I certainly won't bore you with delving into the monotonous life of Al with every detail, life issue, etc. I have always been bored listening to people carry on and on about how difficult it is. It seems that people love to hear themselves bitch. We like to call it "bitchin to complain" in the business. Some people are just so miserable, that they have to bitch just for the sake of complaining. My soup is not quite hot enough, there isn't enough alcohol in my drink, his steak is not the same size as mine, yada yada yada. Usually....the soup is plenty hot, the booze is the right amount, and you dumbass...we weigh every freakin steak! Usually, when I find someone like this, I will microwave the soup until it is boiling, pour enough alcohol into the drink to light it on fire, or I will serve them a porterhouse the size of Iowa! Kidding....Truthfully, I dont't really care about the people that are difficult. You just can't help them all!!
I have a few simple mantras I live by, that keep me out of trouble. 1. Go with what you know! If you don't make any decisions based on theory or heresay....you pretty much will never screw up. It's kind of like the speed limit thing. I know the speed limit is 55 mph, and if I drive the speed limit I will never get pulled over for speeding. Maybe not a great example because I speed all the time, but when I am working in the restaurant...it is my golden rule. I know if I serve good food, with great service, and have a pretty good concept....I know I will keep chugging along. I am not saying I do not take risks (I have taken some pretty big ones in my life), but as long as you have good facts behind the risk...you will be ok. I always tend to step on the gas when everyone else slams on the brakes! When the economy is down, most people freak out like a huge snow storm is on the way! By every last piece of toilet paper, get fifteen gallons of milk, we need thirty shovels! Christ...does that not piss anyone else off? You might be snowed in for 1 or 2 days. I know I love a good milk binge every once in a while!! Sorry for another digression...I do it a lot. If the rest of the world is driving so slow and worrying about hitting a car next to them, or changing lanes to be safer, so on....I tend to floor it and get in the fast lane. I cannot worry about the guy next to me, who is worrying about the guy next to him, who is worrying about the guy next to him...so on. Worrying is like a rocking chair....it is something to do, but it will not getcha anywhere. Plus, I would rather do the hitting, then get hit by someone else. That's all for today....who cares, no one is listening yet anyways. On the blog I mean...no one following. But I am totally cool with that!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Funny Story
Before I get to into who I am, or beore I start sounding like a cocky over confident jerk....I have a funny little story from last evening. I do actually have a life besides talking to you guys. I went out to American Ice Co in the U Street Corridor of DC for some dinner. Sidenote...interesting concept, and a great time with the bartenders from the Madhatter.
I digress...the story. I left in a cab with my younger brother, Eric, and headed towards his house off Conn Ave. The cab ride was nothing short of hilarious. The cab driver was clad in a giant white turban, and a beard as white as snow, just trying to add an image. Certainly not stereotyping...The cab was oddly a Toyota Corolla. The cab driver seemed like a quiet nice older gentleman, no different than most other cab drivers in the District. He was tough to understand, but we were, of course, polite. He mentioned something about the weather, and seemed like he was attempting at a conversation. However, this was only a brief insight to the oddness of this man. We dropped Eric off, and the cab continued on up Conn Ave toward Cafe Soleil. Shameless sidenote....that place is awesome. I leaned forward on the plastic seat that squeaked like a triumphant fart. He didn't giggle...nor did I...but I really wanted to. It is something about the ethics of laughing at a fart...or a fake fart at that! It is only ok to laugh at a fart in certain circumstances...I wish there were more socially acceptable times to laugh at the possibility of a fart. More digression....Anyone who has ridden a cab in DC knows that often a cabbie will reset the meter after the first passenger departs, usually charging the additional $1.50 new fare charge. This cabbie did not. I was obviously happy. Not necessarily about saving a dollar and a half, but that it felt like a mini Seinfeld-eske victory for me. So, I said "Thank you for not resetting the meter." This is where the bi-polar nature of this seemingly turban-wearing-Santa look alike really blossomed to its full potential. His eyes pierced through me in the rear view mirror. He even adjusted it so he could nail me with the full coldness of his black stare. He looked like he was on massive amounts of cocaine, as his pupils were the size of softballs. I felt like a little kid in the back seat, bearing down for the rath of dad driving the car. Yelling, "You cannot afford an extra three dollars!?!" Taken slightly aback, I could not resist that his math was off, and chimed in "actually it's a buck fifty..." trailing off, sliding, squeaking back into my seat. This time the farty squeaky sound was not funny...even to me. He kept muttering loudly, half English...half whatever. We were drawing my destination, and quickly realized I wanted this to be a pretty public drop off, as his anger continued to mount...his eyeballs were at least the size of basketballs now. He pulled up in front of the Bottom Line, and with my ever awesome luck....there was no one out front. He slammed his fist on the meter, clearing the meter to $0.00. The cab was suddenly much darker, as the red glow from the meter now left our presence. I sat there with a fistfull of $5 in my hand. He would not turn around, and adjusted the mirror so he had a view of I street now. I was glad to have the eyes off me for a change, but now the awkwardness of the few seconds that felt like hours began to set in. Finally, I muttered, "and how much do I owe you?" I may have apologized too...but I do not remember exactly. He said, "You American too cheap, not save money,...sorry I picked up!" He was yelling so loud I was actually scared of a man who was no taller than Yoda. I placed the crisp bills on the center console and began to open the door. "No!" He crumpled them up into little balls and threw them at me one by one. I was dodging them like they were bullets! I brushed them off my lap and darted out the cab. He was still yelling....no more English at all. I was laughing now because it was so ridiculous to watch this man throw a temper tantrum over nothing. He unbuckled the seat belt, reached back, and threw them out in the middle of I street traffic. Floored the car in park...slammed it into drive, and tore tires down the street. I was having one of those "Holy crap did that really just happen!?!" moments. I looked around to see if anyone had seen Yoda's episode? Nope. I walked out into the street holding a hand out...stopping traffic, while bending over to pick up the bills. I chuckled "Free cab!" I saved his number in my phone. I plan on using him for all my trips in the city now.
I digress...the story. I left in a cab with my younger brother, Eric, and headed towards his house off Conn Ave. The cab ride was nothing short of hilarious. The cab driver was clad in a giant white turban, and a beard as white as snow, just trying to add an image. Certainly not stereotyping...The cab was oddly a Toyota Corolla. The cab driver seemed like a quiet nice older gentleman, no different than most other cab drivers in the District. He was tough to understand, but we were, of course, polite. He mentioned something about the weather, and seemed like he was attempting at a conversation. However, this was only a brief insight to the oddness of this man. We dropped Eric off, and the cab continued on up Conn Ave toward Cafe Soleil. Shameless sidenote....that place is awesome. I leaned forward on the plastic seat that squeaked like a triumphant fart. He didn't giggle...nor did I...but I really wanted to. It is something about the ethics of laughing at a fart...or a fake fart at that! It is only ok to laugh at a fart in certain circumstances...I wish there were more socially acceptable times to laugh at the possibility of a fart. More digression....Anyone who has ridden a cab in DC knows that often a cabbie will reset the meter after the first passenger departs, usually charging the additional $1.50 new fare charge. This cabbie did not. I was obviously happy. Not necessarily about saving a dollar and a half, but that it felt like a mini Seinfeld-eske victory for me. So, I said "Thank you for not resetting the meter." This is where the bi-polar nature of this seemingly turban-wearing-Santa look alike really blossomed to its full potential. His eyes pierced through me in the rear view mirror. He even adjusted it so he could nail me with the full coldness of his black stare. He looked like he was on massive amounts of cocaine, as his pupils were the size of softballs. I felt like a little kid in the back seat, bearing down for the rath of dad driving the car. Yelling, "You cannot afford an extra three dollars!?!" Taken slightly aback, I could not resist that his math was off, and chimed in "actually it's a buck fifty..." trailing off, sliding, squeaking back into my seat. This time the farty squeaky sound was not funny...even to me. He kept muttering loudly, half English...half whatever. We were drawing my destination, and quickly realized I wanted this to be a pretty public drop off, as his anger continued to mount...his eyeballs were at least the size of basketballs now. He pulled up in front of the Bottom Line, and with my ever awesome luck....there was no one out front. He slammed his fist on the meter, clearing the meter to $0.00. The cab was suddenly much darker, as the red glow from the meter now left our presence. I sat there with a fistfull of $5 in my hand. He would not turn around, and adjusted the mirror so he had a view of I street now. I was glad to have the eyes off me for a change, but now the awkwardness of the few seconds that felt like hours began to set in. Finally, I muttered, "and how much do I owe you?" I may have apologized too...but I do not remember exactly. He said, "You American too cheap, not save money,...sorry I picked up!" He was yelling so loud I was actually scared of a man who was no taller than Yoda. I placed the crisp bills on the center console and began to open the door. "No!" He crumpled them up into little balls and threw them at me one by one. I was dodging them like they were bullets! I brushed them off my lap and darted out the cab. He was still yelling....no more English at all. I was laughing now because it was so ridiculous to watch this man throw a temper tantrum over nothing. He unbuckled the seat belt, reached back, and threw them out in the middle of I street traffic. Floored the car in park...slammed it into drive, and tore tires down the street. I was having one of those "Holy crap did that really just happen!?!" moments. I looked around to see if anyone had seen Yoda's episode? Nope. I walked out into the street holding a hand out...stopping traffic, while bending over to pick up the bills. I chuckled "Free cab!" I saved his number in my phone. I plan on using him for all my trips in the city now.
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