The Restaurant

So what's it really like? Well, generally most of my co-workers are, shall we say, not in their natural state of mind due to any number of substances. Yes, that's right, the people that cook your food at your favorite restaurant are likely blazed while preparing your meal. Amazing, yes? Customers are generally alright and find my accent quite endearing. I had no idea I had anything other than an American accent, but apparently time overseas has given me a quote, "European flavor". Yes, that is what I was told today. Oh, thank you. Also, I was told that I was "quite delightful". That phrase made me want to put on an Irish accent and say "Well, thank you, lass! Here's a Keebler cookie!". For real. Delightful? Whatever. As long as you leave me a 20% tip or better, I'll say as many things that you think are "European" as you like. Restaurants are deceiving because as we learned today, even an upscale wine bar can absolutely, miserably fail their health inspection. And in case you had any doubts, everyone in the restaurant industry smokes. Everyone. That is all there is to it. And the cooks don't have a problem grabbing food with their fingers and the servers generally gossip behind everyone and anyone's back. Yes, we laugh at you when you order a well-done steak or a crappy wine. And yes, we do plenty of imitations of you back in the kitchen. So that is what working in my restaurant is like.

The lovely thing about working in a restaurant is that you can be whoever you want. You can tell customers about selective parts of your life, your co-workers only know the person that you are on the job...it is a great job for privacy, as strange as that sounds. You only have to let on what you want to. And you get plenty of time for private smoke breaks in back alleys and dark hours closing down the restaurant to do lots of thinking. Which is good, because things tend to seem simpler when I'm putting chairs on top of tables or leaned up against a brick wall behind the restaurant.

It gives me time to miss things, which I do. It gives me time to realize that not only do I miss the good things but that I miss the bad things as well. I miss that which was messed up, I miss those things that were difficult, I miss having to figure it all out. In many ways, I've moved on well, without the heartbreak that hits most people. But in some ways, I've realized I'm always going to be a bit stuck. I've realized that I left pieces of myself along the way, I've given pieces of myself to people and places and things and I can't go and get those pieces back now. I just have to learn how to live without them and learn how to live with the fact that generally what I've given doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. It was all familiar, the good and the bad. I knew the rules to those games. And now? Now I'm not so sure what the rules are.

But hey, I'm sure I'll figure it out over free Spanish tapas and wine at the restaurant. Eventually.