tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42500813910564888892024-03-14T02:37:22.006-05:00beentheredonethatNothing coherent, just ramblings about a life lived all over the damn place.Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-42375935400061921502017-01-08T18:28:00.000-06:002017-01-08T18:28:33.928-06:00Anyone still there?I got a little nostalgic while trying to find a recipe that I posted years ago. I started reading some old posts and started thinking. I stopped writing because I didn't think I had anything left to write about. Maybe after all these years, I might have some new material. Just thinking....Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-80391345797077100032012-04-20T19:28:00.002-05:002012-04-20T19:28:14.740-05:00When Did This Happen?You know it's been a long time between posts when Blogger has completely changed the page you go to to post new posts. Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-82586891329958472652012-01-18T18:38:00.002-06:002012-01-18T18:42:06.132-06:00Class CustomersToday, I helped a customer who had on one of those rubbery bracelets like Lance Armstrong's. Only it was purple. And it said "I like boobies". Now, I know it probably had something to do with Breast Cancer Awareness and all. But, really? "I like boobies"?Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-69389990005813025362012-01-06T21:22:00.003-06:002012-01-06T22:12:40.516-06:00Oh, The Places I've BeenAs I look back on the places I've lived, I often wonder which ones I should have stayed in. Since I've lived in so many, and since I killed so many brain cells from the ages of 18 - 21, I'll concentrate on those places from my 21st year to the present.<br /><br />*Three weeks after turning 21, I went into the U.S. Air Force. 6 lovely weeks in San Antonio, Texas. Unfortunately, I only got to see San Antonio for a few short, sweet hours when we were given a town pass in our 6th week. A buddy and I went downtown, looked at the Alamo, and then went to the Tower of the Americas. After eating military chow for 5 weeks, we wanted steaks. We figured the rotating restaurant on top should have good ones. We splurged and we enjoyed it. Though not enough time to truly investigate the advantages of San Antonio, I might return someday to look deeper. But with a nice glass of red wine to go with the steak this time.<br /><br />*After Basic Training, next was electronic training at Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi. Six months and I loved it. Experienced my first hurricane, Elena. My first Gulf seafood. One of my favorite restaurants, Mary Mahoney's. Came really close to moving there after leaving Macaroni Grill. Only problem was, two days before my interview at a casino restaurant, Hurricane Katrina happened. Plan B.<br /><br />*From electronic training, my next post was in Germany. And I had the perfect job. Travel all over Europe to install all the new electronics being installed. Travels included all of Germany, Turkey, Sicily, England for Uncle Sam. On my own visited Paris, Denmark, Amsterdam, and more. I could live in all (except Turkey...remembering the Turkey Trots is not fun) if not for how expensive they all are now. In the early 80's, the dollar was King, now not so much.<br /><br />*Coming back from Germany, I went back to Biloxi. Not how I remembered it. Moved to Michigan after discharge (Honorable, of course).<br /><br />*I lived in Michigan for 16 years. The longest I've ever lived in one place EVER. I made good friends, enjoyed life, and planned on staying there for a good long time. Then came the offer to move for my career with Macaroni Grill. Maybe get the chance to be a GM at a new store on the Gulf Coast. I loved the Gulf Coast from my Air Force days. Great weather, great beaches, no snow, good money, no snow, close to my Dad, no snow. <br /><br />*Sent to South Florida after a detour through Long Island (Ugh!), Massachusetts (SNOW), Chattanooga (just OK), South Florida (assholes).<br /><br />*Moved to Pensacola on my own. Lucked into a job I like and excell in. Don't know if this is forever, but I do know I'd have to find the perfect opportunity to make me move. Today was January 6th and it was sunny and 70 degrees. I live in a cute little house 2 blocks from the water. I'm 1.37 miles to work and 2.4 to my dad's. It's not perfect, but what is?<br /><br />I've moved many times seeking the perfect place. I don't think the perfect place exists. But that doesn't mean I won't keep that option open.Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-13977874858139845012011-11-19T21:31:00.004-06:002011-11-19T22:28:18.633-06:00Pessimism Breeds PessimismYou know, I'm just flabbergasted sometimes. I try to be a glass-half-full type of person most of the time. When I get a smidgen of good news, I run with it. I want to see the best of a situation. And I'm encouraged with the way things are going. Yet, there are many out there who want, and are rewarded for bad news on the economy.<br /><br />I try to stay away from the political here. But, come on. Things are looking better now than they were when Bush left office, but for the whole deficit thing. Getting out of Iraq and Afghanistan will show tangible benefits to the bottom line. <br /><br />If only the political nay-sayers would cut back on the rhetoric. All that negativity has an effect on what people think, and say, and spend.<br /><br />Two to three years ago, with the economy in rapid free-fall, there were quite a few restaurants that went out of business here. I chalked it up to weeding-out of the ones who were hanging on by a thread when things were good. People who shouldn't be running a restaurant anyway. And I think I'm still right. Then, there was a respite since then where things quieted down and restaurants clung on.<br /><br />Within the last couple of months, there's been a new rash of closings. And I blame it on the pessimists who continually tell their constituents how bad their country is doing. I see our country slowly, but certainly climbing out of our malaise. Yes, the deficit is alarming. But, I've also had an alarming credit deficit and reversed it. Our country can do it too. And people will start eating out more and spending money again like we have before.<br /><br />This last group of restaurants that went out of business were anachronisms. One was a local bar-b-que place where the owner died and the family just didn't have the heart to continue. Another was a fine dining start-up that had inter-family warfare to blame. Another was so mis-run that they had 4 General Managers in a 2 year period. Again, businesses with no business being in the restaurant business.<br /><br />As it was before, those restaurants that have right management, the right menu, and the right price-point are doing fabulously. Those lacking one of those items are hanging in there. The rest will be flotsam.<br /><br />But, don't blame the economy. People will always eat out. Just give them a reason to.Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-15600917013506485232011-11-12T21:45:00.002-06:002011-11-12T22:05:09.628-06:00Frickin' Dum BassesWhy is it that a restaurant can order 1 case of glasses every 3 months for 3 years, and then all of a sudden want 5 cases by the week-end? What's that saying again, "Piss poor planning on your part....". But, it's all my fault for not anticipating your needs.<br /><br />Or a restaurant that hasn't ordered a particular plate in 18 months gets pissed when you don't have 2 cases in stock?<br /><br />Sorry, let me pull that out of my a__ for you so that <em>I won't get in trouble for your lack of planning.</em><br /><em></em><br />I'm also sorry that I don't have that 12 quart stock pot in stock since 3 restaurants decided to open at the same time. I'm also sorry that I don't have it because my boss (the owner's son) won't let me order more than once a month. It's not his money, it's his daddy's. And Daddy gets mad when <em>I</em> run out of things. <br /><br />So, I think from now on, I will not ask for approval when ordering. I'll just ask for forgiveness when spending daddy's money.<br /><em></em><br /><em></em>Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-70388540233084126902011-10-14T21:47:00.005-05:002011-10-14T22:15:08.940-05:00Frozen Yogurt and Cupcake OverloadWe seem to be having an extraordinary run on a couple of concepts lately. Frozen yogurt and bakeries seem to be the next big thing. And why, I have no idea. Bakeries, I can understand a little bit. You can expand on that by selling to restaurants things like rolls and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">artisanal</span> breads. But frozen yogurt? It's like someone thinks, "Hey, I can't cook, but I want to open a restaurant!". "How can I do that?". "I know, frozen yogurt!". And to make it even worse, most are of the variety where the customer serves themselves and the result is weighed for the final price. So, the owners don't even have to be creative. It's like a restaurant where you choose the ingredients for your dinner and hope it comes out well. I don't think it will work. I see failures.<br /><br />I see old ladies shrieking, "Take off 3 pieces of pineapple to get me under $2.00!"<br /><br />Bakeries are also on the rise. A couple years ago, one of the last bakeries in town closed down. It was located downtown on a pricey street, so that probably had something to do with it. Rents down there can be prohibitive for the limited hours a bakery is open. Now, within the last 1-1/2 years, three have opened, with more on the way. Is there a national cupcake shortage or what? Once again, I blame Food Network. These damn shows make semi-talented home bakers think that they can make a fortune turning out red velvet cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies. Store-front bakeries like that will not survive in my opinion. Too much cost, not enough pay-out. Most should stick to catering and special orders. Store-front places have too much up-front cost to support cookies and cupcake sales. Unless you have something REALLY special.<br /><br />And REALLY special has been outlawed in 49 states so far.Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-22994703119950315102011-10-07T20:25:00.003-05:002011-10-07T22:22:23.905-05:00Dinner at "Buddy's"It was a dark, blustery night (All apologies to Snoopy). Anyways, Tropical Wave Lee was moving ashore as we chose to spend my aunt's birthday at 'Buddy's'. As befalls the Good Nephew, I picked up my aunt and then went to pick up the parents. As we pulled up outfront, I observed that this place doesn't really show all that well from the road, doesn't grab the attention. Non-descript building with small lit-up letters over the door. In an area not known for restaurants, you have to make your presence known. Being ever gentlemanly, I dropped off everyone at the front door, and made my way to a parking space. It wasn't difficult, there were only about five cars in the lot. At 6 o'clock on a Saturday. Mmmmm. Good thing I made a reservation. Oh, wait, they don't take reservations, only call- aheads. At least that's what the person answering the phone thinks. She's not sure, even thought they've been open two weeks.<br /><br />Once inside from the storm, I'm impressed by the decor. It looks surprisingly professional and well done. Tall booths rim the walls with a nice muted color scheme that is far from the schlocky Jersey-Italiano scheme I was envisioning, given the proprietors. We were shown to a nice booth and given menus...thick paper menus because they were too cheap to buy menu covers. One menu was skewed sideways so we could tell they were just copied on a copier. These people spent thousands on nice booth seats and nice tables, and gave us copier menus. I'm sorry, but when you charge what they charge for pizza, pinching those pennys makes one pause. I guess I probably obsessed over this because we had a good 10 minutes to peruse this menu before our waitress came to get a drink order. Drink, meaning soda pop or tea. No beer (pizza's proper partner), wine, or liquor.<br /><br />So, sweet tea it is! And we get it in about, oh, five minutes or so. Now, I'm all about giving new places a break when it comes to service, because I've been there. But, when there's four tables and two servers, my patience wears thin. Which means that we had PLENTY of time to peruse the menu. Pizza, calzones, and strombolis. Maybe we should have asked for more time to look over the menu. (That's sarcasm, don't you know)<br /><br />The advertisement online says to mention the ad to get a free order of their famous garlic knots. So I did. Mmmmm, garlic knots! I had a small lunch, because I knew we would be eating big Italian food for dinner. Those garlic knots would certainly hit the spot! They also listed Caesar salads for $5.95. Mmmmm, Caesar salad and garlic knots! That should slake the hunger I was feeling. That was a large sum for Caesar salad, but surely for $5.95, I should have some left over to take home along with left over pizza.<br /><br />So, my plan was thus. Expensive Caesar salad with free garlic knots for appetizer. Then, they had White Pizza on the menu. I haven't had White Pizza since I spent a year on Long Island. I freakin' love White Pizza, at least the White Pizza I had on Long Island. My hopes were high since the "chef" told me at my store that he makes the best pizza around. And since he 'tawks like dis', I thought he was for real.<br /><br />And, my salad comes out pretty quick. Not bad, I think. Finally, their timing is starting to come around. And then I investigate further. For $5.95, I expect more than this meager little mound of romaine. And then I fork a mouthful. Never had I experienced a more worked-over salad...ever. A small handful of romaine with 1/2 teaspoon of dressing worked until every square millimeter was covered. Good job covering the lettuce, but it was worked so much, it was actually dry. A couple of dry croutons on top only added to the dryness. No parm on top and none offered. Or fresh-ground pepper offered. Bobby Flay pricing with McDonalds execution. And where were those damn garlic knots? We were hungry, I'd passed up lunch expecting a big Italian meal and all. I set aside the salad until I could wave down the waitress for some dressing on the side. *crickets* Five minutes later she ventured near enough where I could wave her down. She brought the dressing quick enough, but where were the garlic knots? Soon, she said, the kitchen was a little behind. With four tables, the kitchen was behind?<br /><br />Luckily, my aunt has the gift of gab to keep us pre-occupied. But, not enough for us to realize that our pizzas were taking a long, long time. As in, an hour's time. My parent's pizza and my aunt's stromboli arrived exactly an hour after we gave our order. Still waiting on our garlic knots and my White Pizza. Five minutes later my White Pizza arrived via the "Chef", aka JS. "So sorry to take so long, we accidentally made a large instead of a small for you". Yeah, that's what must have taken an hour. Five minutes later, the garlic knots arrived, our "appetizer".<br /><br />Worst. White. Pizza. Ever. Oily crust, a few dabs of "white". Chewy, obviously not fresh dough. My aunt's stromboli had little stuffing. My parents pizza was actually all right, it was their "house special" with everything. I had to have a piece since I was hungrily waiting for mine.<br /><br />Why, oh why I didn't say anything, I don't know. Maybe, it's because they were so rude on their visits to our store. Maybe because they didn't recognize me even though I helped them many times to get their smallwares just right at the right price. Hours by my side asking "How much is that?", "Is that your best price?", "Where's my china?", and they didn't recognize me standing in front of them?<br /><br />I made a point to go up to the owners after the dinner and wish them well, and got that far-away look of no recognition. JS, the "chef", thought I was their Sysco rep and wanted to give me their order. SP (She-Pants) asked our server who I was, that I looked familiar. I'm only the person that makes sure your orders and deliveries make it to you on time. In other words, one of the little people that you depend upon to make you a success. And I'll do my best, but I will not go out of my way to do that. Since going beyond is not in your vocabulary.Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-88751459562188162232011-09-13T20:10:00.002-05:002011-09-13T21:20:53.692-05:00Buddy's, Part 2Okay, here comes She-Pants (SP, and why she's named that, you'll just have to take a wild-assed guess).<br /><br />So, in she waltzes with Whipped-Down Husband (WDH), who we've dealt with before, and he's a really nice guy. He's 5 steps in and she's already half-way across the floor, zipping in and out of the rows. I head in his direction and give the usual greeting. WDH says that I should help his wife, SP, so I go zipping after her. Well, she's going 50 MPH looking for things, and I tell her, "Let me find what you need, that will help us go faster." She seems to agree to that and tells me they want to open in two days, and goes dashing off in the direction of the ramekins, me following behind.<br /><br />WTF! They've been working on the building for a year and come in here two days before opening for last minute stuff they can't get from the internet. Well, they can get it from the internet, but then they'd have to pay shipping. And she can't brow-beat a web-site into lower prices. My dear, you ain't in New York right now. You'se in Pensacola, Florida, otherwise known as LA (Lower Alabama). You can't get it faster by by being rude, just the opposite.<br /><br />Years of waiting tables and Managing have given me patience beyond measure. However, going down the aisles and picking up items and going, "How much is this, Babe?" every 30 seconds is not the way to a better deal. I told her when she came in that she would get the best deal I could give. Generally, a new restaurant that opens puts together a smallwares package that is a large purchase, so we give extra discounts than normal. That will put us in good standing with a start-up, with the understanding that from there on, they will get the standard percentage-off discount off of the retail price. Start-up packages generally get "net-plus" pricing, meaning a percentage added to our cost, which is a great deal as opposed to the standard 25% off of retail. So, when SP is asking me for pricing on every other item in the store, it's difficult. Different suppliers give different discounts to us. So, I'm giving her vague pricing, like "Around $1.80", or "Close to $12.00". Three out of four quotes is met by "I can get that online for lots less" or "We'll just get that at Wal-Mart". After quoting her some 2 ounce fluted ramekins at a great price, she came back by saying she could get them at Wal-Mart for half the price. I finally had enough and said back, loudly, "Wal-Mart doesn't have plastic fluted ramekins!" Things went better after that. After asking for pricing on vinyl menu covers, she loudly derides the pricing. WDH pipes up that they need them so go ahead and order them (a 7-day order). SP remarks to anyone listening "Do that and I'll cancel your credit card." She-Pants indeed!<br /><br />They ended up buying around $1000 of smallwares and taking a year off of my life. It's so frustrating sometimes when people come in at the last moment and are flabbergasted when you don't have a specific, odd item in stock. All we can say is, "If I had a weeks notice, I could have had that for you, no problem". We have four stores. If one is out, another should have it. Your last minute procrastination does not give you justification for implying that WE are inept.<br /><br />They also waited until one week before opening to give us their china order after they were told it takes 7-10 days to receive a shipment. If we rush our suppliers, 7 days is the minimum. This cheap china comes from New Jersey and takes 2-3 days by truck. It takes a day or two for our supplier to enter the item, send us an acknowledgement, and us to fax back an O.K. that they got the order right. Figure a day or two for them to gather the stuff in their ginormous warehouse and put it on pallets, shrink rap it, and call the shipper.This is not gonna happen overnight. So after they finally give us their final order, they start calling after 3 days wondering where their damn plates are. Can you tell that they've never done this before?<br /><br />So, they got their plates the day after they opened. We were nice enough to offer them some plates and bowls to use for their opening that we had plenty of. Why we go out of our way to help these shmucks, I don't know. Well, I do know. Even though we are one of the few suppliers for this area, we pride ourselves on service, and coming through for our clients. It's a running joke amongst us. When we go above and beyond, we tell each other "You make dreams come true!" Sounds better if you're there, I guess.<br /><br />And, they opened and were happy. As happy as any cheap-ass customer can be, I suppose. I'd been dying for some good Italian cooking, and since they said they were the best, I decided that a good place to celebrate my dad's sister's birthday would be there. So, I called to make a reservation. "Uh, I'm not sure that we take reservations, let me ask." After being open almost two weeks, the person answering the phones wasn't sure if they take reservations? Uh, so when will you know?<br /><br />So, I made a "call-ahead" for 4 at 6 o'clock on a Saturday. The Saturday when Tropical Storm Lee was blowing in. Should be interesting.<br /><br />To be continued.......(I'm sorry!)Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-6369059994408779312011-09-04T21:10:00.002-05:002011-09-04T22:28:39.028-05:00"Buddy's"Now, that's not the name of the restaurant that I'm going to talk about (As a matter of fact, it's the name of one of my favorite pizza places in Michigan.) But, I can't exactly call it by it's real name. It's a synonym, along with 'comrade' or 'pal', only in Italian. Nuff said. I don't wanna be sued. This is a small city, and I don't want anyone Googling and bringing up this blog and detective-ing. But, this is one "Don't do it this way!" post that needs writing. It's textbook. It's common sense. It's obvious. Everything the owners don't understand.
<br />
<br />This first started about a year ago. There was a building not far from where I work and live that started getting renovated. In a city this small, everyone notices and starts to ruminate on what it could be. A few months later, a neon sign is put on the front saying "Buddy's Restaurant and Pizzeria". Well, that's new! One of the obvious things we've been missing on this side of town is an Italian restaurant and everyone is excited. (Oh, how I miss the great Italian places in Michigan and Massachusetts!) We send out one of our salespersons, as we always do when a new place is announced, and the word comes back. "These guys don't know what they're doing". They don't know when they will open. No date. Nothing. Hello! If you're going to open a restaurant, shouldn't you have a goal in mind? Some plan or something?
<br />
<br />Our salesman says that they're ordering their own furniture online and getting used equipment online also. So, not so much business for us. But, you never know. We've picked up the pieces before when other restaurants try to go it alone. Many chains and not-chains have come to us at the last moment when their original supplier can't come through. When their "Ed Don" or "Wasserstrom" or whoever back-orders items that you need to open, they come to us.
<br />
<br />Well, after a year, these folks are finally ready to get serious. There's a couple we'll call "She-pants" (SP) and "Whipped-down husband" (WDH). They are joined by SP's brother "Jersey Shore" (JS), the "Head Chef" (I just love it when newbies call their pizza guy 'Head Chef''). JS is the first to come struttin into the store about 3 weeks ago. "Yo, yo, yo, we need a buncha stuff!" "How much is dis?" "Youse godda be kiddin' me". "Youse killin' me!". Did I say he was from Jersey? He basically leaves with nothing, since, so sorry, we're not Wal-Mart. We don't carry Wal-Mart crap and we don't sell for their Wal-Mart crap prices. We have commercial restaurant quality things that you can't find at Wal-Mart, dude! If you want tissue-paper thick pizza pans for a buck, go elsewhere. Our customers expect things that will survive the abuse a $7/HR dishwasher will dish out.. If you want 50 cent plates, may I suggest the pottery place at the outlet mall that sells seconds? Or shop in Jersey where things "fall off the back of trucks accidentally".
<br />
<br />Two weeks later, we are treated to JS's sister, "She-pants". Oh, my god! She's the type who will call a John "Johnny", a Sam "Sammy", and everyone else "Babe". Puerto-Rican/Italian/Jersey woman, (Think Theresa from Housewives of New Jersey) who somehow got the money together to start a restaurant. And took her husband, Whipped-down Husband" (WDH) along for the ride, whether he wants to or not. The first words out of her mouth were "We've got money to spend, so I want attention!' The other two at the desk looked at me and retreated. I was to be the sacrificial lamb, since I have the most patience amongst them.
<br />
<br />*Gird loins and approach. * To Be Continued.
<br />Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-84851140990143688682011-08-12T21:52:00.002-05:002011-08-12T22:02:14.734-05:00Sous GalI just want to give a shout-out to my friend Sous Gal. I've followed her for a few years and we've had a mutual admiration thing going on. Even though she's in another country (kinda, Canada), I've felt her writing like few others. And now I feel pain. She's just been diagnosed with Cervical cancer, and I want to fly up and give her a big hug. Alas, I can't, so maybe if we all send her some love, she can feel a metaphorical hug. She's on my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">blogroll</span> as Everything is the Way it is..., although she now calls her blog something else, Here, Taste This. Share the love.
<br />
<br />And read her blog. She'll teach you how to write for real. And from the heart.
<br />Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-35953595490948359632011-08-12T21:07:00.003-05:002011-08-12T21:51:06.214-05:00Summer Doldrums, aka RamblingI want to write. I need to write. My fingers aren't co-operating. Summer tends to be when I'm least productive. This time of year down here in the South, we tend to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">disappear</span> into the cool environs of our air-conditioned homes whenever <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">feasible</span>. I do read others' blogs and read the news sites, but I just don't feel motivated to write because I'm not as social this time of year. Therefore, I don't write about my exciting night watching the season premiere of Project Runway, or my spine-tingling evening sorting <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Perma</span>-Press from Whites. Nor do I talk about my ever-procrastination concerning the bathtub scrubbing.
<br />
<br />I mow my lawn......sometimes. Just had to buy another mower after the last one would not retract the stupid pull cord. Nothing exciting there, except I found a Home Depot employee who actually wanted to help me load my purchase. I wavered about wanting to tip him, but he turned and left after putting my box in my truck-bed so fast, I feel he wasn't actually looking for a tip. Bald eagle followers should be camped outside his house, for he is more rare.
<br />
<br />I stop at <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wallyworld</span> a few times each week for basics. Sometimes there's blogging material there, but you can see that at assorted websites making fun of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wallyworld</span> shoppers. Writing about over-stressed sweatpants and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">carbunckles</span> just doesn't float my boat. Well, sometimes it does, but I don't feel good about myself after.
<br />
<br />I wash dishes......sometimes. I really miss having a dishwasher. I sometimes feel like I'm living in the Stone-age. Especially when I have to crank out the ice cubes from those stupid plastic trays. Can't someone invent some really "inventive" ice cube trays? Or am I the only one who still makes my own ice?
<br />
<br />But, believe me, when something really interesting happens, I will start pounding these keys. Hopefully, it will happen soon.
<br />Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-77084975260641624392011-06-18T20:27:00.003-05:002011-06-18T21:18:03.139-05:00Crazy Busy SeasonI've been a busy bee at work lately. The first part of the year, we were concerned about how the year would go. Last year was just so-so after all the crazy happenings like the Oil Spill From Hell and the recession.<br /><br /><br />January and February started a bit slow. A small church job here, a school there, but not a lot of restaurant work. Of course, our busy season starts around March when people start to escape the ravages of winter up north. Cabin fever drives the people down here in droves, and the restaurants love it. And if the restaurants are doing good, we do good.<br /><br /><br /><br />Then in March, we got a large job for a hotel restaurant and a huge smallwares order for me to order. Just after that, a new IHOP. Next came a regular customer of ours who announced he's opening number 10 and 11 in his chain of restaurants (one of those are open and the next is just around the bend).<br /><br /><br /><br />Meanwhile, our area had a great spring, with gorgeous weather and clean beaches. We had a super Mardi Gras and Spring Break, which are the launch for our "Season".<br /><br /><br /><br />Which means I've had my hands full with all these smallwares packages and trying to keep stock in our store. I'm doing glassware orders every week, china orders every two weeks, kitchen tool orders every two weeks. There's also orders to get knives, thermometers, squeeze bottles, butane bottles, pizza trays and peels, etc., etc.<br /><br /><br /><br />All it takes is a visit from one of our bigger customers to set in motion more orders. "You're taking all 48 of my 6 inch deep 1/3 pans? Time for an order !" "You need how many forks? 144 dozen? Time for an order!" "800 burger baskets? No problem! Time for an order!" "Hey, Ex-RM, how many cases of bouillon cups do we have?" During the height of the season, this happens on a daily, if not hourly, basis. And customers get pissed if you don't have 10 cases of their water glasses, even if they've never ordered more than 6 at any one time.<br /><br /><br /><br />But, if there's one thing that has always helped me here, not to mention when I was a Restaurant Manager, is that I can multi-task with the best of them. Prioritizing is also a prized quality in this business. Some people are bad at it (my immediate boss), but if I need to order something that takes a week or more to get in, that pallet of Cambro can just wait awhile to be put on the shelves. And now, I'm finally getting more than a pat on the back for a job well done.<br /><br /><br /><br />After 4 long years, I finally got a raise! And for how well I delivered the smallwares package ($13,000 worth) to our customer earlier this month, a nice little bonus to boot, which is how I got this laptop I'm finally writing on again. Things are looking good now, we've got many jobs on the books, including a 12th outlet for that one customer I mentioned. I'm gonna be plenty busy, and I think there's still a pallet of Cambro to put away.Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-24770750166676232912011-06-06T20:12:00.002-05:002011-06-06T20:32:26.920-05:00Eight Months of Computer ExileThanks to my computer illiteracy, my desktop went AWOL eight months ago. Despite myriad commercials for computer "saviors", I justified my sabbatical by using my bank account as an excuse. Surely, these professionals with many degrees and white-taped glasses would charge me as much to fix my computer as to buy a new one. And I couldn't afford a new one. Besides, I wanted a laptop to replace the desktop, because all the cool people had laptops. I dreamed of a new IMac, because all the pros said you must have an IMac, no viruses to worry about anymore. Of course, even though computers have dropped in price dramatically in the last five years, IMacs have not. Damn those Apple guys!<br /><br />Anyway, eight months later, mucho work at work. Pats on the back and warm fuzzies have finally manifested in a raise and a bonus. At least five trips to Best Buy to drool over those super cool white and glowing apple laptops. Wisdom prevails and I buy an affordable laptop at Office Depot. I feel good about that as Best Buy is up there with Wally-World in places that you feel bad about buying things while buying things. <br /><br />And now I'm back with eight months of stuff to write about. Should take at least 3 posts to do that. LOLEx-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-40817075223788480892010-10-11T21:19:00.002-05:002010-10-11T21:56:49.734-05:00Old Colleagues and CoincidenceI hadn't heard from my good friend Jerry in months. He had a job lead a few months ago for a Head Chef job here in Pensacola and asked me for my appraisal of the restaurant in question. I put out feelers and gave him my opinion: a juggernaut on the Gulf Coast that had a rotating door policy for Head Chefs in addition to the kitchen door type. As much as I would have loved having him down here, I couldn't recommend him taking the job. As it turns out, he's doing well, as he told me tonight. A new concept that he nurtured from inception that is receiving raves.<br /><br />We first met at a Macaroni Grill in Chattanooga, Tennessee. I moved down from Massachusetts on my way to eventually Florida (or so I thought). He was from North Georgia and had just started with Mac after much experience with smaller companies. <br /><br />He was extremely strong, back-of-the-house-wise. I was more comfortable in front, but could jump back in a pinch. When we worked together, which wasn't as frequently as we'd like, it was magic. Constant communication and teamwork proved to make the evening go smoothly. That we both had a similar sense of humor only made the nights go faster. We spent more time laughing than we did yelling at the employees. Work was fun, and how often does that happen in this business. I'll tell you, ALMOST NEVER.<br /><br />My temporary assignment there lasted 7 months, and it went way too fast. I enjoyed the staff, we increased our profits and the customer satisfaction index, and our bonuses were off the charts. I almost didn't want to leave. I had a nice apartment minutes from work and I liked Chattanooga. But, my future led to Florida. <br /><br />Leaving a good situation is difficult. Many people end up staying in a job like that and calling off their dreams to stay in a (relatively, temporary) stressless job. When you have a co-worker that you look forward to working with every day makes the job easier. The employees feel that, too. It makes for a relaxed work atmosphere that is almost unheard of in the restaurant industry. Too many Assistant Manager peers are only looking to make themselves look good, and if they have a chance to make you look bad, look out. That ladder to success is littered with bodies at the bottom after being kicked in the back. <br /><br />I knew I would miss working with Jerry, but I knew we would see each other in the future. A year later, he would come to figure in a major career change for me. Funny how things turn out that way......Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-89379437205628787852010-06-25T19:51:00.007-05:002010-06-25T20:13:33.644-05:00Sad. Just Really, Really Sad<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/TCVPuDjbnsI/AAAAAAAAAEw/NHw6Q9XNqZ4/s1600/white+sand+and+feet.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486879373667311298" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/TCVPuDjbnsI/AAAAAAAAAEw/NHw6Q9XNqZ4/s400/white+sand+and+feet.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/TCVPRReSMQI/AAAAAAAAAEo/co0weJzQ-00/s1600/crist+and+oil.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 283px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486878879187611906" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/TCVPRReSMQI/AAAAAAAAAEo/co0weJzQ-00/s400/crist+and+oil.jpg" /></a> This was taken mere feet from where my vacation feet were photographed 10 days after the Deepwater Horizon explosion. Thank you, Mr. Cheney. If you have the stomach, look on <a href="http://www.pnj.com/">http://www.pnj.com/</a>, our local newspaper site for more. And be sure to check out the opinion page and comments from the local rednecks who blame it all on President Obama.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>While I'm becoming less a fan of our President, I realize who the real culprit is in this catastrophe. It's the corporate machine that Eisenhower warned us about decades ago. Can you say Judge Feldman? The man who overturned the six month moratorium on deep-water exploration. Who happens to own significant stock in BP.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>That's just crazy-scary, yall.</div><br /><div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-18295267507723189712010-05-19T19:58:00.002-05:002010-05-19T21:36:06.749-05:00This Welcome Wagon Really Sucks....<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S_Sf6EHBPBI/AAAAAAAAAEY/3YbtiRM4bzI/s1600/robbery+pic.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 113px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 170px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473175267046407186" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S_Sf6EHBPBI/AAAAAAAAAEY/3YbtiRM4bzI/s200/robbery+pic.jpg" /></a><br /><div>When first seeing the neighborhood and house that I decided to move to, I fell in "heavy like". Not love, but much more than a casual fling kinda thing. It had much to recommend it. Three blocks to the water, with a 2-mile park skirting the entire waterfront. Small, quaint homes with decent sized yards and mature trees. Original hardwood floors throughout. 5 minutes to work. And affordable.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The drawbacks? Not terribly far from the not-so-nice neighborhoods. A lot of rental homes mixed in with retirees and absent homeowners. A neighbor who ran a daily yard sale. A lawn I had to maintain.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The first two weeks were fairly ideal. Arranging the furniture to fit into the small rooms. Unpacking collectibles to finally display. Buying my first lawn-mower to groom my first lawn. A lot of firsts that had me feeling grown-up.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Until my lawn-mower was stolen the second week. Now, I was grown-up and feeling awfully naive and trusting. And feeling mad. And ashamed. Add vulnerable and out $160 for said lawn-mower. A slight depression ensued for a few days and then I got pissed and was determined not to let some crack-head ruin my buzz. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So, I dusted off the credit card and bought another lawn-mower. Which resides in my utility room next to the washer and dryer, safe and sound. If not giving off the slight wiff of Eau de Exxon. I could live with the odor more than waist high weeds. And I grew up a little more, and went on with my flirtation with my house and neighborhood.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Until last week. Last Wednesday I came home for lunch (another benefit of living 5 minutes from work). I turned on the T.V. and went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed the ham, mayo, and bread. I sat them on the counter and my eyes wandered 3 feet to the right where my back door was standing open about 2 inches. WTF!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I went to my bedroom and saw immediately the contents of my valet box spread across my bed. All my bling, gone like that. My grandfather's initial ring. The Turkish Puzzle ring I brought back from -where else- Turkey. My dad's Air Force ring. The gold nugget bracelet that my grandmother gave me that was already out of fashion when she bought it for me on QVC. And more. But it was my grandfather's ring that upset me the most. He didn't have much in life, and that was all I had of him after his death many years ago.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So, of course I called the police. And found out just how little they really care. He must have said three words the entire time I'm telling my story. No empathy whatsoever. He seemed bored. Like maybe he'd rather be ticketing speeders than standing there in silence writing in his little notebook.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So, I've taken it upon myself to learn about pawn shops. Interesting business, that. When they buy jewelry, they have to write a description and send it in to the Sheriff's Office. Where I'm sure **rolls eyes** my deputy is poring over the list looking for my stuff. Only after 30 days pass can the pawn shop put them on display for sale, or 90 days if it's a pawn-loan. The pawn store operator I talked to smirked knowingly when I described the deputy's demeanor. And I will be visiting every pawn shop in three weeks looking for my grandfather's ring.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And I have a shiny new dead-bolt on my rear door. I'm thinking of electrifying it. And stringing barbed wire on top of my fence. Maybe a tiger trap with sharpened bamboo sticks in the bottom.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So, I will not be a victim, and I will not be driven from a house I really, really like. But, not love. I don't know if love is possible yet.</div>Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-31527750499262327892010-05-02T17:24:00.006-05:002010-05-02T17:27:11.263-05:00Where I've Been<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S937-URokNI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/Wo0Rtx9rs28/s1600/Hotel+View.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466802570710782162" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S937-URokNI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/Wo0Rtx9rs28/s400/Hotel+View.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S9374IQ8CBI/AAAAAAAAAEI/VSaOHRxImrM/s1600/Jackson+square.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466802464407422994" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S9374IQ8CBI/AAAAAAAAAEI/VSaOHRxImrM/s400/Jackson+square.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S937yCr1FPI/AAAAAAAAAEA/05U1F3UGUhA/s1600/Kosciusko+City+Hall.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466802359830385906" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S937yCr1FPI/AAAAAAAAAEA/05U1F3UGUhA/s400/Kosciusko+City+Hall.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S937tGichSI/AAAAAAAAAD4/nsPtLiCtQHU/s1600/White+sand,+white+feet.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466802274965423394" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S937tGichSI/AAAAAAAAAD4/nsPtLiCtQHU/s400/White+sand,+white+feet.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Stories to come....</div></div></div></div>Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-69233157791091345512010-05-02T13:50:00.002-05:002010-05-02T13:57:43.754-05:00I'm Back. Kinda.Well, sports fans, I'm back from the big 5-0 blow-out. Biloxi, New Orleans, High School city, and then back to the white sands of Pensacola (white, for now).<br /><br />My aunt/sister had a great time. Me, a good time.<br /><br />More to come later. With pictures!<br /><br />Right now, I'm just pooped-out. Make that exhausted.<br /><br />But, ready to start a new chapter in my life. <br /><br />And with AARP privileges!Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-85043496442193230232010-03-20T19:57:00.003-05:002010-03-20T21:13:05.058-05:00Last Word on DADTWhile I, myself, was never tossed from the military, I was in continuous fear of being found out. This was before the Clinton Era and "Don't Ask, Don't Tell". Although, it seems that those limitations don't limit the local police force from outing military to their bosses on base.<br /><br /><br />I've always been what may be considered "straight-acting". I don't consider it "straight-acting". I consider it normal for my up-bringing. I'm just me. I played tennis, basketball, and other sports, so I was spared from the ribbing and out-right abuse other gay teens had to endure during High School. Not to mention that I had a "high-school sweetheart" through-out high school.<br /><br /><br />Being in the military was not so much different from high school. When we had dinners or get-togethers with the "brass", I had a "beard". Unfortunately, Renee, another closeted gay, was outed by her softball pal, who was caught in a piss-test. And, Renee, was a decorated service-member, winning Airman of the Year on our base in Germany. The year before I did.<br /><br /><br />I could have gone on "under the radar" for who knows how long. Unfortunately, they don't let you know if you're under the microscope until you're actually being questioned. I was never brought in, but the "Sword of Damocles" was hovering closer and closer. <br /><br />I was up for re-enlistment, and my specialty had a high re-enlistment bonus. I had a hard decision to make. Re-enlist and pop a nice $5k in my bank account and live in fear of being found out, or just get out and move on.<br /><br />I chose to get out. And grow my beard and hair. And moved on. But, in the end, if I could have stayed in without worrying about getting a 'Dis-honorable' or 'General' discharge, I would have stayed. I definately would have stayed in. I loved my job, and I loved serving my country. My military days were the best of my life, excluding the drama of worrying about being outed. <br /><br />I would have passed my 20-year retirement 9 years ago with a 50% pay-out. Instead, I got out after 5 years. I did not go in the military knowing that I was gay. I was a sexually-confused, 21-year-old who was ready to serve my country. And was forced out by the fear of being labelled with a big pink triangle, like the Nazis did in WW2.<br /><br />Which is why I think the current deliberations on the Don't Ask, Don't Tell hearings are so important. Right-wing conservatives and some (but, not all) military leaders don't want to change things, because they think things are peachy-keen as they are. Those same people have the same mind-think as those who thought African-Americans would disrupt morale and unit-cohesiveness. They also thought women could not fight with men. They obviously live in a bubble. <br /><br />I loved every day I served in the United States Air Force and wish I could have stayed in. Unfortunately, closed-minded people forced me out. To the detriment of the Air Force. Because, I rocked at my job. <br /><br />And, 24 years later, I still miss it. E-mail or call your local Senator or Representative to let them know how you feel about "Don't Ask, Don't Tell". Quality people are being forced out because of prejudice, just when quality people are needed in the military. And, a lot of tax-payer money is being spent to kick them out. Just when standards are being lowered to include felons and non-high-school graduates. <br /><br />Who would you rather serve with you, or for you?Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-53024496981277598132010-03-16T18:51:00.002-05:002010-03-16T19:25:50.445-05:00Favorites (Change of Pace Edition)Favorite snack: Unsalted Dry Roasted Peanuts (Does not raise the guilt flag for me).<br /><br />Favorite singer: K. D. Lang. (Such a glorious voice that sounds as good live, if not better, than on her CDs).<br /><br />Favorite guilty pleasure: I allow myself 1 pint of ice cream every two months or so (usually Haagen Dazs Dulce de Leche).<br /><br />Favorite "Library reading material": Car and Driver.<br /><br />Favorite soft drink: Diet Pepsi.<br /><br />Favorite bread: Sara Lee Honey Whole Wheat (For BLTs, though, any squishy white bread, toasted).<br /><br />Favorite Soap Opera: The Young and the Restless (I remember seeing the first episodes one summer when I was a young lad of 10 or 11. My new cable provider does not have SoapNet, so I am currently going through withdrawl).<br /><br />Favorite Reality Show: Duh, Project Runway.<br /><br />Favorite Dream Car: Oldsmobile Cutlass 442 convertible.<br /><br />Favorite Candy: M&M Peanut (I used to be able to eat a 1 pound bag in one sitting).<br /><br />Favorite Movie: The Sound of Music (followed closely by Cabaret. What is it with gays and musicals?).<br /><br />Favorite Actress: Meryl Streep, 'nuff said.<br /><br />Favorite Writer: David Sedaris (I get him like no other, and many do not get him).<br /><br />Favorite Game Show: Password (The old one, not the new one).<br /><br />I know, I know, another throw-away post. But, my brain does not need any more stress right now than this. When I'm fully moved in, and Spring break is over, I will devote more time to the blog. Plus, my favorite aunt-sister is visiting next month for my birthday. And it's a monumental birthday. The big 5-ohhhh. New Orleans is calling.Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-32558253022533666652010-03-06T17:51:00.002-06:002010-03-06T18:22:20.651-06:00The Parents Visit the New AbodeMy dad and stepmother visited to drop off some stuff to my new place. I think the curiosity was killing them. My only scary moment was when my dad went in the 2nd bedroom/computer room and there was a stack of dirty VCR tapes and a boxed set of <em>Queer as Folk </em>sitting in view. No need to get his homophobia in an uproar, so I swept them off to an out-of-view hidey place. Silly explanations avoided. Most comments included "cozy", "cute", and "old".<br /><br />Kitchen stuff has been unpacked and I started on the oven. Ugh, gross. The racks were solid black, sticky with a tar-like texture. One treatment of Easy-Off will lead to another, although chrome is showing up on about 50% of them. What did the prior tenant cook in the oven, I wonder? My only clue is the dried beans and Adobo left in the cabinets. <br /><br />Still many boxes unpacked. I fear the 2nd bedroom will never house a bed. One, because it's seriously small. And, two, because it will house containers that will never be unpacked, because there is no room. Down-sizing has it's risks, afterall.<br /><br />I still have no regrets. I will make it work. Even if the washing machine drain does not drain as fast as the washing machine evacuates water. Small steps, I say to myself. The next step is buying a real, adult bed. For the last 6 years or so, I've slept on blow-up beds. In the last 6 months or so, my back has been screaming for another solution. Even on week-ends, I have to get up at 7am or so, my internal, spinal alarm sounding before I want to get up. <br /><br />More to come.........Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-75894743311703156422010-03-05T20:43:00.002-06:002010-03-05T21:19:01.357-06:00Yeah, Yeah, So Sue MeI'm now sitting amongst a mountain range of boxes. Figuratively, the Andes of box mountains. I have moved from my suburban-sprawl apartment to a tiny home that's literally 5 minutes from work. I've been wanting to do this for at least a year, but circumstances had conspired to prevent that until now. Having moved so many times over the years, I had become reluctant to box everything up and moving again, but enough was enough. <br /><br />I have lived in major metropolitan areas before, where commutes were the norm. Living now in the panhandle of Florida, where the congestion is smaller in comparison, did not diminish my disdain for the wasted time in transit. Driving from Gulf Breeze into Pensacola every day drained the everlasting life out of me. Three years of crossing the Three-Mile Bridge will do that to you. The smallest fender bender will increase the commute 2-fold, because that bridge has no pull-off area (traffic control in 1960 did not figure in for extra pull-off zones).<br /><br />Now, I'm 5 minutes from work. I just have to deal with having only 671 square feet of living space and 800 square feet of stuff. But, it's a sweet old house. Built in the 40's or 50's, it has it's original hardwood floors (chilly on the feet during this cooler than normal winter), a nice deck out back, and a real yard (I haven't mowed grass since I was 16). <br /><br />But, I'm only 2 blocks from the waterfront park that stretches all around Navy Point, and I don't have to hear any neighbors flushing their damn toilet.<br /><br />Life is looking up, the rent is $150/month cheaper, and I'm within walking distance to a bar with the best Philly Steak sandwich in town. <br /><br />The only downside is that the area has the highest per-capita rate of mullets-per-thousand around. My first foray to the local Wally-World had me shaking my head in dis-belief. From suburban yuppies to lower middle class blue-collar is a wake-up call.<br /><br />And that wake-up call is asking me what demographic do I really fit in. As I meet my neighbors, I'll know more. I already met my neighbor, Linda, who has a perpetual Garage Sale going on. She is a font of info on all the neighbors. <br /><br />This should be interesting.Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-82281794425831543442010-02-05T22:03:00.004-06:002010-02-05T22:10:56.091-06:00Yes, A New Post is Coming.....<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S2zrpQB2hAI/AAAAAAAAACs/V5BX-77E2lE/s1600-h/fountain+002.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 274px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434977944239244290" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/S2zrpQB2hAI/AAAAAAAAACs/V5BX-77E2lE/s400/fountain+002.jpg" /></a><br /><div>A new post is coming. My last post brought up a lot of memories, good and bad. I kinda sat back and reviewed where I was in life. Which might......and I say might.....lead in a new direction for my blog.<br /><br />If anyone still gives a shit.......................</div>Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4250081391056488889.post-47893007861972399412009-11-07T11:22:00.004-06:002009-11-07T13:01:02.314-06:00Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Part II<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/SvXDgDQ-jbI/AAAAAAAAACc/rzOYYEl-co8/s1600-h/notre+dame.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 279px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401438283500522930" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yKMKIY1udp4/SvXDgDQ-jbI/AAAAAAAAACc/rzOYYEl-co8/s400/notre+dame.jpg" /></a><br />After arriving in Germany, I learned many things.<br /><br />I learned that most single guys in the military would rather hang in the dorm drinking beer on week-ends. And listening to "Dark Side of the Moon" over and over on their latest electronic score at the Base Exchange. And becoming morose over the fact that they couldn't be doing this back in Arkansas. Then, drinking more beer. And, I'll admit, the beer was damn good. But hey, you're in Europe, get out of the freakin' dorm!<br /><br />I learned that there were many of us that wanted to experience this opportunity we were given. Frankfurt 30 minutes away, Munich 2-1/2 hours, Paris 3, Amsterdam 4. All in the comfort of a fast efficient train, where you could drink that great beer while cruising alongside the Rhein River, by Medieval castles, or through multi-colored tulip fields that went on forever.<br /><br />There was a group of us that became a family during our tenure there. There were about 30 of us who regularly traveled, sometimes 12 at a time, sometimes 4. We all had jobs that sent us all over Europe, so when we could arrange to get together and travel, we did it with gusto. My first purchase at the Base Exchange wasn't the newest Infinity speakers or a big-screen TV, it was a 35mm camera with all the gadgets.<br /><br />This family was composed of many individuals. We all just naturally gravitated together. About half were gay. One quarter straight couples. The rest single heteros. And we all got along famously. We had fabulous parties off-base. We visited the best restaurants in town and learned the language. Us gays were welcomed and welcoming, unlike our bosses on base.<br /><br />The lesbians in our family were fairly stereotypical, in that most had short hair, never wore dresses, and played on the softball team. They were also the cream of the crop in their job fields, winning many Airman/NCO of the Quarter awards (as did I) and were admired for their professionalism. But, there were a few who felt threatened by them. Some were insecure when turned down for a date or a quick romp in the hay. One of my friends was also gang-raped, and all was made hush-hush. If she would have pressed charges, her sexuality would have been exposed. Unfortunately, her secret was exposed in another heinous way.<br /><br />This was all before "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" was instituted by Bill Clinton. The Commanders had many tools at their disposal to ferret out the homosexuals and send them packing. One that they used to great advantage was the piss test. If the base security found out you went to Amsterdam for the week-end, you were invited to the pee party. Which is why my group would keep the trips to Amsterdam quiet. Not that we were big hash-hounds or anything, but every once in awhile we might partake at a party.<br /><br />So, one day a lesbian friend of mine was called to the Base Commander's office. She had won an NCO of the Quarter award previously and she thought that she might be up for NCO of the Year. And didn't know what was to befall her and her lover.<br /><br />It seems an acquaintance of hers on the softball team got busted in a random piss test. In those days, and maybe even today, when you were caught in that way, you were interrogated. Long and hard. She was pressured for hours and was told that they would go "easy" on her if she gave them some names. Names of dopers, homosexuals, or anyone doing something against the Code of Military Conduct. And she broke. And gave the names of every gay she could think of (but not the dopers since she was straight). Which snared 3 of my best friends in the world. And changed forever how I felt about being in the military and serving my country.<br /><br />(To be continued)Ex-Restaurant Managerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13100303539994144591noreply@blogger.com4