Originally posted December 18, 2015, on my Restaurant Junkie Tumblr page. (All but the POTUSA video which I suggest listening to while reading):
I’ve worked in the restaurant business on and off for two decades, but it wasn’t a field I was born into or consciously chose. I fell into it.
My sophomore year of college I was working as a magic demonstrator in a giant plastic top hat in Quincy Market. I performed card tricks, turned nickels into dimes, messed around with sponge balls and sold wiggle worms by the busload. Continue reading “A Restaurant Guy”
I landed in Toronto in late January. I dragged four suitcases, the maximum number I could afford to bring. It had been a scramble to make sure I came under the weight limit. I was “importing” a healthy stack of books and a battered tan leather briefcase full of magic tricks.
Yes, magic tricks. Continue reading “131 Days”
In January of 2017, I was working as a waiter, and I enjoyed it. But, whenever I’ve done this work I’ve almost always modified the job title with the adjective, “just.” It’s a defensive move. A way of signaling that I know how people perceive a 39-year-old waiter.
When it comes to restaurants, I’ve worked as a manager, bartender, and baker. All of these positions required some combination of lower pay, more physical labor, or more intense schedules. Yet all were better job titles to drop in conversation. Continue reading “Just a Waiter”