“A New York State of Mind”

Clearly, the man was insane.

He screamed and made wild swipes at me with a large meat cleaver over a butcher block table. 
He was yelling in a language I could not understand. His lips covered in spittle. His coloring was beet red.  He kept waving and pointing his cleaver at me like he was fending off some Demon from the Pit. 
Kind of an extreme reaction – if you ask me? 
I mean really? Since all, I asked him was when the steak for table 12 would be ready for me to serve?
“Whoa… simmer down Chef. Just tell me when it’ll be done? So I can tell my customers in my section when they can expect their steak.”
Chef Chen screamed at me again in Cantonese and threw a sizzling pan in my direction. Splattering me with hot pan drippings.
Not wanting to become the “Next Entree” on what felt like a 1980’s Slasher Flick entitled “MANIAC CHEF!!!” I bolted from the fiery hell .
What an Asshole!
Ok…I made a simple mistake of writing the meat temperature – “Steak Well” on my dupe to the Kitchen instead of “Steak Medium Well.”
The customer at table 12 had politely returned their platter. Requesting their steak to be cooked at the proper temperature.
I had relayed their message with the returned dish to Chef Chen, who erupted into a major meltdown in the kitchen.
I went over to the Service Bar to see if Ralph, our Filipino Bartender, could give me a little club soda on a towel – so I could wipe some of the greasy stains off me before going back to table 12.
Ralph handed me a towel with club soda on it.
“Charlie, did you piss off Chef again?”
“Yeah.”
“You’d better be careful. Chef has Monique’s ear. And – if he complains too much about you to her – you’re gonna get fired,” said Ralph.
“Aww fuck him. And fuck Monique too. This is a stupid job and I’m sick and tired of Chen losing it whenever I make a mistake.”
“Charlie this is the 3rd time this week this has happened.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, you’re gonna get fired if you don’t watch out.”
“Okay.”
“Cause I’d hate to see you get fired and…”
“Alright. Fer Chrissakes. Jesus Ralph! Enough about the getting fired bullshit. I gotta tell table 12 – it’s gonna a few more minutes before their order is ready.”
I threw the wet towel on the bar and stomped over to my section.
I couldn’t believe I was blowing it at Le Beef. Waiting on Tables was not Rocket Science. 
And The Menu at Le Beef was simple –  They only served three things – Steak, Pomme Frittes (Fancy name for French Fries), and Ice Cream. The ice cream was sold as a “Special Dessert.” Meaning they charged you an extra $50 bucks for two scoops of Hagan Dazs.
Well if I got fired,  It would totally suck. This would be the 4th restaurant job to go down the tube in under six months.
With that kind of track record – Waitering was obviously not my type of job. But it allowed me to be a full-time student in Acting School. 

Since I was in school all day – Working in restaurants at night was the easiest way to make money to pay my tuition and rent.
It was past Twelve O’ Clock when the last table in my section paid their checks and left. 
My grand haul for the evening was $50 in tips which in the Big City was shit for a Friday Night. Friends of mine in other restaurants usually pulled in $100-200 bucks on a good night.
It was time to blow this pop stand and get a beer to unwind.
Kennedy’s was a bar I liked. It was a typical Irish Bar that catered to the late-night crowd. I could knock back a couple of Rolling Rock Beers, and smoke Marlboros till closing.
The Bar was warm when I entered it. Billy Joel was blasting out of the speakers. The atmosphere cloudy with cigarette smoke and redolent with the smell of beer and whiskey. 
I rolled out of Kennedy’s past 2:30 Am and headed to my friend Jimmy’s apartment. 
When I worked late he let me sleep on his couch, rather than take the long subway ride back to my apartment in Brooklyn.
It was a freezing walk to Jimmy’s. My cheap wool coat provided little warmth against the Winter chill. By the I got to my friend’s apartment I was shivering and my teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
Letting myself quietly into the apartment, I  threw my coat and uniform on the floor and laid down on the couch. 
One of Jimmy’s Cat’s “Mr. Piggy” jumped on my chest and curled up into a ball.
The cat was warm and I was beat. I passed out, listening to cat purring and the echo of Billy Joel singing “New York State of Mind” in my head.
It was 4 pm and starting to get dark and the restaurant sign was already lit by the time I got to work.
I knew something was up as soon as I walked into Le Beef for my Saturday evening shift.
Ralph came from behind the bar and intercepted me before I was partway into the restaurant.
Armando, the Busboy, joined him and they flanked me, preventing me from proceeding any further into the restaurant.
“Charlie, I am Sorry, ” said Ralph putting his hand on my shoulder.
“For what?”
“For getting Fired.”
“I didn’t get fired. Stop messing with me, Ralph.”
“Monique said she fired you…”
“That’s news to me. I haven’t seen Monique.”
“She said she left you a message on your answering machine,” said Armando.
“Whaaaat?! She fired me by leaving a message on my machine? Oh, Cmon?! No one gets fired that way. And I haven’t been home for two days!” I said stunned.
“Well I am sorry Charlie, but I am going to have to ask you to leave. Monique said you weren’t welcome here anymore.”
“This is totally fucked up Ralph.”
“Charlie I am…”
“Forget it, Ralph. This place sucks and I should consider myself lucky to get out of here. See you later… I guess. ” I said exiting the restaurant
The wind tore into me as I hit the street sending an icy shiver through my body as I headed to the subway station.
The fantasies of what I wanted to tell that fat assed Monique and that snitching psycho Chen kept me warm until opening the door on my apartment – whereupon they promptly died.
Tearing the taped Rent Overdue envelope away from the door I saw the red light of my answering machine blinking.
I pressed play –
Beep..Hello Charles…this is Monique from Le Beef Restaurant…I am sorry but I am letting you go from the restaurant…so you can’t work at Le Beef anymore…Thank you…Beep.

A few snowflakes drifted past my apartment window.
There was $30 bucks in small bills stuffed in my jeans. Meaning –  once that was gone – I was broke with no job.
Damn.
It was going to be a long cold winter.

About this story

For a guy fresh out of the Marine Corps without any restaurant skills I was bounced from job to job trying to make a living in NYC back in 1981. While this story is humorous, my situation back then was not. I was desperate with no backup plan or support system. Often, I would find myself almost penniless walking the streets of Manhattan in the frigid cold or blazing heat, going from restaurant to restaurant asking employers for work. Fortunately, I was young and there were (and still are) a lot of restaurants in New York City. Eventually, I found a restaurant in lower Manhattan that seemed to tolerate my negligible skills. I worked there for many years, moving up from being a server to tending a bar as a bartender.

I was partly inspired by Tommy Tutone’s ironic song – “Jenny 8675309” in writing this story. While Mr. Tutone’s song is about a different subject matter – the opening line “Jenny, Jenny who can I turn to?…” with the strumming guitar chords and the singer’s angst brought to mind the desperation I felt during those years – walking the streets looking for a job with no safety net.

Finally, for those of you who were curious – Yes, I was once let go by a restaurant owner – who left a message on my answering machine – informing me that I was “fired” from their restaurant and to not to come in for my shift. Unfortunately, I did not get the message until after I had received the news at my former job by the Restaurant Bartender/Manager.

I guess the guy felt sorry for me – as he poured me a shot of Cognac before packing me off jobless and alone out into the cold winter night.

Words cannot begin to describe the utter despair I felt on that subway ride back to Brooklyn.