Been Moving. Will Post More Soon.

Been moving. Will post more soon.

Do You Know What Time It Is?

For starters, Mom, you can post comments on this thing anytime you like because:
a) It's not like anybody's really reading this thing (no offense to people who actually read this thing, you know what I mean and,
b) That's what moms do.

Funny thing is, this little shout out will probably embarrass her way more than her posting a comment on this blog would embarrass me.

The past few days have been super busy. I've been canceling a gym membership, filling out change of address forms (Once you fill that thing out online, THEN they tell you they're going to charge you a dollar for changing your address. They ought to pay you a dollar for sitting through all that garbage), filling up boxes with clothes and coffee mugs (apparently the bulk of my material possessions are clothes and coffee mugs), throwing out a laundry hamper covered with dog urine (it's a long story), applying for jobs, and making plans for this weekend's upcoming NASCAR Sprint Cup All Star Race. Hopefully this year Greg Biffle takes the million clams. I've been doing more than that; but that's the bulk of it.

Occasionally, I'll look up from my computer screen or at the clock in my car to catch the time. The first thing I think is, Okay, just one more game of Online Scrabble and then it's back to being productive. The second thing I think about is always Cedars related. For example, if it's 1:30 and I was at the Cedars I would be thinking how slow time is going and I wish it was time for lunch break and if one more member walks through the doors to the bar I'm going to have a nervous breakdown. And then of course here comes some smiling octogenarian shuffling in and I sigh and put on a smile and try to deliver the day's lunch specials with the same enthusiasm I had at 11:30.

This is a phenomenon that will probably happen for a a long, long time. It would happen to me on my day off. It used to happen to me when I was at work in Colorado. It used to happen to me when I was a part-timer and trying to stay awake it Swahili (that's an even longer story). And I'm sure that a short time from now and I'm taking my eyes off of my computer screen in a nicely decorated office (that's called OPTIMISM, children) and I'm working late I'll look at the clock and when it looks at me and tells me it's 7:00 and I knew who was going to come in for dinner and a latte in the bar. The Cedars is always going to be a part of who I am.

On a completely different note, have you seen the lineup for this year's Austin City Limits festival?? The lineup for Friday, Oct. 8th alone is out of control. The last place I saw the Strokes was in Austin outside at Stubbs BBQ. How awesome would it be to see them in Austin again, with Vampire Weekend, Spoon, Broken Bells, Miike Snow, etc. So if any of my loyal readers are thinking of birthday ideas, I'm just saying, food for thought. Anyhoo it's time to fold and pack more clothes but this time I'm going to link a little playlist in honor of ACL Fest. Enjoy.

The Strokes - Hard to Explain
Vampire Weekend - Diplomat's Son
Spoon- Everything Hits at Once
Broken Bells- The High Road
Miike Snow- Black & Blue

No, Miike Snow is not a misspelling. I particularly love the first line of that Spoon song. It's one of those opening lines that every time I hear it, it makes me wish I had written it:

Don't say a word/
The last one's still stinging.

Of Times Clocks, etc.

My time card from the Cedars has a picture of me from five years ago. I wasn't wearing glasses (I had been workshopping contacts during that fall -- it didn't work out). I was also apparently having one of the weirdest hair days of my life. My hair's always been thick and somewhat unmanageable, by that I mean I can put product in it and try to manipulate it to do what I want but it seems like every time I look in the mirror a few hours later I'm always sort of surprised to see what my hair looks like. One way to solve this would be to get it cut every four or so weeks like a sane person should. But my hair in this picture is short but it's kind of standing up like a wave like kids used to do when I was in middle school. The rest of my hair in the picture is sort of flat, like in that episode of Seinfeld where the city cuts the water flow down in their showerheads and the characters can't wash out all of the shampoo. You might look at the picture and look at my hair and tell me I'm crazy for thinking it's so weird.
Also, why in the world would I possibly analyze something so crazy as my hair in my picture from a time card?
Because I've been through a lot with that time card. I've had it (or a variation of it) for the better part of five calendar years. I've used it so much that I reach for it many times instead of my debit card in the check out line at Harris Teeter. When I moved in to this house I didn't have a key. The locks are so crappy that all it took was a slide of the ol' time card in between the metal and the wood and viola, my time card was also my house key.
I think maybe I've mentioned the beep the time card makes when a server clocks in. Just a simple, short, mindless beep.
When you clock in in the morning, the beep reminds you you've got a long day ahead of you. When you swipe it at night the beep reminds you that you won't be gone all that long before you swipe the card again.
On Saturday, at around 8:30 PM I swiped my time card for the very last time at the Cedars of Chapel Hill. Since the lease on this house is running out and I've got nothing holding me down here, I found a pretty good set-up in Winston-Salem and I'll be moving there within the next week. The next place I find myself may have an identical time clock (that is, if I have to swipe a card, fingers crossed I won't) as the Cedars has. It may make the exact same noise as the one the Cedars' makes. But I promise that it will sound as different as two identical sounds possibly can.

What Kind of Worker Am I?

Don Miller is good at what he does. He writes. He gets his readers to think differently about things they think about all the time. In his latest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Miller pushes the reader to really think about what it means for a person to become the main character in his or her life story and what God's role is in that. That's about as vanilla and simple as i know how to put that. But it's my day off and I don't want to spend the entire day explaining a book. You need to read it anyway. It's an inspiring thing Miller does. To get the most out of life, you need to be proactive, no matter what you're after.
Between books and speaking engagements and whatever else he does, he runs a blog. It's called Don Miller Is.
The other day he ran a post called: Knowing Your Work Style Can Help You Avoid Burnout.

I don't think I'm a grinder or a finder. I have a little Keeper in me but I'm much more of the last two (finder and theorist).

If you were to ask me what kind of worker I am, I'd tell you I'm a hard worker. A loyal worker. Someone who can think outside the box to find quick, creative solutions.
But what does that really mean? I mean, and good worker is going to be a hard, loyal, one.
Truthfully, I'm going to be a good worker no matter where I work. Always have been a good worker, always will be.

But the bottom line is that if you aren't in a good working environment for the kind of worker you are, you're probably headed for burnoutvilleburg. And right now I feel like the mayor of said town. I think my term may be ending soon. Things are in the works. My character is working on a better story.

I have a problem with being too indecisive. If you ask me a yes or no question, 40 percent of the time I'm not going to give you a yes or no answer. Even still, the other 60 percent of the time when I actually do answer your yes or no question I'm going to stumble all around trying to find a way out of actually giving a decisive answer. My whole life I've been like this. It's because I desperately want your approval and I'm petrified of rejection.
But this drives people nuts. If you tell me you the last movie you saw and you loved it and then ask me if I liked it, I'm probably going try to find something I did like about it (even if I hated it) and say "it was alright."
This is a quality that gets on peoples nerves. At least when someone says they hated the movie you know how they felt.
Sometimes I get frustrated because members ALWAYS want the same thing. Day in. Day out. One man comes in every day at lunch and wants the exact same thing. A bowl of soup (doesn't matter what the soup is), three packs of saltines to go with that. Fish. A cup of fruit. And sweet tea with no ice. And when he runs out of tea he says, "can I get some more sweet tea, no ice?" He says that every single time like I've got the ice scoop in my hand ready to dump a whole load of it into his precious tea. Also, I don't care if we bring this guy Gorton's fish sticks or grilled Mahi with some amazing chutney. He doesn't care. He just wants fish. Yes it's repetitive. Yes, it gets really old. But this guy knows what he wants and to be honest, I think a small part of me may be jealous of that quality.
Just this morning I stopped at a Starbucks in Winston to grab a cup of coffee on my way back from Wilkesboro to Chapel Hill. I almost had to give up my place in line because I couldn't decide between the Bold and Pike's Place roast. It takes me several seconds to choose a bottle of water when I'm in line at Whole Foods. Both roasts at Starbucks are basically the same. Doesn't really matter what kind label the bottle has the water really tastes the same. I just worry too much about what people might think based on these little decisions. Anyway, this is a roundabout way of me saying, "I'm working on it."

On a completely different note. I'd like to endorse Randy Newman as a songwriter. He obviously doesn't need my recommendation but what I like about the guy, is that it doesn't really matter which song you listen to, I doubt the man has ever been asked "Can you tell me what this song is about?" They are straightforward. He is the quintessential "storytelling songwriter."
Today I had "Living Without You" I put on a mixed CD I burned. The first part of the opening verse is incredible.

The milk truck hauls the sun up/
the paper hits my door/
the subway shakes my floor/
and I think about you.

Unbelievable.

MerleFest

I'm at Merlefest this weekend, in Wilkesboro, my hometown. Elvis Costello & The Sugarcanes tonight. Also, Steve Martin is playing banjo with the Steep Canyon Rangers as his backing band. I haven't been this excited to come home in quite some time. Nothing old-persons-related to speak of. The Kentucky Derby is in jeopardy of being rained out apparently. If I were working today I'd be elbow deep making mint juleps and seeing what sort of crazy hats the members came in wearing. Not that 'm going to miss that at all, but it's just fun to see octogenarians getting tanked sometimes. So here's to Derby Day and Merlefest. I'm going to fend off the hippies.

Oops.

Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about this thing. I'm just really, really lazy. Writing, I've found, is just like going to the gym. You have to get into a routine, a set plan, in order to be able to see the benefits of the hard work. Yes, it sucks to wake up at seven in the morning when you don't have to be at work for another four hours. It has to be serious change. And once you get into the habit, not only does it become easier to get to the gym, the opposite is also true. It becomes harder to NOT go to the gym. That is, until, you get out of your routine and you skip a day. And then you skip another day. And another. Then you rationalize your not going to the gym by telling yourself that it's good to skip the gym for a week or two because your body was probably too comfortable with all that exercise and that skipping for a week will trick your body so that when you finally do go back your muscles will have no idea what's going on, turning your body into a fat incinerating furnace. Then, three weeks later you find yourself looking at yourself in the mirror trying to figure out who the fat loser is with the Cheetos crumbs all over his face, wondering, where did that person go who was actually starting to get into shape?
I'm not speaking from personal experience or anything. Hmmm.
Writing this blog has been the same. I went out of town three weeks ago and didn't have any internet connection where I was and so this little project of mine sort of went on the back burner for a few days. Then, when I got back to town I said to myself, "you've already missed a few days; another is no big deal."
That was three weeks ago.
And then something really strange happened. People started asking me why I hadn't written anything. It was like having a weight drop on your foot in the gym (side note: that happened to me one time. My toenail literally bled for three weeks).
So, I'm sorry and I'm flattered. I will try to be more disciplined.
Not really a whole lot going on at the Cedars these days, but for some reason the members have been very vocal about how much of a drag getting older is. I'm not sure if there's anything to that. Maybe they always have and I just haven't been paying attention but I don't think that's it.
At this point I'm going on four hours sleep and I'm reaching for something to write. Finito.

Another Successful "Happy Hour"

I don't know if I told you this; but it's illegal to have a happy hour in North Carolina. It's a violation of the law to lower the price of alcoholic beverages for less than 24 hours. So in stead, we call Fridays, Happy Day now. We still close the bar from 4-6:30 and close it off for strictly drinkin'. But tonight I explained to a few members that now, if they wanted to, they could order a drink at 7:00 am and to have with their mini muffins (that are scooped out with an ice cream scooper and then baked) and bagels and Activia yogurts. And I'll be honest, some of them are so "thrifty" I wouldn't be surprised to someone dressed in a track suit with the News & Observer in one hand, and a cabernet in the other at the continental breakfast. People do it in Europe every day.
This evening, we had "John Dalys" as the Happy Hour special. With the Masters and pollen and warm weather and all the blue skies it seemed like the perfect drink for this evening. We whipped up some orange simple syrup and mixed it with Firefly (that is, honest-to-goodness Sweet Tea flavored vodka) and topped it with lemon-lime soda. It's called a John Daly because it's an alcholic version of an Arnold Palmer. It's a cheap shot; but everybody gets the joke.
Now, one might think, no way would an 80+ year-old drink something as crazy as sweet-tea flavored vodka. And one would be wrong. Don't worry, most misconceptions about "old people" have been exposed at the Cedars. Friday nights prove that many of them are willing to try new things. We decided a long time ago to try to think up something many of them haven't ever had before. And a lot of them are very receptive to new things.
When we made something called Tar Heel Tea (a blue version of a Long Island Iced Tea) some members said "it looks like poison," but they tried it. Some of them even liked it.
When I had my last happy hour before I left for Colorado a server made Jello shots (yes, Jello shots). I was watching old people slam them down like it was finals week at Carolina.
Their sense of adventure is still strong.
And if you've never seen a 93 year take a Jello shot in the shape of a Tar Heel logo, you're life might not mean as much as you think.
That might be a little harsh. You're life probably means a lot despite having seen this; but seeing old people take Jello shots is incredible.

"He Was One Of The Hippies."

If there is one overwhelming positive to working in the bar as opposed to the other dining rooms at the Cedars, it's the casual feel of the room. It's dark room but it isn't dull. Warmth is what you feel (though members always complain it's cold). Rich wood lines the floor and ceiling; muted reds, greens, and gold make up the carpet. Black solid granite makes the bar. I think it's granite but I don't know for sure.
If you're looking for a laid back, casual, easy meal, then Bob's Speakeasy (the bar's God-given name) is the place for you. The pace for the staff working in the bar is anything but laid back, but still, the overall vibe of the room opens it up to warm conversation. I mean I've had some of the greatest conversations of my life in that room and I've heard (read: eavesdropped) some doozies between the members. Sometimes, the discussions can catch you off guard. Case in point:
Tonight I went to clear the dinner plates at Table 7. That's in the back left-hand corner of the bar (if you're standing behind the bar looking out at the tables) next to a window that looks out into the lobby and the grand piano.
I had noticed the couple there in deep conversation before I got there and when I was about to ask what they'd like to have dessert the lady turned to me and looked up.
"Kent, what do you think about legalizing medical marijuana in California?"
Now, this is one of those women you see and could bundle into the "cutest, sweetest little-old-lady-in-the-world" debate. I was in shock that she would ask this question, even more so that I was asked to chime in on the discussion. But I couldn't resist (note: I don't dare divulge my actual thoughts on the subject. This is for time's sake and also I just don't want to go there you, OK?). As I spoke they nodded and several times said, "I guess I never really considered that, or, "that's a good point."
After I was done with my schpiel (I don't know how to spell schpiel) they looked at me and they looked at each other and I looked at them and we all nodded. And then came the amazing part.
The gentleman at the table looked up at me and offered up this little tidbit.
"Well, as I was explaining to [the lady's first name] earlier, my son used to smoke marijuana when he was in college. He was one of the hippies. I used to smell it in his room when he would come home to visit. But once he got a job he never touched the stuff again."
The man was on the right subject but his offering wasn't totally relevant. But I loved it because it was honest and sincere. Also, because he used the phrase "he was one of the hippies" in a real-life conversation.
Confession time, I can't believe that I'm called upon as a source of information for these members as I often am. But I am. Since 2005 I have explained iPods, twitter, Wilkesboro's Moonshine supremacy, the appeal of NASCAR, etc, etc, this isn't even close to the tip of the iceberg in relation to the information I've given out. And secretly, I love it. And for as many times as I've doled "knowledge" out, I've been on the receiving end on some amazing info too.
After we talked about pot, I took the couple's dessert order. Decaf black for the lady, (she only indulges in sweets on Saturday) tiramisu cheesecake with a scoop of vanilla for the gentleman (he indulges in sweets every day of the week).

New Nike Commercial for Tiger

I just saw this new Nike commercial for Tiger Woods. It features the voice of his late father. Whoever came up with this is a genius.

Pointers

Forget everything else you've got to worry about. The pollen here is out. of. control.
You leave footprints in it when you walk. You swallow it when you breathe in. If you step outside for more than 30 seconds it settles on you. I feel like we've been crop dusted.
Would you like to know how to piss your server off the fastest?
Walk in to a place, and before you even acknowledge the server, tell them these four words:
"We're in a hurry."
This is frustrating for several reasons.
1) Servers have a cadence, a routine they to start a table off. When you interrupt our routines it throws everything off and we get flustered. So, let us GREET YOU; let us tell you if there is anything special about the menu; let us take your drink orders.
2) I don't control how fast your food comes out. That's on the kitchen. There are other people in the restaurant who were here before you. There food will come out before yours 9 times out of ten. Weird, huh? Get over it. Don't look at your server, or worse, flag your server down or yell at him or her from across the restaurant.
3) Why would you think I want you at a table for longer than I had to have you in it anyway? Please.
If you're "in a hurry," let us at least greet you and then tell you what's going on. Then, say something like, "I know you're busy but if it's at all possible we would like to get out of here as quickly as we can."
It probably wouldn't hurt to make up a story about a sick kid or having to pick up a puppy from the vet or something either.

Yes, I know this is a weak post but I feel like I need to do this every day and I had nothing today.

Until We Live To Work

"Every dollar counts.
And every morning hurts.
We mostly work to live
Until we live to work."
- From the song Run by Vampire Weekend.

The work is easy at the Cedars. But working at the Cedars is not easy. No, Yogi Berra did not coin that phrase. I know that every job gets old. But this one is beyond old. My relationships with the members at the Cedars are very meaningful and important to me. But I see the same people every day. For the most part they sit in the same chairs. Some of them order the same food. Many of them say the same things.
"Can I get some more sweet tea, no ice?"
"Do you have ham sandwiches?"
"You have to have a Master's in engineering to open these [Saltine crackers] things."
Day in. Day out. It never changes and it seems like it never ends. Work is work and it's supposed to be hard and it's supposed to be trying. But when every day is the exact same it gets to be unbearable. Every time you turn around somebody needs something and the want it immediately. And then, as soon as that's accomplished there's someone in another chair demanding a ham & swiss and they haven't even said hello to you. Why does it seem like so many of these people are in a frantic hurry to go nowhere?
Maybe they feel the same about living there.
I don't know.
Tomorrow is a day off and it is very much needed.

Rock Bottom

Dook is cutting down the nets right now. This is what rock bottom feels like. I changed the background colors and font color on the blog so it would be easier on the eyes. You're welcome.

The lady who had just finished her dinner started to walk away from the end of the bar when she spun around and stared at me with bug eyes through glasses the size of tennis balls.
"What time do you usually go to bed at night?" She asked.
On a scale of one to ten on the creep-o-meter, this was probably a 7.
"Um, usually about 12 or one a.m." I said.
This was a classic "senior moment."
I've seen this happen more and more lately. A member starts to slip more and more into senility and they blurt out the first thing that pops into their head.
Once, a man starting to succumb to Alzheimer's who always sat in the first seat in the bar looked straight at me and said sharply, "have you seen a dress?"
"Uhh, I've seen lots of dresses." I responded. The man shook it off and took another bite of his cheeseburger.
It's tough to see the people who have been at the Cedars as long as I have start to slip more and more.
There's a look they get when they lose a thought. It's almost like instead of something being on the tip of their tongues in on the tip of their brains. You ask them what they want to drink. They know what it is they want but they can't remember what it's called. You can almost see the thought float away or something. And then they finally say, "the usual."
But this is another benefit of living at the Cedars, because 7 out of ten times there is someone at the stool next to them or at the same table with them to say something like, "I did that the other day," or "I do that all the time."
"That's why they call it a senior moment," they'll say; and they laugh it off together.

Easter

This is the first post from my new iPad...Not. More like iWish.
I didn't get to spend Easter with my family. So instead, I spent it with my 400 surrogate grandparents. I would have rather spent it with my real family, though. My family doesn't address me as "Waiter," or demand that I serve them lunch even though it's a self-serve buffet.
On the other hand, my family doesn't tell other people "he makes the best iced coffee you've ever had," or "he's from North Wilkesboro with all the moonshine and race cars." Give and take.
The only benefit to working a Sunday is that when the buffet gets broken down the staff is allowed to eat our fill. It's like putting a calf into a tank of piranhas. Today though, they didn't even make bacon or sausage; AND, they ran out of Eggs Benedict. Instead, I had to settle for Chicken Marsala and Easter Ham. How does the other half live?
Confession time: I tried giving up coffee for lent. I made it 22 days and then buckled. I had one roommate give up peanut butter, another give up chocolate, and still another give up meat. They all made it the full Forty (actually 44) days from Ash Wednesday til today without indulging. Right now we have all sorts of opened peanut butter jars, chocolate cakes, and four steaks on ye olde grill. It's shaping up to be an interesting evening in this house.
The Redskins just traded to get Donovan McNabb. Unreal.
Normally by now I'd have listened to the sermon from Flatirons by now but they haven't posted it yet. But, they did send out an interesting tweet on Friday evening that does a really good job of summing up the importance of today: "Christianity is a statement which, if false, is of no importance, and, if true, is of infinite importance. The one thing it cannot be is moderately important." - C.S. Lewis.
Amen.
Yankees and Red Sox right now. Easter. Opening night. Amen.

"To Hate Like This is to be Happy Forever"

Spring. Pollen. Prepping the Garden. Easter.
These are things on the minds of people in early April in any other state than North Carolina. But this is North Carolina. And to be specific this is Tobacco Road. Almost a year ago to the day I had just arrived back to Chapel Hill to watch the Tar Heels cut down the nets for the 2009 National Championship. All things considered, this year's season was catastrophic. I tried to get into the NIT. I tried. But I couldn't do it. And what makes it worse is that Dook, that Gothic wasteland 8 miles down the road, is in the Final Four. Insult to injury.
I first saw the book To Hate Like this is to be Happy Forever at Barnes & Noble. It was hardback. Who buys those anymore? I had read an excerpt from in an Esquire and fell in love with it from word one. It was a glorification of the greatest rivalry in sports. It's one of those things that says everything about a subject you just can't seem to put into words.
Of course, by way of the Cedars (it's a long story) I got to meet the author at some NC writers something or other. It was pretty cool. I met a lot of perfect strangers who had more money than I'll ever see rubbing elbows and drinking booze before noon. I bought a paperback copy. The author, Will Blythe, inscribed the inside cover wishing me well as a journalist to be. It's hard for me not to shake my head every time I read that.
That book set on my shelf for the better part of 2 years before I even picked it up. I was working at another retirement community outside of Boulder (that's an even longer story) and had hours on hours of free time because hardly any body lived there. So I brought the book into work with me. I'm not exaggerating when I say that book had a huge impact on me coming back to North Carolina. Saying it's a sports book is like saying Titanic was about a boat.
Of course, at it's core, the book is an exploration of why the schools hate each other, why the fans hate each other, and why that's OK. But it's also about what it means to be from North Carolina and why simply put, it's the greatest place on Earth (at least that's what it says without actually saying it).
The point of this is, this rivalry doesn't go away with age. And that makes me happy. So many of these members went to UNC or Dook and still bleed their respective blues. They bicker at each other because Carolina fans aren't pulling for Dook. And I'm sure the opposite happened last year when we were in the Final Four.
The other day a member came in for a bite of lunch and asked me if I was pulling for the Blue Devils since the Tar Heels weren't in the tournament.
I looked at her with all the seriousness in the world.
"[members name], not only am I not pulling for them, but I'm hoping they lose the next game by 20 points," I said.
She put down her turkey sandwich and returned my look in-kind.
"Kent, that's the most disappointing thing I've ever heard you say."
"To be honest with you, that's the nicest thing I've ever said about Duke," I returned.
"Well, I hope one day we can change your mind."
Impossible.
Even tonight someone took a cheap shot at me. A member and her husband were eating in the bar and when I dropped off their drinks she said "Kent, I thought of you when the Tar Heels lost the other night...I probably shouldn't have said that." She is a Dookie.
No crap. It was calculated, cold, and effective. I gave a courtesy chuckle and walked off.
This is a weird post to talk about on Easter Eve, but I had to purge it out of my system. If I proofread this I'm just going to get angry.

1 April 2010

80 degrees. The sky didn't even think about having a cloud. Chapel Hill, "The Southern Part of Heaven." I get it.
I tried all day to try to think of an April fools joke to pull on some of the members. All I could think of was to maybe tell them we were out of the dessert they ordered. I can't pull the trigger on telling an 80+ we're out of strawberry shortcake. They're too smart for that anyway.
In stead, I settled on telling some of my coworkers I had been called for a job interview at a high profile ad agency. They got really excited; then I lowered the boom. The joke was on everybody. They got duped; and I was still working at the Cedars.
I'm excited for two reasons.
One: I do not have to work lunch tomorrow.
Two: We've been cultivating our own Coffee Vodka after a member told us about his success with it to use in our happy hour special tomorrow.

"Giving Up the Gun" by Vampire Weekend. Do not listen to that song.
April Fools. Listen to that song.

"But My Fame Does Not Rest on That Alone"

I don't know many of the life stories of the members who live at the Cedars. I know that many of them are retired doctors, lawyers, professors, a few entertainers sprinkled in. But I do know one thing: they are big deals. Sometimes you walk by and you catch little shavings of the stories they tell from when they were still practicing whatevers, and when you walk back to the kitchen and tell another server and share a moment of awe. Once in a while, it's hard to believe they give college grads struggling to make good or high school kids trying earn a dollar or whoever works there the time of day. It's wild.
One thing I'm very thankful for is that there are a lot of people who work at the Cedars who I grew up with, and get to share this experience with. Someone I know from Wilkesboro got me the job and I, in turn, have helped others from our small town get jobs there too. At one point or another, there have probably been 10 people on the payroll of the Cedars. So when one of the staff says "I'm from Wilkesboro," there's a really good shot that staff member not only knows but knows really well the other staffers from Wilkes.

It means the world to be able to share this experience with some of your best friends. Case in point, last night, as I sometimes tend to do if we have a slow minute in the bar, I ventured out into the casual dining room. It was slow out there too. One of the member's guests happened to have been the professor I had for feature writing in the J-school at Carolina. I love it when she visits because whenever she comes we have really good conversations. And also you get to see an very long, rich friendship between the member and my professor still alive and growing deeper. So I'm halfway into this conversation with my professor and the member. The member is in the market for a new car (I recommend a Toyota- yeah I know they're in hot water but does brand loyalty mean nothing today?). And my professor is telling me about internships that her current students and the guests speakers she gets in for her students to interview and profile this semester. And here again, this woman has clout. A Pulitzer Prize nominated journalist herself, she gets the best for her students.

So halfway through my conversation i look up and see my friend Michael talking to another table. Not only is Michael from Wilkesboro, but he's also a roommate of mine. Michael drives to and from Greensboro three days a week to go class. He's studying to get into med school. One of the members he was talking to is a very respected doctor. Apparently, Michael was asking a bunch of questions about what the member specifically used to and the member obliged and told him all this stuff. Eventually he tells Michael that he basically invented some famous technique, one of the first to employ such a technique still widely used today. That would have been enough to impress anyone but then he looks up at Michael and says "but my fame does not rest on that alone."

Like I said, it's a wonder they give us the time of day.

You Get Along Better When You See Somebody

I listened to one of the two women at table 8 try to recite the alphabet. She got it right this time.
It was her third attempt.
She comes in every single day and every day she has a more difficult time than the day before. One evening, while she prepared to eat her dinner in her usual spot she began to squeeze a wedge of lemon above her fish, she stopped mid squeeze.
"What was I putting this on?" She asked.
The girl I work with and I told her she was putting it on her trout. She shook her head and laughed.
Today she had walked over to the clubhouse with a lady who lives in her building she used to eat with frequently. I put the coffee on the burners and made sure the cooler was stocked with wine for the dinner shift and sort of half-listened to their conversation. Shortly after the one had vanquished the alphabet, they began to talk about their ailments, as old people frequently do.
"Well there's a difference between just sort of feeling bad all the time and being in pain all the time."
"I know it, but I feel bad and I'm in pain all the time," responded the other.
"Well, yeah, but sometimes you get along better when you see somebody," said the first.
I was floored. But I shouldn't have been surprised.
One of the things I admire most about these members is the sense of community they have. They experience everything together. When times are good, they are there for one another. When things are bad, they are there for one another. And when times are at the lowest of low and they experience pain or loss, there are always people there to let them know they have someone if they need them. And when this lady, who can hardly even say her ABCs, told her friend "you get along better when you see somebody," she was letting her know she was there for her if she needed.
And her friend nodded and said "I know it. We should do this more." and then she promptly followed it with, "is my lipstick smeared?"
Life is lived better when you're with other people.
And yes. Her lipstick was smeared.

28 March 2010.

I think yesterday I posted the wrong date. Which brings me to my first point kids: proofreading. So this time it's the real March 28th, 2010. Also, I've been posting the date in the international format? I didn't work today. I've been scared of tornadoes since I was a kid. I can remember being in 1st grade and watching the Wizard of Oz and having to hide my face when the part came on when the tornado came. As a matter of fact, I was scared of thunderstorms until I was a teenager. Whenever there was a thunderstorm I would announce to the family that I had become drowsy. That way, nobody would think I was a coward. In reality, I would hide entirely under the covers of my bed and try to go to sleep until when I woke up hopefully the storm was over. I'm pretty sure they bought it every time. I actually like thunderstorms now. Tornadoes, though, are a different story. There's a tornado warning effective in Orange County (where Chapel Hill is). Not only does that mean that I've got weather.com always open in one tab. But it also means I can't concentrate right now. When I'm not shaking in my boots and I feel like doing this next Sunday, I think I'm going to jot down a list of good songs throughout the week. Because what am I going to blog about on Sundays anyway? One of the songs will always be Roman Candle. If you haven't heard them. Stop. Open up a new tab. Go to www.romancandlemusic.com. Have your mind blown. Seriously, click that link. Also, I just looked at the date from my last post. I got it right. But I'm not going back to erase anything on this post.

Happy Hour

Sixty-five degrees and sunny today when I was walking down from the employee parking lot to the clubhouse today. There was a nice breeze and the black pines (I think they're black pines) were swaying like soccer moms at an OAR concert. That is my least favorite band on the face of the planet."Excuses" by the Morning Benders, on the other hand, has been my song of the week. Something about the way it starts out with the strings and strumming acoustic that really makes a day like this feel more like Spring.
One reason I like the calm before the storm before we start serving lunch at 11:30 is because some of the best conversations come during this time when we technically aren't even supposed to talk to members. That sounds cruel, but it's sort of well grounded. The problem is, if you talk to somebody before we open for business at 11:30, someone will want something. Weird, huh?
The same man comes in every morning to have his cup of decaf with the New York Times. It's worth it alone to even get to be in the same room with the guy while he reads the Times. Every page contains some article or columnist to send him into fits. It's like they aren't even trying to stay objective anymore. Yesterday I had been talking to this man about how many resumes I had sent out. "No offense, but I can't stand doing this anymore."
"Oh, no, I know you don't want to do this forever. And you won't."
They always know what to say to help build you up.
Today when I walked in he sat down just as I was bringing in the fresh pot of decaf. We small talked about the NCAA basketball games the previous night and then he says," OH! I was thinking you know what a person like you should do? I mean the perfect thing to do?"
"Shoot," I said.
"You need to start a blog."
These guys are good.

I have to tell you this story from earlier tonight. One of my favorite happy hour regulars tonight came in wearing his roll-up optometrists shades underneath his glasses. It was incredible. But that isn't the story. About halfway through his third double gin on the rocks he gave the staff his recipe for the coffee vodka that he's been working on perfecting.
1. Go to the liquor store and get a liter and a half of the cheapest vodka they sell.
2. Drop in nine (9) coffee beans. We were informed that it takes about 2 days for the beans to sink to the bottom of the bottle.
3. Wait four and a half days and the vodka should be a nice amber color.
4. After the 4.5 day waiting period the vodka will be ready to drink.

"Now, Kent, I don't really know what I'm doing," he said. "But it's pretty damn good, Kent. It's pretty damn good."

Moving Forward

Had the day off yesterday. In keeping with the whole, no talking about the members on my day off, I'm going to stick with that. And although today it was back to double shifts and lattes and soups-to-go and all that other stuff I'm not talking about them today. But I digress. I worked last Sunday, something I don't normally do. Probably one of the worst days on the job I've ever had. Without going into all of that it really sort of motivated me to get out of the Cedars. The church I went to in Colorado, Flatrions Community Church, is the most incredible church I've ever been to. Weird. I grew up in a town with a church seemingly on every corner and then I move out to Boulder, not necessarily known for being a Christian spiritual mecca, and get totally blown out of the water. So one day (and I'm sure they talked about this in multiple sermons) I'm listening to the pastor preach a sermon about how "living by faith" often times gets confused with a life of just waiting, or just expecting things to fall into your lap by saying "God will provide and if I believe in Him everything will get taken care of." How many times do we sit and wait for things to just happen and then get angry at God because "he isn't keeping "His end of the bargain" up? Job, relationship, finances, all that. Really, a life of faith is a life of action. It's not just believing, it's doing. Because we are what we do. It's been really easy for me to blame my current job situation on this recession. I'll just wait until things turn around and then the job market will open up. I mean that sort of makes sense but it's a cop out. Meanwhile, people who are busting butt to get their job are getting hired. So yesterday I joined those ranks. I spent all day sending upwards of 25 resumes out., something I should have been doing for the past couple of months. Maybe nothing will come out of it. But if I hadn't sent the resumes out I definitely gotten any jobs. The past few shifts at work have left me feeling energized. For the first time in a long time I feel like my days at the Cedars are numbered.

First Day

I remember my first day at the Cedars. November 4th, 2005. I had never waited tables before so I was a little anxious. Working with the elderly was not going to be a problem. Not only did I love my grandparents but I had also volunteered at the local senior center in Boone, NC, my first year of college. When people say they're afraid of old people I don't understand that. They have their quirks and they're slow; it's a pain to get stuck behind them, anywhere really. But they're still people, they're just living life at a different pace. That's what I thought anyway. I think really when people say they're "afraid of old people," what they mean is that they themselves are afraid of getting old. It isn't really a fun topic to think about.
A friend of mine had gotten me the interview and after a month long game of phone tag, a drug test, orientation, paperwork, etc., it was finally time to start. Waiting tables would not have been my first choice, at least not at a TGI Fridays or Outback or something. A friend of mine told me I might like this though. You didn't need experience waiting tables (crucial), and the clientele was, unorthodox. More importantly, it paid, I needed to help my parents needed me to help with some of my bills, and it beat anything else available to an undergrad. At 4 pm on November 4th I donned my issued Cedars Blueshirt, put on a still-creased apron, and clocked on. The timeclock answered with a single, staccato "beep." My life would never be the same again.

21 March 2010- Private Party

I usually don't work on Sundays. I've found that if I don't have at least one day off each weekend it makes the regular week seem like double length. I like to take Sundays off because it gives me no excuse to not go to church. I usually find something though and I don't go as often as I should. After a long while working at the Cedars when the members feel like they get to know you really well they will ask you to work at a private party at their home (apartment or cottage). I used to love doing this. For one thing all of their homes are immaculate. I mean these things should be in magazines. It was also interesting to just see them in a place outside of the clubhouse. Most of the time the guests at private parties are just other members, sometimes a few outsiders so I didn't feel totally awkward like some monkey butler. Recently though, these private parties have become a drag too.
Members always seem to catch you right when the fine dining director is next to you. This is key because getting permission to have an employee work outside the clubhouse has to go through him. Well, if somebody asks him when he's next to me, all he has to do is look over and be like, "well can you?"
I'm screwed. I can't stand being put on the spot like that. Sure, I could always say no. But I'm gutless in these situations and extra money can always help. So lately these damn private parties have really been a drag. I'm supposed to perform work outside the clubhouse exactly the same as in the clubhouse. SERVING. However the last few times I've done one of these, I end up doing all sorts of things so far out of my job description, sometimes even I don't know what my job title is when I leave. For instance, I've been sent out to get ice, I've helped people in and out of chairs so they can maneuver their walker (in which case I'm held liable if something goes wrong), cooked, done dishes, taken shoes ON and OFF for people. The problem is I can't say no in these situations. Literally, I'm told not to say no because "whatever the member wants" is the Cedars stance (unless it's illegal or something). Today was no different. I had been dreading this one for two main reasons. One: I'm working on a Sunday, and Two: Every time I walked down to the clubhouse from my car I saw this guy who was there reminding me that I was working.
"This is going to be your post Sunday."
or "I'm counting on you."
I'm not even clocked in yet and I'm already thinking about what's going to be doing six days from now. And as usual, the bullcrap starts immediately. Rather than list the events I'm going try to compose my thoughts in a letter to the Cedars brass I think I'm going to propose to someone for future reference. Here we go.

To Whom It May Concern,
I worked a private party today. As usual, it was totally ridiculous. I wasn't greeted with a hello or a nice to see you. Instead, before I stepped onto the property was asked "How are your muscles?"
The member had four potted plants ranging from large to very large and roughly 25 to 50 lbs. Not only was I asked to arrange these pots on a ledge, but BALANCE AND TIP TOE AROUND MULCH IN WHICH EVERY SQUARE INCH IS COVERED WITH PLANTS and warned "Don't stop on my flowers." My muscles are fine but my back has really been bothering me this week. But I can't tell the member I cannot tell the member I can't lift those pots because I'm here to work for them. Food and beverage service went along swimmingly (except for the fact I was, at one point, literally asked to be in two places at one time). After supper was served it got ridiculous though. Instead of being told to help clean up like normal, I was told to gather the folding chairs and tables and take them to the homes of the neighbors from which they were borrowed...in the rain. THEN I was asked to stay behind past the time I was scheduled to work to help them clean.
It is my responsibility to represent the Cedars well and serve the members to the best of my ability to that end within the confines of my job. I never have, nor never will I not go above and beyond my job description. However, this is getting ridiculous. Please, don't ever blindly throw me into a situation like this again. Ask the member what they will have me do and if there's something else they need help with (i.e. moving furniture, lifting heavy objects, and playing Lowe's delivery boy) to have that arranged with them through another department. You've done a lot for me Cedars, and I thank you for that, but this is becoming a problem that needs to be addressed.
Sincerely,

W Kent Bennett

20 March 2010

Day off today. No members taking 5 minutes to order dinner or re-ask what the special are three times in a row. I love not having to be anywhere in the vicinity of the Cedars. Hopefully, within the coming weeks, a day off won't be in my vocabulary. You know, because people with actual careers don't get days off unless it's a national holiday or something. As much as I like not being obligated to work, this whole notion of not doing anything all day gets me down. Having a day off because I'm not on the schedule, or because I've requested to be off is weird. I'm looking for something now where I'm off holidays and weekends just like every other red blooded American. I'd like to make it a policy that on a day off I don't talk about the members or the Cedars. That's what I'm going to do. A day off for me from members is a day off for the blog from members. I don't know what I'll talk about. But it won't be them.
Also, I'm pretty sure I should have been diagnosed with ADD as a kid; and if not I've definitely developed it as an adult. As a result, I want to post something everyday, but I know that won't happen. So for those of you check this blog like 4 times a day waiting for a new post, chillax.

First

I have no idea how to start this. But if I don't do it now I probably never will. About a year after I started working at the Cedars was when I first started thinking about trying to write stories down about the kind of stuff that goes down out there. If I thought this was going to be worth a crap I probably would have started a looott sooner. Soon after I started working at the Cedars it was fun to tell people how I earned a paycheck; just like it used to be fun to work there. There's that arbitrary small talk-I'm going to put feelers out- to see if you're really worth my time- dance. Telling people you're a bartender at a retirement community is solid gold. People always laughed and most of the time wanted to know all about it. And I used to love telling them about it. I was 20 then. That was 5 years ago. I was working on a degree (I saw a way out of here) and these old people cold do no wrong in my eyes. I loved working at the Cedars.
It's different now. I graduated; but this is still my full time job and there is no end in sight. Ultimately, I still love the Cedars and the people who live there. But when all I see the same people in the same places doing the same thing every day, it makes me want to break out more and more. "The Old People," henceforth to be known as "members" are very good about reminding me how young I am and to be patient. And I'm grateful for that. I mean, they know that most of the waitstaff doesn't want to be working there for very long (as long as I have). Yes, there are some members that grate on my last nerve, but for the most part I love 'em all. It's like a big family out there. It sounds cheesy. And it is. But it's true. There are at least one or two times a day I get the warm fuzzies from something one of them says or does.
But I'm desperate for a new opportunity. I have learned a lot just by talking and listening to the members. Now when you're 25 and somebody asks what you do and you tell them you're a bartender at a retirement community you get a different type of laugh. There's no future in this. The other day when someone asked me if I liked working at the Cedars I said something other than "It's awesome," for the first time. "I used to," I heard myself say. And it's true. This is getting old. See what I did there?

First post. Boom.