That new girl server\u2014Mara, that was her name\u2014had fucking questions. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
New<\/em>, Tommy laughed to himself. Mara had started maybe a week after him. He kept telling himself there was nothing to worry about. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She\u2019d asked if he could hang out after work, had said I have so many questions<\/em> about Lilypad. Even though his heart was jumping like hot oil, he played cool, said \u201csure, you know Jimmy\u2019s Pub up the street?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n He\u2019d spent the rest of the shift jittery. Even dropped a pork chop. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Now, finished with prep, wiping down his station, Tommy had calmed. He reminded himself that a man was supposed to have layers, like an onion. A man kept his mouth shut, like a stubborn mussel. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He wasn\u2019t going to bullshit, and he wasn\u2019t going to fold under interrogation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara said she didn\u2019t drink, but if Tommy was going to talk outside of work, after <\/em>a shift? What else was there to say? He would like at least one whiskey, please. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Jimmy\u2019s Pub wasn\u2019t the same environment as Mara\u2019s usual digs, or at least what Tommy imagined them to be. For one thing, there was no stage for guys in ratty clothes to yell and make noise. For another, the two of them were the only ones here under the age of 45. Still, he figured dingy, wood-paneled walls and $2 Old Style was the great uniter. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Except, right, Mara didn\u2019t drink. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He could tell Mara was uncomfortable, and maybe he got it. The air in here was heavier, smoggier, despite the indoor cigarette ban. Everyone else here was drinking on their own. They had come here on their own, they wouldn\u2019t make friends while they were here, and they would leave alone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara insisted on buying the first round. \u201cIt was my idea to hang out,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy went mid shelf out of courtesy and ordered a Jack on the rocks. Plus a water back, hoping a feint towards responsibility would make Mara relax her shoulders a little. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo what\u2019s your story, man?\u201d she asked as they settled into a high top. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUh,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cLike an alibi?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n She laughed. \u201cOh my gosh, can you imagine? If I thought you were the murderer? And this was my trap?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That got a chuckle from Tommy, but he didn\u2019t know what the chuckle meant. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, dude, I mean\u2014where you from, where\u2019d you go to school, how\u2019d you get here, whatever.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, I\u2019m from all over. Chefs, you know, we bounce around.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI get it. This isn\u2019t my first restaurant gig.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They walked through their best presentations of their personal histories. Slowly, Tommy began to realize that she wasn\u2019t suspecting him. She was just some true crime-obsessed kid who thought maybe he could add some juice to her life, make the mundane a little more interesting. Sorry, kiddo, I got nothing for you. But I can sit here and say \u2018damn, that\u2019s crazy\u2019 with you for three whiskies. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The world started to feel a little less like a broiler, a little less like he\u2019d stepped in wet cement. The edge was off. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy ordered a second whiskey\u2014insisting on paying, and upgrading to Buffalo Trace\u2014and asked Mara if she was sure she didn\u2019t want one. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey, don\u2019t mind me,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m always the devil on the shoulder.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She laughed at that. She\u2019d said no to the drink, but he could see she was loosening up. Not only did he have her fooled, he was totally making a human connection with this\u2014what, 23-year-old? Pretty good, old man<\/em>, the 30-year-old thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He might be a pirate, but he wasn\u2019t the one who was off in the world, he reassured himself. People like that Chili\u2019s GM, yeah, they were all fucked up. Their minds were on money, not on human dignity. To people like that? The world was one big mine, waiting to be stripped. People were tools to use up. Tommy, he wasn\u2019t like that. Tommy was a servant-artist, devoting his body, devoting his functioning knees and working back and mental energy to the art of serving people a great meal. What Tommy did was holy. The Chili\u2019s GM, always calling everyone half a shade off from cream \u201cJos\u00e9?\u201d That wasn\u2019t normal. Normal people learned other people\u2019s names. Now, what Tommy did with Chili\u2019s GM? In that moment, what he was was a normal guy who did what needed doing, for the protection of other normal guys. When a dish is dirty, you wash it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He had to change the subject before he blurted a confession to Mara. She hadn\u2019t even asked about Chili\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know, I think I saw you the other night,\u201d he said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou did?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was walking past The Muse. Were you there, maybe\u2014a month ago, some Wednesday? Or Thursday?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI mean, probably,\u201d she said. \u201cMy friend Parth, his band plays there a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBoyfriend?\u201d he asked, with what he hoped was a disinterested, genuinely curious tone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNothing like that. No, his band\u2019s good. Crystal Lake Counselors, they\u2019re called. Plus, I don\u2019t know. Any night I get to see live music is a good night. You know?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGreat neighborhood for it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSeriously. You go to shows?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That question had actually been on his mind since he saw her through the window at The Muse. In his younger years, in high school and into culinary school, he\u2019d loved going to shows. He suspected that Mara, like him, got high off of the heartbeat of a bass, the infectious energy of a live drummer, the ear-splitting guitars, the brief handing over of yourself to a lead singer\u2019s cult of personality. Tommy figured he could tell, after just a few minutes of conversation, that Mara was a sensualist, like him, that Mara, like him, cared about the important stuff in life. This was the foundation for real friendship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot for a while,\u201d he said. \u201cUsed to go a lot. I guess my first job out of culinary school, it wasn\u2019t close to any good venue. Plus, the hours sucked. So I sort of forgot? About live music?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh my god I can\u2019t even imagine that,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot like, I woke up one day and the whole concept was gone. Just, I stopped going out as much. I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWow, that\u2019d be even worse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat? Worse than if you woke up one day with the whole concept of live music just yanked out of your reality entirely?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, stop talking. That\u2019s terrible. Terrible.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n But she was laughing. The air seemed to get looser, more breathable. A man who was at least 65 walked in with a snorting bulldog. They moved like the world was a bowl of congealing grits. They took the length of the fade out to \u201cHave You Ever Seen The Rain\u201d to get to the end of the bar, where the bartender set a bowl of water down for the dog and a Johnnie Walker Red with an Old Style back for the man. Mara was eyeing the pair, too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat a life those two must lead,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n They talked about the various characters in the neighborhood, the punk DIYers and retired elementary school teachers always selling crafts on the sidewalk, the street preacher with the microphone and 10-inch amp, the woman hawking Streetwise<\/em> with a free Bible verse thrown in, the Vietnamese man who did photorealistic paintings of street corners, the 12-year-olds learning to skateboard after school. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Talking to Mara, enjoying a quiet whiskey after an honest day\u2019s work? The evening was making Tommy feel like he\u2019d made a good choice, picking Olly\u2019s. Good people worked there. Here, Tommy could be a good person. As they talked about the various neighborhood characters, Tommy tried to envision himself, how he fit in. I feed people<\/em>, he thought to himself with pride.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy was getting loose. Their conversation had shifted to types of customers that drove them nuts. <\/p>\n\n\n\n For Mara, it was the people who came in five minutes before close. \u201cThat\u2019s an easy answer, <\/p>\n\n\n\n though,\u201d she said. \u201cMy real answer is guys who think their order is what makes them a man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI think I get what you mean,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cBut give me an example.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know, a guy who says is it spicy?<\/em>\u201d She jutted out her chin and made her voice deep. <\/em>\u201cBecause I like <\/em>a lot of heat, you feel me?<\/em> Or a guy who orders black coffee. Like that: black coffee<\/em>. No please<\/em>. If I do get a thank you<\/em> it\u2019s got a sweetheart<\/em> tacked on. Like, you know I\u2019m going to pour you coffee, right? And it\u2019s your own choice, right, if you want to add cream or sugar? And I don\u2019t, you know, give a shit<\/em> one way or the other?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSome people need you to approve their taste,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cBetter than people with no taste at all, the ketchup-on-a-well-done-steak assholes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh yeah, I don\u2019t even know how those people are alive. But I\u2019m talking about the reverse. I\u2019m talking about people who order medium rare steak not because they like it, but because their dads or Food Network<\/em> hosts or whatever societal pressure told them to. The bullshitters. I don\u2019t know how those people live with themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy noted her phrasing. The bullshitters. <\/em>\u201cMan, I\u2019ll tell you something, though,\u201d he said. \u201cAs a chef? Well, line cook, but still. You know who I can\u2019t stand?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWho?\u201d she asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFucking regulars<\/em>, man. Walk into the restaurant, think they own the place just because they\u2019ve told employees their name and expect to get a name in return. Think a few 25% tips mean they can order off-menu, harass newbie servers with I\u2019ll have the usual<\/em> or whatever. Makes me sick. The world is big! Go to a different restaurant. Try Ethiopian, for fuck\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cReally?\u201d Mara said. \u201cAs a line cook, it\u2019s the regulars who are the worst?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh yeah,\u201d Tommy continued. He had a story that would get her rolling. It was about a regular at Chili\u2019s who loved a Texas BBQ burger, \u201calready a pretty gnarly concoction, real monument to American gluttony,\u201d with extra cheese, extra pickles, and extra sauce. How watching this guy just masticate<\/em>, sauce-drenched onion rings hanging on his (of course) goateed chin, \u201cit\u2019s enough to make you wanna just, you know?\u201d and Tommy mimed bashing someone\u2019s skull in with a brick. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara made a face, no doubt revulsion at the Texas BBQ Burger, picturing how gross it would get with extra cheese extra sauce and extra pickles, probably she\u2019d had some loser high school date take her to Chili\u2019s and order the same thing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPretty gross,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy relaxed his brick-holding hand and reached for his drink. \u201cHey, to us, though, right?\u201d he said. \u201cPeople with a little bit of class.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara toasted him and sipped her club soda. They both looked around the bar. Tommy felt that sense of camaraderie you can only get by talking shit with your coworkers after a shift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Mara frowned at her phone. \u201cI\u2019ve gotta get back to my mom,\u201d she said. \u201cShe can\u2019t, you know\u2014I gotta help her out with stuff a lot. She\u2019s sick.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh okay. Well, good health, uh, get well soon, uh, to her. Hey, we should do this again sometime.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure,\u201d Mara said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo new friends,\u201d Tommy said, raising his glass, but Mara\u2019s club soda was gone. She gave him a lip smile, and then she was gone, too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She left and Tommy felt like the night was a well-lit path with some sort of treasure at the end. He felt loose and elite in his chef\u2019s whites. Like how Bourdain used to describe being a cook as being part of a pirate crew. Here he was, a quiet bar where he could drink another whiskey in comfortable silence. Gather his thoughts. Then, all of Uptown lay before him. Any experience he could stumble on would at least be a good story the next day at work. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Some song with low, rumbling guitar and brassy, 70s-funk-movie horns started playing.. Tommy felt the noirish rhythms building electricity in his limbs. He took it as a sign that he should order another whiskey, then walk the night streets. Open himself to what the city offered. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When the whiskey came, he raised a toast to the old man and his bulldog. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He resolved to try food from a place he\u2019d never seen before tonight. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" That new girl server\u2014Mara, that was her name\u2014had fucking questions. New, Tommy laughed to himself. Mara had started maybe a week after him. He kept telling himself there was nothing […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":162657637,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[168],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-162657697","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-behind-with-knife"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162657697","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=162657697"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162657697\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":162657698,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162657697\/revisions\/162657698"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/162657637"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=162657697"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=162657697"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=162657697"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}