Jobs # 13 (Attitude)

I knew I needed an additional income to supplement what I was making at the warehouse, so I got another job—my first restaurant gig in over a decade. The operation was a fledgling breakfast restaurant run by a couple who lived north of the river. They had raised families, divorced their partners, retired, married each other, and started their third act as restaurateurs.

They seemed friendly enough during the interview. I was their first and only employee. I helped them set up for their opening day. The plan was to serve standard American fare breakfast food and sell antiques. I would be a server, busser, cashier, and cook. They would also stay open for lunch. I was hired on for Thursday-Sunday. This meant I would be working every day of the week. I plowed ahead, fully embracing my wounded, lone wolf mentality.

Greg, the head chef, was one of the most unique characters I’ve ever met. He had worked in finance for forty years before we met. He’d raised a family and had always loved to cook. Breakfast specifically. Very, very, very unhealthy breakfast. He taught me how to make buttermilk pancakes that were so rich and potent that many customers couldn’t finish. They left, waving and staggering towards the door.

He was a big man, about 6’4”, 325 lbs. He would bump into a pot, knock it off the burner, and say, “That’s what happens when you have a fat ass.” I liked Greg, but he was a very stressful person to work with, mainly because he had no idea how to run a restaurant.

Pattie, his wife, handled the baked goods. Beautiful cakes, pies, and cookies, all expertly crafted. She had more experience in the service industry than Greg, having operated baking boutiques in the West Bottoms in the past. We got along great, and she seemed like a genuinely lovely person.

The only thing I couldn’t get behind with these folks was their “brand.” They named their restaurant “Attitude” because they thought of themselves as tough know-it-alls who had been around and who weren’t to be messed with. Those moon pies Pattie worked so hard on were Greg’s grandma’s recipe, and don’t you dare call them ‘moon pies,’ they were “gobs,” goddamn it! Unfortunately, this became the general vibe. Bow down, because we’re over sixty, and boy, do we know more than you. Boomers, however, loved it.

I did my best, but it was clear from opening day that the three of us were woefully understaffed and inexperienced in running a popular new restaurant. We made it through the first weekend with only minor bumps and bruises, though. Overall, we had a strong start. I probably clocked about thirty hours in four days. I knew something would have to give, and the restaurant was already making me more money, so I gave the warehouse my notice and told Pattie and Greg I was all theirs.

This was good and bad. For one thing, I’d pretty much just thrown myself from one not very hot frying pan to a scorching hot one, based on the stress levels during the restaurant shifts, but I didn’t really care. I wanted a change of pace, and boy, did I get one.

I would work at Attitude for about nine months before I just gave up. Greg, in particular, had outed himself as a power-hungry tyrant. He would berate me endlessly for the most minor mistakes. Leaving dishes soaking for “too long,” leaving dirty plates in front of guests for “too long,” or not knowing how to make a poached egg when he was on a smoke break. I don’t recall taking a single break during my time at this job. I was expected to run everything during the breaks that they both took frequently.

The final straw came when I was bringing a stack of clean cups from the dishwasher out to the soda fountain. I had clean silverware in my other hand, and the stack of cups was resting in the crook of my forearm. Greg became irate and scolded me in front of a full restaurant, saying, “We don’t do that here,” and ripping the cups out of my arms. My guess is he thought it was unsanitary to have cups anywhere near my armpit. I finished the shift and told Pattie that I would not be back.

I hated working at this restaurant. It seemed like it could have worked out, but these folks were woefully unprepared. They didn’t make enough money because they didn’t want to serve dinner. They stayed open for about half a year after I left, then they were forced to close.

One fantastic thing about my time at Attitude is that it was where I first met my future wife. We had technically met online, but I’d shared where I'd be, and she showed up before we even had our first date. I had been single for a while and really wasn’t ready for anything serious. I barely had control of my personal life, but I was still afloat. I didn’t think someone like her, so independently thriving and vibrant, would want anything to do with someone on such faulty ground. I was really lucky, though, and this time turned out to be just the beginning of our story.