Rachel

How amazing?! A day after I meet Rachel, I trudge my way down to the Path after a long drinking night and sit on the platform to find myself right beside her again! "Well isn't this funny? If I didn't know any better I'd say you were stalking me." She looked over at me and laughed. It was a good laugh. "How was your night?" she asked under her laughter. "Can't complain, worked hard, partied harder..." She wore an oversized white t-shirt with a gecko on it to hide the black tank top she must work in. It had to be a trick she used to conceal the fact that she's a bartender and is loaded with cash. The oversized shirt only made her stand out more. It looked like one of those cheap tourist shirts you'd get from your aunt after she got back from some place exotic like... Australia. (Ok ok so that's not so exotic but its several timezones away!)Taking everything in I looked down at her shoes and pants which weren't as messy as the night before. "Slow night?" I asked "Yeah, how'd you know?" I smiled and gave her a mischievous look as I replied "You don't look as dirty. Last night you had so much white gunk on you, I could have sworn you were a milkmaid. Or a really nasty woman." How could she not laugh at that? Luckily she did, because getting slapped across the face at 4am can't be fun. We got on the train and talked more. It was nice. The 20mins we spend together underground is a perfect way to unwind for the night. Before she got off I said to her. "Look, you're cool and all but if I find you on the platform tomorrow night I'm gonna assume you're a crazy and run for the hills." She laughed again (no surprise there, women's standards for humor fall dramatically at this hour)"Well then don't look for me till Monday because I wouldn't want you to think that. I work from then straight until Saturday." And again we parted ways quite abruptly. I smiled to myself the rest of the ride home. Looks like I have a commute mate.

The Fellowship of The Spatula

People never seem to notice how kitchens everywhere are run by the Mexican Mafia. Waiters and managers give them little regard since they speak little or no english and have a job that is less glamorous then theirs. What seems to have slipped passed their bloated egos is that the food ultimately makes or breaks the restaurant. My kitchen bretheren are starting to take notice if they haven't already. Now is the "Time of The Kitchen"- where the cooking staff can say no to everyone and nobody can do anything. I've seen them do it in other restaurants and I think this trend is more than a fad. This very well could be "The Dark Ages of the Culinary Arts" if they so wanted it to be. Being the chummy guy that I am, I've always taken a liking to the kitchen staff. They work long stressful hours in front of a hot grill, stove, oven, salamander, or salad station with little ventilation and even less human contact.

Watching them put together a dish is like watching an Indy 500 pit stop. The precision, the timing, the team work. It's beautiful. What's not to admire?

Everything is orchestrated. One small mishap- Someone forgot to put the temperature on a steak, someone forgot to leave out the onions- any minor glitch and the whole system can come crashing down like doomsday. (Not a pretty sight)You have to show these guys some respect. They deserve it. I've taken it a step further- I show these guys love. Over the years I've been learning spanish. All of the spanish I've learned in fact, I've learned in the kitchen. I'll come in when it's busy and ask them how they're doing, if they need a drink- anything. We'll joke around about how their mothers and sister's are my whores or what not. (These are popular "bonding points" in the kitchen. Strange but true.)I've actually been inducted into their secret society. One day I asked a line cook for some grub as I was so hungry. To which he responded by handing me a huge raw jalapeno pepper. "You hungry? You have to be a Mexican to get food. If you have hunger, eat this." I knew this was a test, a test I could not afford to fail. I love jalapeno peppers. I love anything spicy, besides I was so hungry I'd eat anything. He didn't know that. But for theatrical effect I feigned the desire to try such a respectably spicy vegetable. Just when he was about to take the jalapeno away in disgust, I took two and ate them whole right before his eyes without flinching! From then on I got to eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. Every restaurant has an initiation. That was mine in French Roast. Not so bad. Here's a look at what I had to eat for some respect at Pigalle

Looks bad? Tastes like fish. That is a roasted Peruvian Cane Rat- a delicacy in South America. I walked into the kitchen late one night and found them roasting a few of them. Curious I asked them what they were eating. They laughed. They told me I wouldn't like their food. I told them I am the Asianic Mexican and so they stepped aside just enough for me to see what they had on their plates... "Hmmm I definitely bit off more than I'd want to chew this time," I thought to myself. While I was contemplating where I'd want to barf.

My Jefe, the main man Roman asked, "You want to try Rojo? Let's see if you are a true Mexican." There was no backing down to that, so I ate it and again I got treated like royalty.

Now I work for Oscar at HK, he's my new "Jefe". Slightly older than most of the chefs I've worked for, Oscar is a master of french cuisine. He has an uncanny ability to fuse french with asian influences. Because of this we have something to talk about in the kitchen. He displays his culinary deft, and I give him some asian insight that he can't find in books. Despite his jovial disposition and our great working and non-working relationship, I am preparing myself for my next initiation. Hopefully it won't be anything like Alison's trial by fire...

Hahahahahaha! What ever it is I'll have to eat, my stomach is ready because when push comes to shove and you need the kitchen, its better they look at you as family then as a stuck up puta madre.

Conversations Between Two Night Shift Waiters...

Tonight I met Rachel... Actually I met her three months ago in Hoboken on a long drinking night with Allan and Brian. (See more of the details later)The thing is I was sooooooooooo plastered that I had forgotten the pretty dirty blonde that sat next to me with the greyish blue eyes and firm figure. So totally forgotten that I contrived my sitting next to her on the platform. To be honest I saw her come through the turn stiles. I noticed her all black ensemble, (A dead give away for someone that waits tables) and dirty shoes and knew instantly that she would be someone I should talk to while waiting for the train... So like a hawk I followed her every step until she found herself a comfortable spot and I made my move. I walked deliberately down the platform like a man on a mission and sat but two feet away from her. At the time she was reading a book trying with much deliberate effort to keep awake. I made no effort to hide my gaze. I waited for her to look up to which I smiled gently and asked... "Long night?" She returned the gesture with a toothy grin and said "Yes. It started out great but fizzled out waaaaaaay too early." I thought to myself, "Now I have someone to keep me from drooling all over my shirt and if I play my cards right we might even chat it up on the train ride home..." Strangely enough it came too easy, there were no cards to be played... "I know you from somewhere," she said. "I don't think so," I said. To which she ran down a litany of clubs and bars, none of which seemed familiar to me until she said... "You came in with two other guys and left them to eat..." Then it all came to me like a bolt of lightning! I did meet this girl, how could I have forgotten? It had to have been the Bacardi 151... (never again that traitor!) From then on the conversation just flowed. Effortlessly we talked of the long hours at work and the lonely commute home. We spoke of learning new languages just to communicate to the kitchen. We dabbled in restaurant fashion and how black is the new black! (I doubt the popular unifor color will ever change) No awkward silences... A very interesting conversation. I tried desperately not to check out her physical features. This was too good to let my libido get in the way... I looked in her bag to keep myself from looking down her blouse and saw a book- Drowning Ruth. Sounds morbid, but morbid is interesting. My curiousity peaked I asked, "What are you reading there?" genuinely concerned... She pulled out the book and I took a picture of it. Maybe I wasn't really taking a picture of her book, but more of her mind. I like to think you can tell alot about a person's intellectual and emotional state by the types of books they read. "I like psychological thrillers, it gets my mind all worked up." Hmm interesting reply. Sounds like a possible serial killer. She's cute though.

Our little conversation was cut short as the train came to her stop. "I'm really glad we talked, you made my train ride home so much shorter," I gushed. "Yeah me too," she said. "Hopefully I'll see you on the platform again and we can continue our talk," I said. "I'll be looking for you," was her reply. "Hey I never caught your name," she said. "Red, nice to meet you. I never got your name..." "You never asked... It's Rachel." "Rachel," I said under my breath as she walked out the door and looked back in the car to wave good night. And just like that she got off of the train and I was left with but a pleasant memory and a picture of a book to let me see what lurks in her mind.

Closing Time

It was an odd night tonight. Strange people. Strange requests. Strange demands. Definitely tried my patience. I was ready to get cut and leave early tonight, I wasn't feeling the vibe. I had bouts of near insanity where I was conspiring to feed a guest soup with chicken stock in it because he was an annoying little vegan brat; or fill another guest's cup with regular coffee just because she kept bugging me to bring her decaf- in spanish! I hate having to sit there and take it. I'm not used to it. Its a learning experience for me. Actually one of the best things about my last waitstaff job was that I could throw people out no questions asked... But its an occupational hazard. We are here to please, sometimes at our own expense.


All night I looked longingly at the exit sign and wished I could just throw my apron in someone's face and walk out that door and out into the night. Oh and I would have taken all the cash I had on me too...


Just when I was ready to lose it, pfffffffffft... they all vanished like a puff of smoke in the night, never to be seen again. Then it was just me and my thoughts and the rest of the dinner staff


Finally closing time came and I made a dash for the path... Everything was in fastforward, lights and sounds whizzing past me as I made my way through the NYC streets...


I felt like everything was on autopilot... "just get home... just get home" I kept telling myself. I dragged my tired feet down the stairs and looked up to a beautiful sight...



Now the tough part... The unknown wait... It seriously feels like purgatory... Its hot, its uncomfortable... There are alot of drunk people paying for their sins at 2am in the morning below groundlevel. Waiting for a train that may come in five minutes or not at all... There are also some hot chicks... They look like shit, since they're either drunk out of their minds or halfway sober from whatever it is they were on, but pretty none the less...Another time, another place...

I sit at the edge of the platform looking down at the tracks that is litered with chip bags and ticket stubs... I see a sign that I never paid much mind to... it says:


But I don't want to. I want to live on the edge, feel the rush, feel life! LIVE LIFE That's what my being in new york is about. Its finding myself in a place where you can easily get lost. But to do so you have to flirt with danger... I stood up... walked passed the yellow line and looked at the oncoming light that was rushing toward me...


I didn't see my short life pass before me, I didn't feel anything... Just the slight breeze caused by a ton of steel headed my way... No I wasn't thinking about killing myself, I was thinking about not being so afraid... Not following ALL the rules. Not trying to be agreeable and perfect and pleasant. Does that make sense? I'm no saint, why try to be? Maybe I should just be me. Tonight was a good wake up call... A good gut check.


I will walk the line. And I will find myself and in it I will be free... Not here to make you happy here to just be me.

Going Home...

I realize that I've been taking my commute home for granted. Too tired to look around and take everything in. I'm more paranoid that I may get mugged around the corner than afraid that I'll miss something uniquely New York... Believe me it won't happen again.




I climbed to the roof of the building my restaurant is in... Looked around as far as my squinty eyes could see... The view was amazing... I took a long drag off of my clove, held it, and spat it out at the world... Not exactly the best way to show an appreciation for the view but to me it was like seeing my breath fade into the city. I am one with this city. I am a part of its' vibe. Now does that sound so funny?




Pedestrians from a cab's point of view



No offense but this is where my commute sucks, being stuck underground for supposedly 15mins. (it can take anywhere between 15mins to 1hr.) Everytime I pick up the phone at the path and ask when the next train arrives, a sleepy voice answers- "One will be there in 15mins..." Always... Without fail... (laughter dies down)I feel I have reached the point where I'd call her out and call her a friggin' liar! Its not like I'm gonna take a different train home and they'd lose business by telling me the truth... There's only ONE way for me to get home! It doesn't matter if I go straight to JC, or spend another friggin' 15mins in Hoboken, I have no choice, I'm their captive. The path is an evil monopoly... Believe me, when I save up enough of my tips, I'm building my own commute system!

Its been hard day's night... and I've been working like a dooooog...

Didn't make it home again. Finished working at HK at around 12mn last night but was greeted at the bar by my three good friends and some extras. As in typical fashion, I proceeded to catch up to their level of consciousness by using alcohol (make shift long island ice teas... tastes like gasoline but hey, it gets you there) to bend my mind like a spoon. Thinking a few drinks would make it even steven I TRIED (the operative word being tried) to head out to path trains. That was not to be. With a little encouragement from Alex (my friend and boss) and a promise of a warm familiar couch (Brendan's couch has become my bed of choice through the months... I always wake up feeling like I had a wild night, smelling of cigarettes and other people's sweat... even if I was at his place all night playing video games) I was persuaded into forging on into the night. We ended up at Brendan's. It was Alex, Brendan, Moosie (AKA Alison) Natalie, and myself. Joining us at Brendan's was his flatmate and good friend Lucier and their old pal Mardene. What happens when you mix a Greek, three South Africans, a Frenchwoman, a Filipino, and a Jew together and add alcohol and instruments? The strangest musical ever! We all took turns singing in our native languages... it was a very united nations moment... I guess it was in tune to the olympics... Oh shit, I'm late for work... more on this later!

Gotham At Night

The streets of 8th Avenue at 4am


They only come out at night... a brief look at NYC's insomniacs gathered in force... kinda like the night of the living dead, but some of them are pretty hot...


Ah... another photojournalist

Episode IV: A New Hope

Hey People.... Looks like I might not have to change this blog afterall. I have since retired from my late night shifts in favor of a real life! Hahahaha... No worries, from here on in you'll be getting confessionals of an insomniac waiter with the prequels litered about my blog so you can see how this quiet catholic school boy turned into the mess he is today! Cheers... Now if only I could get my pictures up online....



Ah here we are! This is "HK" short of Hell's Kitchen. We're at 39th and 9th. Drop in around midnight, I'm the only chinky eyed guy there getting sloshed for free... hahahaha.