Working at the country club taught me a lot. Never, ever, work for a person you would hate to wait on as a server. And if they have multiple children who like to put their nose into everything, even worse. And if they've had a General Manager who would fit right in to the Sopranos way of life, even more so.
This was a country club that was founded in 1925, basically a converted cow pasture. Some well-known golfsman was hired to improve it in the early 30's and it became a popular location. It even hosted the Western Open a few years, where a man named Walter Hagen made his name. After the Depression, with no tournaments to host, it fell into disrepair. Fast forward 4 decades, and an entrepreneur with a few dollars in his pocket saw an opportunity. It was a large barn and an over-grown course waiting for some lovin'.
The big, fat owner (we'll call him Bb, for Beelzebub), decided there should be more than one expensive country club in Metro Detroit. He bought adjoining land for an additional 18 holes, expanded the barn to include a banquet hall, Men's Grill, and fancy locker rooms, and ran with it. One of his off-spring went to school for construction, one for foreign relations, and the other just ran all the heavy equipment. The two younger didn't show any proclivity for country club running, so one played college and some pro hockey, and the youngest tried her luck at golf, to no good result.
Meanwhile, I was running the Men's Grill as the smooth-running, money making machine it always was. Only, I added a cigar case, special dinners, and high-end Scotches to the mix, all to universal praise. My only problem was a slacker server that I inherited. The GM's son. Truly an abysmal server, liked only by those kissing the GM's pucker. I made the mistake of taking him off of my Men's Grill Schedule and putting him on the Mixed Grill Schedule. The resultant ass-reaming I received could be heard for miles. And was the beginning of the end. For 'slacker' was being groomed for the GM-ship. Stupid me, I thought that I might have a chance, since I ran a large portion of the club. The ladies started visiting the patio area we had, before they would have been ignored. I made my 'guys' go to the patio and serve them. Why should the girls in the Mixed Grill get all the business?
Soon, the patio outside the Men's Grill became the hot spot for all the wives (It was right next to the 18th green). We made all the fru-fru drinks that they wanted. Better for me to get the grat than those dip-sticks in the Mixed Grill. Well, that didn't go over well either. No one wanted to work in the Mixed Grill because the women were all coming down to the Men's Grill for service and great food. Not my problem.
When I got in trouble for getting the GM's son out of the Men's Grill, I kinda realized that I had reached a plateau there that would never rise. And at the time, I was a hungry guy. I wanted to rule the world, not just the Men's Grill. I had waited on sports stars and celebrities, and I was hungry for more. It just wasn't going to happen here. My last name did not end in a vowel, so I would not move up any further than Men's Grill Manager. Now I knew why my predecessor left after many years. At the time, I couldn't imagine why he would leave this 'cush' job. Yeah, it's 'cush' if you can stand being sub-servient for the rest of your life.
There was an ad in the paper for a high-falutin' concept arriving in the metro Detroit area. Capital Grill was arriving to the high-money, high-falutin', up-scale area known as the Somerset Collection in Troy, Michigan. The ad emphasized upward-growth and opportunity. It was a shining beacon to someone with no up-ward mobility.
And so I applied. And I was hired. And that's the next chapter in the saga.
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