Illusion a la carte
While there’s no denying that aging sucks, I am appreciative of the fact that my career is in the “winding down” phase and I’m no longer expected to put in the grueling hours that particular roles in management sometimes require. Undoubtedly, the physical toll of a plus forty hour week would be quite challenging for me at this stage. I feel ashamed admitting this because I’m aware that there are many less fortunate that are even older than me who are still having to grind it out. Sadly, for some, that may even be seven days a week. And they’re not even eligible for a staff meal!
I’m also aware of the lazy assholes that reap the fully paid benefits of being lazy assholes by mere protection of a trade union. Our immigrant ancestors would certainly be ashamed to see how their vain sacrifices have been manipulated by the very people whose future they were so rigorously protecting.They toiled for excruciatingly long hours in the most unimaginably deplorable conditions for the mere fraction of a liveable wage.
That was their struggle back in the day. It’s that struggle you should consider when you call in sick on a weekly basis and still get paid to go golfing with your pals instead. It was their blood, sweat and tears that is responsible for your paid “stress leave” to Jamaica. Yes, you know who you are. I can only speculate as to whether you know what you are.
I have put over 40 years into every conceivable aspect of the service industry and it’s that experience that makes me good at what I do. There is no retirement plan, there are no medical benefits, and there are no paid sick days. It is the service industry and you should certainly know this by now if you’re bold enough to consider yourself as a “professional”. I am professional and I’ll concede that I’ve made poor choices in the past..
I indirectly became a 17 year old high school drop-out as a result of having lost my virginity. There have been numerous studies on the residual effects that sexual activity can have on human behaviour. I can tell you that I was suddenly bursting with a newly discovered confidence shortly after literally bursting my seed into a willing participant’s vagina. It was with that brash confidence that I decided my Dad’s rules were bullshit.
Of course, my findings did not concur with the old man’s findings which were the basic foundation for his rules. The number one rule that he firmly established was based on the ancient “My house, my rules” argument. That logic has often been misconstrued by some of my own relatives who have claimed it to be a lost commandment of the holy bible. Apparently, for the Irish, it can be found just after “Thou shalt not drink from thine father’s ale”. I suppose only the Vatican or Elon Musk would have proof of this.
Regardless, the end result of refuting his rules dictated that I would be in need of a new roof over my head and the decision for me to leave home was made. Whose decision it actually was still remains unclear though because Dad is in the early stages of dementia and I’m in the late stages of denial.
Teenagers had yet to be approached by sly trade unionists at that time but, with the self entitlement of today’s youth, I wouldn’t be shocked to see it occur. Thematically speaking, it’s the very same “candy from a stranger” analogy but it’s intended for the older kids that can potentially work for them. These older kids just happen to be ripe for manipulation due to an unhealthy preoccupation with sex.
When you’re looking for employment at 17, it’s highly unlikely that you’re going to have any kind of employable experience. You baby sat and you cut your neighbour’s grass? Guess how that usually goes? Not good, although it probably does sound more promising to prospective employers than the actual truth of spending your formidable years drinking underage and smoking pot with your buddies.
Nepotism has certainly been known for providing an inexperienced friend or family member an opportunity towards legitimacy. It can also result in humiliation though as there is always a chance that the person that you’re recommending turns out to be a sap. Now, with your own legitimacy in question, It’s not a coincidence you’re no longer invited to the bridge games at the club.
I didn’t know anybody who happened to know somebody else that would be willing to give me a shot. I was going to have to convince somebody that they should give me a shot. I suppose I could tell you that I’m a very imaginative person but then, perhaps I’m just imagining myself to be. I had earned money in high school in the past by utilizing my imagination. I would write other people’s short stories and English essays at $5 a pop. Even back then I was aware of commerce. I was convincing enough to score a job in a restaurant for $4 an hour.
I was married only three years after that and so I might have been too preoccupied to actually consider the benefit and/or detriment of my chosen profession. I only knew that it wasn’t male prostitution and I was happy about that. It was many years later that I came to the realization that it actually is a basic form of prostitution, as are most of the jobs that we endure to make ends meet.
I had big plans for myself way back then and I knew the service industry was a mere stopover along the road to assured financial success. I actually laugh now at the multitudes of people that I have encountered in this business that have that very same naive outlook. Oh, the things I wish I could ask them during a job interview.
“How do you feel about getting high and drinking underage?”
“Have you ever been laid yet?”
“Do you like to do typical teenager stuff like stealing your parent’s car and using your older sibling’s I.D.?”
If it were up to me and they were to answer affirmatively to any or all of those queries, I would seriously consider employing them. I honour honesty and accountability above all else. At this stage in my life, I have very little tolerance for the bullshit that appears to be so readily accepted in our society. I think most 17 year olds who are adamant in their denial are either lying or exhibiting the traits of a potential serial killer. Teenagers have been known to display immature behaviour. That’s what grown-ups expect from teenagers. What I do find truly disturbing is the alarming amount of adults that still behave as teenagers.
Knowing people as they are requires remembering oneself as they used to be. The same principle applies when admiring those that you hope to be like and sighing in relief at the ones that you’re fortunate to not be like. We’re not bartering in a 12th century feudal society somewhere in Europe, where you’ll help erect a barn in exchange for some cheese and eggs. We ‘re hooking for money in 2025 North America! With this mindset, it becomes much easier if you have good pimps. I am grateful to have good pimps. This has definitely not always been the case.
Owners of bars and restaurants come in a variety of shapes and sizes. There’s different age groups, different sexualities, varying ethnicities,etc. There is an obvious vast difference that’s proportional to the human population. Some owners have evolved from former employee status to employer themselves. Others simply decide it on a whim. These are the ones that can be the most frustrating owners. Being the owner, they’ll often reject an experienced perspective if it goes against anything they’ve seen on the Food network or Youtube.
“That’s not what Gordon Ramsay says..”
I’m not even ashamed to admit that I would probably be driven to kicking that idiot directly in the scrotum. Do people not realize how phony this whole chef charade really is? Does it not make you wonder how these “chefs” seemed to remain so immaculately clean when a big part of their job requires working around flour, grease, and dead animals? There’s not a speck of dirt on their jackets. That’s because they’re not actually investing the effort required. This being due to the fact that they’re performing on T.V.
It’s part of an elaborate illusion that the restaurant is selling you. If you’re sold on the illusion then you’re going to pay accordingly. Even some of the cooks that have passed through Red’s Smokehouse could cook a steak to perfection, perhaps explaining probably why they were just passing through. Ol’ Nick, the owner of Red’s, is not going to waste his limited budget on
AAA choice cuts of meat and reasonable salaries. Why would he do that? He makes all of his money on the booze sales. He may not be respected as a restaurateur but, like any shrewd investor, he knows his market in the demographic scheme of things.
There are incredibly talented chefs that are out there. For every one of them there’s probably ten thousand more mediocre cooks with a “chef’s” degree. They are the veritable “con” to the “artist”. It’s just an unfortunate fact there’s only so many prestigious gigs out there to accommodate all of them. If you can’t be fiscally recognized for being one in real life then I suppose playing the part on television can fill that culinary void sufficiently.
One can easily obtain a chef’s degree. They’re readily available at any pseudo strip mall “college” along the local transit line. If you possess even the bare minimum literacy basics then you can pass yourself off as a licensed chef within 5 to 6 weeks. Roughly the same amount of time it’s going to take for an employer to see that you’re a fraud. Like anyone else that wants to be taken seriously in life, you gotta be able to walk it like you talk it.
I had a very good relationship with my last boss. He himself was a veteran of the trade and I suspect he saw a bit of himself in me. I imagine that I disappointed him when I left after the Covid lockdown to work for a rival restaurant. It was a smaller pub than his but I had already adopted it as my coven at the time anyhow. I had already become familiar with the owner and most of the staff so it seemed like a no-brainer to me. It was also much closer to my home.
I haven’t owned a car since I last owned a house. I suppose it’s no great irony that I also had a wife back then too, so naturally, the restaurant that is easiest to walk to is always given serious consideration. The money that I can expect is relatively the same. It provides enough to live and also comes with the assurance that I should not be realistically considering the purchase of an automobile anytime soon. My old boss was always kind enough to drive me in with him to work every morning. I suspect that was a ploy that he devised to prevent me from whining about not being able to afford a car in the first place. He was very clever like that.
Drinking at the bar after work has been my forte for many years. It was waaay more expensive to drink there than it was down the street. My boss would buy me a few beers and still I’d be going into the bank account overdraft. I had recently won a local culinary award for the region’s best soup and while it’s hardly a Pulitzer or the Nobel Peace prize, I was still proud. There is a downside to recognition sometimes and it becomes difficult to enjoy a drink when other barflies find out that you work there. Winning a random award for anything that’s not even remotely related to drinking was apparently regarded as an astounding achievement to some. The more curious of these folks would want to talk about cooking. Perhaps thinking that I may divulge some classified soup making information due to my inebriated state.
“Ohhh, I just love those cooking shows on the Food network.”
Christ! I used to think people who watched televised curling were boring. Trying to forget about cooking is one of the reasons I drink in the first place. I’m a barfly, dammit! Despite the reputation that may precede me, I’m still pragmatic in my intoxication.