Bits and Pieces. Nothing Terribly Thought Out.

I am now somewhat employed! Which is great! I say somewhat because the gig is part time, and I can't even come close to supporting myself with one, part-time job. I like the job though, I am a hostess at a neighborhood restaurant/bar in Berkeley. Berkeley, as in a neighborhood of Northwest Denver not The Peoples Republic of Berkeley, CA. It's ridiculously easy because I am only there when it's busy and so I shoot people to the only open tables and tell them to wait at the bar if there are no open tables at that moment. Though, I am supposed to chat people up and be friendly, which complicates things a little, but not too much. My co-workers are very friendly but I don't talk to them much because I stay right at the door and they stay away from the door. The people who frequent B.I. (the restaurant) are generally yuppies, in the classic sense of the word (Young Urban Professionals. Think graphic designers and such) because Berkeley is a neighborhood that for the most part has up and come.

I am really enjoying it because I miss knowing regulars. At the P there were tons, and by the time I left we were all mildly acquainted, which was nice. So I am (slooowly) getting to know the BI regulars. So far I have really only met E, who(m?) I have dubbed one of the "lonesome guys." Men who come to restaurants/bars/pubs by themselves. Either because they refuse to cook for themselves, or they're lonely, or for reasons that completely elude me, and so I am forced to make them up.

For example, at the P there was a very careful guy who would come in when the pub was mostly empty and sit in the seat closest to the bar and nurse a pint of sprite for almost an hour. Then he would carefully count out the change for another pint of soda. His hair was slightly overgrown, but carefully brushed out of his way, and his clean but faded t-shirts would always be carefully tucked into his carefully belted jeans. I would ask him questions ("how was your day?" "Oof, how about that snow!") he would look mildly frightened and either grunt, nod, or (if he was feeling feisty) give me a one word one syllable answer.

Since he would never open up enough (or at all) to tell me what his story was, I decided that he had severe agoraphobia and that his therapist told him to just go out and exist in pubs. I imagined that he roamed from pub to pub, sipping a pint of a different soda in each place.

I haven't figured out/made up E's story yet. He probably just doesn't cook.

This weekend I dragged the roommates to a bar just down the street from us. I applied for a job there twice, and never heard back from them, and I was curious about the place. It was also intriguing because they offer a menu of American classics (hamburgers, etc) and Vietnamese food. A trucker bar in Wheat Ridge that serves burger s and pho definitely deserves a look. So on Saturday I loaded Cas and Nate into the car and drove them down there. I didn't know it, but we stumbled into ladies night, so Cas and I each got a free beer (it was buy one get one free). 2 pints of Coors for $2.50 and tip isn't bad at all, the catch is that you're limited to either Coors or PBR. The kitchen was closed so we didn't see the menu (and we forgot) but we drank our beers and started to leave, and as we were going out the door I noticed that there was one of those games in which you use a joystick to maneuver a claw to grab a stuffed animal or candy or something. But in this game you grabbed lobsters. REAL LIVE lobsters, lurking in water in the well usually filled with stuffed bears and sweet tarts. I saw it first and was so surprised that I couldn't articulate my findings and had to grab the back of Cas' jacket and physically propel her in front of the machine (I heard snickers behind my back as I did this, but Cas and I agree that it was totally worth it). Next time, we are going to the bar that is walking distance from our house. It frequently has a dusty, yellow corvette parked out front in the early afternoon.

This weekend Cas and I had breakfast at a diner (I live in the land of diners) called Davies Chuck Wagon. It was great. Apparently someone ordered it from New Jersey in the late fifties and it arrived fully equipped and exactly as you can see it now on a train. It's tiny and is all worn formica and smudged chrome. Cas and I have decided to (slowly) try all of the diners around. I love diners, and so I am very excited.

Also on the dining front, I looked back at my previous posts, and saw that Marge, of Large Marge's Philly Cheese steaks, read my blog and commented, and offered me lunch. I haven't done it yet.

But Marge, I'm coming for my lunch and a chat about living in the Bay Area: and I have never, ever had a philly cheese steak.