I suited up, double checked that I had everything, did one final look in the mirror to make sure everything was in place and then it was off to work. I was officially a man in uniform. I mean I’m not one of New York’s Finest or even one of New York’s Bravest…I’m one of New York’s Ninja’s!
That’s right I was wearing, and will continue to wear the uniform at least three or four nights a week, all black from head to toe. To the untrained eye I may look like a manic depressive, but no, in fact the all black uniform is usually a staple at most trendy, hot, sexy, (insert more adjectives here) restaurants in this city.
The first day went well but seemed a bit overwhelming at times. That’s usually the case with a new job. There seems to only be two different speeds at first. There is completely ludicrous speed accompanied with so much information your brain starts to swell and then there is slug speed because you’re a bit bored due to the fact you don’t know how to do anything. I guess that as the hours start to pile up, the two speeds seem to meet somewhere in the middle.
I spent most of the night in the kitchen, working and learning about the food from the executive chef. It’s the first time I’ve been in a restaurant kitchen in over two years but they’re all the same. They’re fucking crazy! There are a million moving parts that all seem to work together so that every Tom, Dick, and Jane in the dinning room gest what they ordered in a timely manner.
Throughout the night I did cruise through the dinning room. It’s a beautiful place with great lighting, great fixtures and the attractive clientele to match it. I’d be lying if there wasn’t a little tug at the reality string while I glanced at each table. That was me enjoying my cocktail and petit filet just a few weeks ago while talking business. Not anymore my friends. And after a minute of reminding myself why I made the choice I did, I was right back in where I wanted to be (mentally speaking), after all I was still at work.
Thanks for listening