are closed...I just go...home. It's both more complicated but far simpler. 

PS - I know this blog has been static for awhile, but won't be going forwards. Please keep in touch/reading!

ANATOMY OF A BAR BACK

This is from last year - something I produced from a fit of mild rage and lack of sleep. If you can't tell, I am awful at drawing, but if memory serves, this was the result of a particularly rough night at work. OR rather the afternoon after when I crawled out of bed towards my desk. 

You certainly don't need to a "genius" to be a Bar Back - I mean, let's face it, the vast majority of occupations are learned from observing others more experienced, learning from your own mistakes and just dumb fucking luck. That's how I learned to become a Bar Back. And goddamn good one at that, if I may say so. Certainly there are those better than I, but I was lucky to learn from very qualified people.

And learn I did. My body...not...so...much. Muscles were enlarged from lifting heavy shit, and broken down from fatigue. Four times I was sidelined because I threw my back out. My knees, while never good to begin with (I had a weird birth defect, really) bother me constantly. Thank God my left foot healed after I dropped a 150lb keg on it, making a rare clean break. 

There are scars on my arms, hands and legs from being burned. I used to work for 6, 7, even 8 hours without taking a piss, while drinking all the water I could consume so as not to collapse. Enduring long, late nights while eating shit from drunk customers and entitled Bartenders, to micro-managing managers and having my clothes (especially shoes) literally destroyed.  

All this is to say: I DO NOT MISS BEING A BAR BACK. Which leads me to my next post...

TICKS/HABITS/O.C.D.?

I carry my backpack everywhere; since my primary modes of transportation are the bus, my bike or simply my feet I need a place to store shit - especially since I loathe having shit in pockets. But I also am waging a one man war against plastic bags. Rather than but a sixer of beer in something that would be used once and last FOREVER, I kindly inform the clerk that "no thanks, I've got my bag". 

This is a round about way of how I started thinking about the things we program ourselves to do. Case in point, tonight I picked up a 6 of my beloved PBR (hate away, it's my jam!) from the local 7-11, the clerk, whom I have bought things from hundreds of times, and knows I don't use plastic bags (yet asks anyways) ringed me up and reached for a plastic bag, not once but three times merely out of habit. 

We laughed and he apologized. But then he mentioned how even when isn't wearing his glasses, he will try to adjust them. That lead to a conversation about how my glasses are always sliding down my face, and I unintentionally use my middle finger to push them up, accidentally people to fuck themselves. More than once I have apologized to complete strangers for this minor transgression, lest I get beat, or worse. 

This lead to a transition about contact lenses; when I used to wear those fucking awful things, they would always dry my eyes out or worse, slip off my retinas, which would cause me to do this winking thing. Years went by until someone asked me why I was constantly winking at people - as if it was "funny" part of my physical repertoire. It certainly was not. 

Then on the walk home tonight I was thinking of the other weird ticks or habits I have. Like, when I'm in a crowd or on a packed train/bus, I constantly check to see if my wallet is still there. Do people think I am constantly grabbing my ass - or worse, like it's some sort of "signal" that I want to touch someone else's ass? That would be both amusing and terrible. 

Here are a few others:

-I'll piss in my bathroom at home without the light on, and when I'm finished, I'll attempt to turn off the light switch. 

-Since I usually drink beer out of cans, and you can tell which one is mine because the tab in the vertical position. 

-Even if my hands are free at work I always open the swinging door to/from the kitchen with my foot in one fluid kick and hold it open for people behind me with my heel. 

-Although I am right handed, I only hold my phone with my left hand; and (T.M..I alert!) jerk off with "the stranger".

-When I am wearing a baseball cap, I have a habit of pulling said cap up high, then low and then settle it somewhere in the middle. 

There must certainly be dozens if not hundreds of other ticks/habits/procedures I am not aware of. Perhaps I have a slight touch of obsessive compulsion, but I'll chalk it up to being a creature of habit. But it's not unintentional. I tend to carefully consider an action, and once it satisfies the area in my brain, that qualifies the result, I tend to stick to it. Maybe that's why I am good at repetitive tasks.  

HE'S (ALMOST) GONE

On my way to work today I received a text from my EX. We have been on decent terms, and it's been months since my relationship scars have had time to heal. The fact that he is moving away isn't new news, and I have had time to think or consider the implications. 

I am beyond happy for his opportunity. And it's not as if we would would ever get back together. 

And I'm happy...for him. 

But it's bittersweet for ME. I'll say it as plain as I can, it's another person I was or am close with that is moving away. And it makes me sad. Not depressed, but...

...CHICAGO just seems to be a weighing station for people. A friendly, yet diverse city for those that need to get the fuck out of wherever, almost a stepping stone. Not to be an "old salt", but I have seen it so many times. An there's nothing wrong with moving on. 

But I am a ROCK here. Quiet. Unassuming. Is it condescending to think I don't need to a take a similar journey from small town to big city? Or perhaps I have. 

Last night, someone, drunk, peeked at the tattoo of the Chicago flag on my left arm, and grudgingly accepted it. I almost hit this person on his drunk face. But I didn't. Because these days I feel calm. Boring, yes, but have no need to live the "high life". 

All I want is to live with dignity, patience, and maybe a measure of sobriety. 

PS - Bulgarian Beer is the TITS. 

LIGHTS

Recently I was contacted by a representative of http://www.thelashop.com/ to review one of their photography products. Vanessa graciously offered to send me lights that are to be used for taking portraits. Most of my photographic pursuits involve architecture, cemeteries or whatever is around me when I am waiting for the bus or the train. 

However, last summer I developed a sincere interest in the art of portraiture; therefore it is with sincere gratitude that this opportunity has been brought to my attention. It might take a few days for me to figure out exactly the best way to use these lights (and some subtle arm twisting from friends willing to pose) but I am super excited to practice this new craft. 

In the meantime, Vanessa has kindly asked me to extend an offer to anyone that might be reading this, in the form of a 10% discount on any of their products. Along with photography related items, they stock a wide array of things that may interest you (I have my eye on the tattoo kit). Check out their website and let me know how my new art direction turns out. 

Thanks,

Justin

P.S. I forgot to mention that in order to receive the 10% discount, you must enter the code "BLOGGERS".

QUIET AND SATISFIED

2 weeks into my new job, and I'm feeling good. Although I have much to learn, I have gotten the hang of it fairly quick. It's totally different from my last job, in that I don't have to:

1: Change kegs (thank God)

2: Do dishes

3: Stock bottles

4: Work until 3 or 4am

5: Deal with a self controlling bitch boss that would watch my every move via security camera

Instead, I hang out in the kitchen and observe highly qualified chefs, and serve food to people that make more $ in a month than I would in a year, if not more. And I  got the tying the tie thing down, so much so that I tie other people's ties. 

It's not perfect; but I feel like I have elevated my job game. The first few shifts my voice was weak, in that I had to call out orders to people way more qualified than myself, but I found it (my FUCK YOU voice) and have successfully coordinated...

1: The Main Kitchen

2: In Room Dining

3: The Pastry Chef

4: The Raw Bar 

5: Shit Else

It hasn't been easy, and the money could turn out to be shit (doubtful), but so far it's been a trip, a GOOD one. It's been awhile since I've been this excited about work, and apparently it shows, in that my boss(s) trusts me to work alone, with little to no supervision. 

And when I'm done, I simply go home, avoiding bars and the temptation of stupid boys and the bars they frequent. Thus, my life as of now is quiet, simple and efficient. It's been awhile since I felt this way, but now that I do, it's the SHIT.  

  

I HAVE ANOTHER NEW JOB!

Tonight and tomorrow I will be working that rooftop gig, but that's it. I landed the MOTHER LOAD of a new job; not only will I'll be working in the best hotel in the city...but in the entire United States. And it's union gig. I can already hear the click of the register. How this happened is beyond me. Dumb luck I guess. 

On Tuesday I thought I was meeting with the GM of the restaurant, moments before I walked into this person's office, I was informed that it was the GM, of the entire hotel/operation. Somehow I kept it cool and didn't shit my pants. This gentleman was exactly that. Couldn't be nicer. 

So if you can't tell, I am REALLY excited. I have a lot to learn, and I'm sure I'll fuck up, but the challenge has engaged my brain. For the first time in 4+ years, I will enjoy medical insurance, HUGE deal. Not only that, I'll be a union employee, so yeah, pretty much got hooked up. 

Even though I'll be a glorified "busser" I'll be probably be the best paid and provided for in the entire city of Chicago. If it sounds like I am bragging, well, fuck it, I am. I earned this opportunity, and I got it without anyone referring me, or doing me a favor. Therefore, I am very proud.   

I have to rock the rooftop at the other hotel tonight and tomorrow, and then poof! I am gone. 

Yesterday I was heading to the Loop area to see a movie with the EX when I got a text from a former co-worker, who currently tends bar at this swanky boutique hotel downtown. I actually interviewed there a few weeks ago but never heard back, so I figured it was a dead lead. 

Nope. 

He asked me to meet his boss last night, and after an interview that lasted no more than 5 minutes, he hired me...albeit on a trial basis. This is one of those trendy bars that are on the rooftop of a hotel, 16 floors up and overlooking the lake. It's beautiful. 

And...they don't serve draft beer! Which means no changing 150lb kegs. Whew. I am so fucking done with that shit. Plus, I am always wanted to work in a hotel for some reason. It's small, but super upscale (rooms go for $450+ a night) yet also casual. Almost a perfect balance. 

It could very easily not work out, but I am really excited, and surprisingly not nervous. Wish me luck!