Hey is it hot enough for ya??

Hey is it hot enough for ya?? Yeah... it certainly is.... Today is the 4th or 5th day of this oppressive heat, who could keep count? I'm delirious....

I work in a restaurant, if you actually read this, you already know that... (hey a guy can hope for new readers, can't he?).

The restaurant has been set a balmy 76 degrees. Compared to the outside, it's like being inside a fridge. I love it when I'm in the kitchen, (usually 125 to 130 degrees thanks to our new best idea, PIZZA, in pizza ovens), then I walk back into the dining room, with a fountain's worth of sweat dripping off of my head, arms and other areas fortunately covered by clothes. Then right there, at table 13, the woman says, "Could you please turn the air conditioner down, it's giving me a chill.." Yeah, sure... right on that... here's a beach towel to soak up my sweat that pooled on your table, while you uttered that 13 word request...

Yesterday I didn't have to be at work until 1:00pm, I of course pushed that 1:53... I played golf with Billy Cal, my night bartender, and "G", who will remain nameless, and "G's" brother, "C"... Once again... sshhhhhhhh... don't even ask me who...

Anyway we, (okay me), organize a tee time for 9:30am, it's the absolute latest I can tee off and expect to be at work on time, and it's exactly the earliest I can convince my night vampire, err bartender, and "G" & "C" to show up. We decide on a local course so that it's quicker for me when we finish. So off of Clark Lane in Orange CT, we pull up in the lot of Grassy Hill Country Club. Once a prestigious private club for the "cool" 60's crowd. My dad wasn't a member. A few of my friends dads were members though. I once worked a New Years Eve Member party there as a busboy when I was 17 years old. But that is another story in itself.

It's now 9:29am, and "C" & I are there waiting for the other two, ohh.. there's Billy Cal, stiffly walking to the clubhouse with a lit Cohiba hanging from his mouth,. By the looks of his shirt, he must have just fed twin babies in the parking lot, because it looks like he's been lactating for an hour. At this point "C" is laughing, I look over to him, and he tells me when he called his brother 45 minutes ago, and told him we were golfing, his reply was, "That's today?". Yeah, I told him yesterday, his brother told him last night, perfect response, nonetheless, he'll be here on time.

At this point Billy has waddled up to a closer distance to the clubhouse, it's here that we hear his moans & groans... "I hate this f*ck*ing course, it's too hot for this, I'm too old..", I look at "C", he's fine, he's ready...

It's 9:33. "G" pulls in, from this angle it looks like he was driving with his eyes closed. Face all red, but looking as dapper as ever, neatly pressed shirt, top knotch golf shorts, and a slight odor of liquor... ever so slight... apparently "G" & "C" were at a family party at another restaurant last night, "G" mumbles something about 5:00am... not sure what language that was...

The four of us stumble into our golf carts and proceed to the first tee....

The starter mentions something to us about an outing at 1:30, so if we aren't on the 18th tee by then, we would have to cease play. Billy, ever the diplomat, "What if we don't... are you gonna shoot us?... Friggin' Grassy Hill, wouldn't it be nice if you told us before your took our green fees,... not a problem I'll never play this course again...", the starter gave us his standard goodbye, "Enjoy your day gentlemen"...

And we're off... We played a few holes and then we caught up to a threesome at
number 4, a twelve year old boy, his thin dad and grandfather, swinging like they were street sweepers... At number 6 we passed them and caught up to the "Night of the Living Dead"... A foursome with the combined age of 3,752, give and take a decade.. By number 7, Billy was rumbling thru his golf bag for a gun, to kill himself, he muttered something along the lines of trying to walk up to the old guys to kill them, but it was too much effort in this heat.

At one point Billy was way right, almost in another fairway, standing by the cart 5 feet from his ball, waiting for the old guys to clear the green before he attempts his approach shot and another foursome of retirees, drive up to as they are looking for their ball and make the mistake of asking Billy a stuipid question.. "Is that your ball?". Billy, ever the politically correct orator, answers with, "Yeah, it's my titliest, I'm lieing 17 waiting to hit the ball... how am I doing? Huh?". They quickly steer away from this cigar puffing, lactating miserable man. The rest of us turn away and laugh.

The front nine took forever, in a 2 hour and 45 minute pace, the geezers gave up, we went out the back nine with nothing in our way but clear fairways, red faces, wet shirts and sticky underwear...

At 48, and with a receding hairline, I have the reddest forehead & nose you've ever seen, like a sail on a schooner, my nose blocks all sunlight to my legs, so my legs are still pretty white... This phenomenon bought out the insults somewhere around number 14. All in all, I shot like crap, but it was a day on the golf course, and I'm always thankful of that.

I made it to work a little late but with plenty of time to place the necessary orders & do payroll, Mondays are usually slower, we have Billy behind the bar, and a young girl on the floor. A great night to relax and recharge the golf batteries from being in the sun all day. No... the restaurant Gods are not kind to those that have glimmering moments of bliss. Last night, we got slammed. The use of Slammed is restaurant talk for really, really busy.

One girl, one bartender, and no busboy... Yeah, I got a work a little harder tonight. Of course it was nonstop action, sweat pouring off me, kids, kids, kids & more kids... At least I'll sleep good tonight. We closed up late, Billy Cal, you remember him from the golf game, looked like a vampire in serious need of a blood transfusion.. I can't help him, I'm AB+, a universal receiver...

So the night ends, and I'm looking forward to that wonderful thing called Sleep. I get to my sisters, and lo & behold, the A/C is broken, very nice end to a long day...

At 3:30am I got a cold wash clothe and draped it over my large, red forehead... Tossing & Turning all night ARRRGGGHHHHH....

Oh well, tomorrow is another day.... Another 98 degree day that is....

Does anyone really read this stuff???

The truth of the matter is I think no one reads this blog.... Ok, it has been a while since my last post... but maybe.. just maybe.... somebody would have written something to me via email and said.. "Hey... we LOVE your blog.. Please write more!" , ummm...sadly.... no such luck...

I can give you a 100 reasons why it took so long.... PC issues... Business issues... Broken fingers... Blindness... Cookie induced coma.... Other interests... Writers block.... Cinder block... honestly, I just wasn't inspired...

But I'm starting to feel that sensation again..... Creativity...

Of course one man's creativity is another man's rambling babble...

I'll try and give you a run down.... September 2007 was the start of the NFL season.. The restaurant got busier... and time became an issue... Before you knew it, November was here and so was Thanksgiving... my favorite holiday of the year... Christmas, New Years and then a wretched Super Bowl with two teams any Jet fan would hate.... An Early Easter... Some April showers... and now on June 1st, I'm back on the keyboard...

Let me tell you about today.....

June started out with a bang, at around 12:15 am... I had to break up a fight... A big guy, that I know well and like, slapped another patron, I quickly jumped in to stop any other problems, fortunately it turned verbal and not physical... I got a softball game in the morning, I can't wake up lame... After trying to decipher the three voiced barrage from some friends, I made a corporate decision, "Last Call".... It was my only move... It worked... by 1:15am, I was headed to sleep.

I got to my sisters house, I stay there a few times a week and checked in with my nephew Troy, he just had surgery on his ankle two days ago, two weeks back he fell off a latter and shattered his ankle, so he's laid up now in jail a/k/a his room... I tiptoe to his room... peer in thru the crack of the door..... I see his right leg up, three couch pillows high, mouth slightly open, and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth... he's good... I'm going to sleep...

I wake up frantic at 8:45, game time is at 10:00am, need enough time for a shower and a large Dunkin Donuts coffee, (free Advertising plug courtesy of GS26), I get to the field in time for a pre-game stretch, vital when you're pushing 48 year old legs up the baseline... Team Captain "Mark the next Napolean" Albert. asked if I can play any other position other than catcher...

I digress for a minute... My baseball career started in Orange Little League, I was a pitcher & outfielder for the Minor League "B" league team, "Orange Quality Foods", where ironically I spent every last cent on Borden Chocolate Frosted Milk shakes in a can, and a box of Slim Jims at every chance. Back to Little League, I was slated to start the All-Star League game against the Minor League "A" team, but my parents had a Cape Cod trip planned for that weekend, my dad offered to have me play and drive me up afterwards, but my mother would have none of that, and we headed to the Cape as a family in one car. That one slight ripple in the lake caused me NOT to pitch for the New York Yankees in the 1980 World Series... I'm not saying it still bothers me, but my mom could be living on the beach in a million dollar home, I hope she has no regrets.... Obviously, I learned to let it go.....

Back to reality, or as close as I can come to it, I tell Mark, "Are you kidding... I can barely run..." he asked me about first base, I tell him I can do it.... So off to first I go, first time I've been in a position on the field since Richard Nixon was President.

The opponent for today is the Big Boys team, (not like they look or play like Mark McGwire & Jose Canseco during their so-called "Juiced" years), who resemble a team of Baby Huey's... Stiff competition, nonetheless. As the first batter digs into the box, I ready myself and start a little team chatter, "Com'on Cheech...Let's go kid...", then on the first pitch their leadoff hitter rips a grounder to third, I dart to first to wait for the throw, Napolean,.. err Mark lets it go thru his legs for an error, I'm standing on first, anticipating a throw, and it is then that I realized I just pulled a muscle in my quad. Just above the left knee I see and feel a quarter sized bump. I limp back to my fielding position and think about Lou Gehrig, who played 2130 consecutive games before ALS sapped his strength. No one will ever mistake me for him....

My first time up I drive a hard chopper to deep shortstop, and charge for first, I'm grinding and pumping and I know I must be moving quick, because my vision is blurred, I make it in time and beat the throw... As I bend over trying to catch my breath, signaling for a pinch runner, it is then that my first base coach says, "even after he bobbled it, and kicked it, he still almost got you", thanks for the positive reinforcement pal. As I slowly limp back to the dugout I instruct the scorekeeper to mark it down as an infield hit.

I make it thru the next inning, injury free... scanning the visitors watching our game, looking who I can bribe to drive the DD and get me another coffee. no luck.. My next time up I drill one down the third base line for a line drive base hit, I haven't it a ball that hard since 1968, when I played Wiffle Ball at Robert Hanford's house.

Once again I signal for a pinch runner, John, "The One Legged Blind Guy", who hops out to first to run for me. As I get back to the team, I asked the 7 or 8 people in the crowd if anyone video taped that hit.... Silence & muffled laughter, I guess the answer was no.

In the field that inning, a ball was hit between me and the secondbaseman, we both react and go for the ball, I get there in barely enough to back hand it, it scrurries off my glove to him, and it is then that feel the back strain I had never felt before.

The bottom line is we WON. So what if I need a bucket of ice to stop most of my swelling, I should recover by next Sunday.

I head over to the restaurant after the game, with a slight detour to DD for that coffee I was craving for. It's now 11:30am, and as I stumble into the restaurant I hear the Mariachi Band playing in our dining room. Oh yeah, Mario is having his party here this morning. Mario is our Chef, he's been with us for 3 years, he has worked extremely hard for us and asked if he could have a small party for his family here.. The other owners and I had discussed it and told him, absolutely, and there is no charge, as long as it's over by noon when we open. At 2:30pm, the party started to disperse, some of our regular customers were ok sitting in the bar area, and asked if this is something we'll do every week... I explain that it's a thought,

I then turn to Pete our bartender, all 6 foot 3 of him, balding and looking like the Green Bay Packers 60's defensive monster Ray Nitstchke's little brother and ask Pete if he has a Sombrero to wear? Then I tell the crowd, that the following week, Pete will wear a Toga, and will recite Julius Ceasar's lines with a wreath crown on his head. The laughs are many now, so like a hungry shark that smells blood, I start throwing out one liners. Nothing like drunks to test out your comedy routines...

Now I'm getting ready for the dinner rush... I may have more fodder as the night goes on....

Actually.. not much else has happened today... Not much of a dinner rush, we closed the kitchen early... and we cut our loses for the night. But tomorrow my friends, is another day....