Month: September 2013

Missed an X

What did I do yesterday? I went for a walk in the park. Documented that a bit and sent a “come visit me video” to my brothers. We back and forthed a bit on how we miss each other. After that I grabbed a coffee and took the 3 express all the way to Chambers just because. It was down there, sitting in a little bistro chair outside, that I finished reading a lecture by Jorge Luis Borges called “The Divine Comedy” that I have been trying to read for the last week. Must finally read Donte. After I was done I texted around to no avail. My usual guy wakes up hours after me and by this time he was down to meet up at a usual spot of ours, Washington Square Park. On the way up I spotted Paul Rudd on the street. That was nice. I also got a chance to catch up with my mom on the phone. That was nice. When we met up we ate by NYU and the guy making my pizza sub was stopped midway through wrapping up my sandwich by the retarding beauty of a young girl in a business skirt enquiring about an open call there. I wanted to be annoyed by him holding on to my sandwhich to stare at her blankly, but I also really wanted her to find a job. After we ate we walked down to the Hudson and smoked. That was nice. We text around to see if anyone wanted to join us at the Triad later for our friend Larry’s third installment of his one man show “Confessions of a Plus sized Twink.” No one could make it so we figured we’d make it a date. We walked up to midtown, grabbed some Starbucks before we hopped on the uptown C at 42nd street and the train stopped at 50th street where the operator informed us that we would be held for five minutes. Much too long for us so we decided to get off and have some Mexicanish food in Hell’s Kitchen. We smoked again about 30 minutes before the show, bought some eye drops and gum at a convenience store just outside the Triad and hoped we wouldn’t see anyone we knew until after the show. Of course we did. Chad and Mike were sitting right in front of us and they wanted to sit right next to us. I think they too were paranoid about seeing anyone they knew, which we did all night. It was nice to have each other. Did I mention that there was a two drink minimum? And that my tolerance has a two drink max? So I got drunk on cheap Merlot and the show was funny, exciting and of course emotional. I did not cry though. I just put my head on my usual guy’s shoulder and tried to savor the moment. That was nice. What I did not do yesterday though, was write.

This is not

Just realized I hadn’t written anything yet. I’m finally alone. The laundrey is clean, folded and put away. The aptment is relatively clean. Mac’s litter box could be cleaned but whatever. I cried this morning in the shower for the first time in a few days. I’ve had a lot to distract me. The new job and the elation of telling people that my last day at the bar is on Saturday and that they should come but no pressure. That and the fact that I say in a most definite matter that I do not want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about anything serious. I just want to work my fucking ass off and make good money and take care of myself and be nice to people and sorry if I can’t be nice to you all of the time. Everything is just all over the place. And I want to talk about you too. I do. It’s just that you don’t feel like any of my business anymore.

Sometimes you want to go

20130914-143021.jpg

Been making the rounds informing customers that I’m moving on from our bar and will be working at a new one. The reactions are pretty text book. There is the obligatory albeit genuine “I’m sorry to see you go, but I’m happy for you.” There’s the “what NOOO I’m going to cry” which I truly appreciate but have a hard time reacting to in the moment. I usually have a nervous grin on my face and make hand to shoulder contact. And then there’s the “well we’ll have to exchange numbers or emails or something and hang out” which we all know is a social interaction that can range from perfectly appropriate and long over due to awkward and forced. But this is the first time I’ve left a job to move on to something else within the same city. Usually I fly the coup because I’m moving or the establishment itself has gone under (it happened once, it was pretty emotional). I’m a loyal employee if I do say so myself, so in this situation, leaving a bar where everybody knows your name, it’s nice to know that even though I’m moving on, I will have a home to come back to, to revisit, to catch up, to watch it grow and evolve anew from a different point of reference, to peek in on when there are newbies that make it their own, and maybe even one day to get totally drunk and embarrass myself and say things I kept to myself for two years behind the bar as I poured heavy drinks with a half smile and brick walls for eyes.

The preemptive strike

Been working ten to twelve hour shifts the last two days. I have already been told that today will be a harder and faster paced shift then the last two. That’s alright, I like it hard and fast. My trainer though is a machine and he’s been working there since the place opened. Yesterday I worked without him and his almighty set of keys that provide access to all the secret compartments that house everything the bar needs. I did my best and the bartenders seemed to think I did a good job but the whole time I knew that I was not meeting his standards. Today, which he has already dubbed “the real training day” we not only have to set up for a busier night but also have to snip and tie up all the lose strings I probably left behind last night. We have our work cut out for us and in a way that is more exciting than daunting. But I am so concerned with making sure this guy knows that I’ve been paying attention and that I want to work as hard as he does, that even though I’m already in for a full twelve hours today, I’m going to go in early anyway and get as much done as I possibly can before he gets there. What can I say, I’m in the mood to empress, or at least halfway meet expectations.

Ass off

Exhausted. I haven’t worked this hard since my days at the old cowboy bar. I totally hustled last night and didn’t work half as hard as the guy that trained me. My muscles feel it. And so does my brain apparently because I’m at a loss for what to write. I am acutely aware of my legs. I have to clean my apartment and I really don’t want to. But I will do it. I also should squeeze some exercise in before I head to my second day at work but than again that job is a workout in itself. Buckets of ice, cases upon cases of beer and liquor, bus tubs full of hard and heavy glassware. Stairs. I was sweating for hours yesterday. It’s good to be back.