Remembrance of Things Pabst

So we have been eating at home a lot because the wife has to avoid all carbs and sweets. No bread. No pasta. No white flour or sugar of any kind. I have been cooking a lot of healthy meals with fresh vegetables and lean meats. And we both lost about twenty pounds. Boy does that suck.

But once a week we give ourselves a treat and we go to our favorite little wine and cheese place. Of course we have to make them change the menu to accommodate us but they are happy to do that because we are great customers who come all the time, spend lots of dough and tip great (unlike certain other people who throw nickels around like they were manhole covers, but I digress). So I give the dude who works there a package of these bran crisps that he uses to make the panni for the wife instead of the crusty Italian bread. It is no where as good but she likes it well enough and it lets us have a night out. Or I bring fresh organic apples to put in the salad with walnuts instead of the blood oranges that are full of sugar. I mean they work with you which is what a neighborhood joint is supposed to do

Now we finally have the kid working there trained to do stuff the right way and when I bust his balls he doesn’t get all nervous and shit he just laughs and does it the way we want it which he realizes is usually the best way to do it. You see both the wife and I have many years of experience in working in the bar and restaurant scene and we know the right way to do things. But the dumb fuck is leaving. To move to Africa. That’s right a hipster dofous moving to Sierra Leone. I told him he is going from Mama Leone’s to Sierra Leone’s. Every time I see him I say “So where are moving again?” And he goes ‘Sierra Leone.” And I shout out “BLOOD DIAMOND!!!!” Always good for a laugh even though it sometimes scares the tourists.

Anyway we finally got the dude trained and he is moving away! What crap! Now normally when we go in to eat around 11pm or so it is pretty empty. There is the annoying gay dude, the guy who looks like Big Pussy from the Soprano’s with his entourage and the serial killer actor dude who is sitting in the corner muttering to himself. He is either running lines or cursing out his neighbor Sam’s dog. But we can always waltz right in and get our favorite table with the comfortable chairs and start eating right away. But last night it was just not to be.

You see some kid had decided to have his birthday party in there. It was jammed packed with nerdy guys and girls in their dresses from the Gap and Levi 501 jeans and button down shirts from LL Bean. I mean the kid had moved into the neighborhood from Kansas or Iowa or Wisconsin or someplace and they were throwing a birthday bash. The dudes Mom and Dad were in from Jesusland and knocking back the wine pretty good. In fact they were shitfaced. As was pretty much everyone there. It was Nerdapalooza.

So I wander in. The wife is finishing a call on her cell phone outside the door. Sierra Leone Boy grins sheepishly at me and shrugs his shoulders from behind the bar. Now I have my new cool Bat Masterson walking stick and I haven’t shaved and I am wearing a sort of Guido cool outfit of leather jacket and old man cap. I walk over to a table where this Poindexter dude is resting his ass and go “Hey fella you are at my table.” He looks at me and goes “Sorry Sir.” I guess I am old enough to be called sir these days. Anyway the wife comes in and sits down and we start out with our wine and water and put in our order. We are sitting there eating and talking while chaos is going on all around us. You see the nerds couldn’t hold their wine. Not in the least. They took turns hitting the deck. The dad was the worst. Totally snockered. But they were harmless and enjoying themselves. It was certainly different for this place. I am glad that they made a lot of money.

When it was all said and done the bartender came over and apologized about how long it took to get everything out to us. I told him not to worry it wasn’t a problem. I mean any reasonable person wouldn’t complain. He had a full bar of thirty or forty people to take care of and he is only one guy. I said “No need to apologize. You did great. It is perfectly understandable that it took a long time when the place is jumping. Don’t sweat it. What sucks is when the joint is empty and it still takes forever to get our fucking food. BLOOD DIAMOND!”

To which he gave the perfect Brooklyn reply. “Fuck you pal.”

I said “See we finally got you trained and you are moving away. Shit!”