"Good Whiskey Never Lets You Lose Your Place" or The Restaurant Biz: One Flew Over the Looney Bin"

I ran across this one by accident. An old post of mine.


A few years ago I had a quick stay in the looney bin. Took some vacation time so no one would know. Briggs, my boss, called my first day back. He was on my ass for something already, and I hadn’t been in the door 5 minutes.


He did ask about my vacation.


I told him the fishing was great and that I had resumed surfing, a passion of mine back in the day. “Gotta make that one last ride,” I told him.


Briggs said goodbye and I tried to concentrate on my work. But my mind kept drifting back to my stay in the looney bin. Modern technology is great. The guys in my group ( bin ) were nice. Most were ex restaurant mgrs., some fast food and some from the corral. One group member was an Indian, who went by the name of Cherokee Fiddle. In our focus group, he kept singing “good whiskey never lets you lose your place.”


I made a mental note to remember that sage advice on my exit from the bin. If it worked so well, why was he in here?


Anyway, I needed to get moving and take care of business. It was the day after payday. And it’s always rowdy after getting paid. Never know who's gonna show up. Sometimes the team members call, sometimes they don’t. Too bad we don’t close the next day after getting paid. We could get a professional sign made, put ads in the paper and on t.v.


“Due to the lack of participation of our team members after payday, [ our store ] will be closed every Friday.” The guests would miss seafood schizophrenia. And v.c. basa or catfish, depending on your proximity to Louisiana.


Team member Billy did call to say he couldn’t work because the ants in his ant farm had expired. He was seeking grief counseling. He would call back when the psychiatrist released him. I suggested he call Dr. Myeyes. And even gave him the number. And the # to the bin.


Team member Suzy called and said her play 6th cousin was having an unscheduled emergency operation today and couldn’t work. Some kind of ectomy. The play cousin meant a lot to her and Suzy wanted to be there. I gave her Dr. Myeyes # in case there was any grief relief needed. I could relate, having had my own erectomy problems lately. Thank god for the free 6 pack Myeyes gave me.


I don’t know why I continue to recommend Dr. Myeyes. His advice to me on RKN [ Rowdy Kids Nite ] was useless. And his fee is exorbitant.


Things got worse. The fry cook showed up in a foul mood. Myeyes had suggested AA for his predicament. But he stopped at step 2. He plans on returning to the program if he wins the lottery. He keeps getting behind on the fried chicken. I was tempted to retreat to the car where I keep my 44. I had read that somewhere. Maybe it would work.


Then Briggs called again and said I had made the list. While driving to work I had seen a bumper sticker which read, “My son made the principal’s list at Rowdy High.” Another case of the force known as synchronicity. Being on any list would be a good thing.


“Thanks, Briggs,” I said confidently. Earlier he was chewing my ass for some obscure transgression. Now I had made the list.


“You're #1 on my shit list, Charlie.” he said.


“I’m sorry, Briggs. What didn’t I do? Cucumbers cut the wrong size? Mysterious shopper score too low? White pepper not from McCormick? Potatoes from Colorado? Too many unread e- mails?”


“No, Charlie. You’re on the list because I just don’t like you.”


As Briggs was berating away and making me feel bad, I remembered Cherokee’s advice, having brought a bottle from home for this type of emergency. While Briggs was still ranting, I began pouring the first of many shots, chug-a-lugging them as the bottle slowly emptied. The door was closed ( new directive ) and no one could see me.


As Briggs was going on and on and on, I heard a knock at the door. It was Cherokee. He had just left the looney bin. He said leaving Nurse Ratchet was hard but it was time to move on. I returned to the phone and told Briggs that I would work on my shortcomings. ( it was probably the whiskey talking )


It was good to see Cherokee. I felt bad that my bottle was a shot away ( apologies to the Stones,' "Gimme Shelter" ) but old Cherokee had come prepared. He displayed a fifth of whiskey from out of nowhere.


"Good whiskey never lets you lose your place," he said.


End of Part One.


Farewell and adieu, v.c.