Busboy Blues

It's very rare that I am up this late. Usually I am at a club or something. But tonight I find myself awake, eyes wide open at quarter to four. Perhaps it's the coca-cola I drank at 7pm, I don't know. In my "old age" my body tends to do weird things now. I need to make note of my caffeine intake after 5.

I've been thinking about my life in chapters like a never-ending novel. There are these clear chunks of time dedicated to one endeavour or another: Mark as ballet dancer (3 years), Raver-slash-Starbucks Barista (1 1/2 years), First season Stratford (9 months), Lion King (on and off, almost 3 years), Second season Stratford w/Boyfriend (another 9 months), New York City with New York boyfriend (almost 4 years).


Though I never really became a working performer in New York, that time, like my other career choices is so clearly book ended; from the time I arrived to the time I left for Montreal 5 months ago.

I'm working in a restaurant. Though I've done it a few times now this is the first time it actually feels real somehow. Before I was mainly pouring coffee between gigs (which I love but let's face it, you can't make tips pouring coffee like you can pouring Guinness), so I never really did the Service Industry thing until I got to New York.

I was really blessed because for almost the entire time I was there I worked in one restaurant, Jerry's, which used to be on Prince street between Mercer and Greene. It was a pretty famous joint for New York standards. It's location was ideal, it's been featured in several movies and TV shows, a lot of celebrities ate there.

By the time I started working there, Jerry's was a well-oiled machine. I liked the fact that people knew where to find me. Whenever my friend Melissa was rehearsing at the Joyce SoHo she would always pop in to say hello. My friend Devon would pop in so often he eventually started working there when he finally moved from Toronto. It was a very busy place at times. And after twenty years in business it finally closed. The rent increase would have been murder now that SoHo had completely transformed itself from the early eighties. It was the longest running "show" I had ever been blessed to be a part of. One day I will share some great stories.

But the real reason I am writing is that I find it ironic now that I am living in my own birthplace that I cannot find a Waitering job because of my french. People tell me that I am making excuses, that all I need is to practice and to listen to french radio and watch french TV. People think my french is better than it is because I do a very plausible french accent. I do not mean to judge myself too harshly. The truth is, I just don't think I have the vocabulary or command of the french language to communicate the way I would like as a Server. But I'll get there in time. I know that. I am not worried. I just have to be patient.

So for now I am a busboy. Something I would never consider doing in the past because it was "beneath me". In New York, I could be a server no problem. Here in my hometown, busboy. Such is life. It's frustrating at times for sure, but I have a purpose now. I am keeping my eye on the prize. I want to be DJing soon. Within the next year that will be my primary job. But I need to get some equipment first and get myself situated. So I'm putting in the time because there is a true goal in mind.

Bussing is hard. I am such a pussy. It's just so much physical labour. I really have to psyche myself up for it when I walk in to work. My first week at this new restaurant the words "I quit" were always on the tip of my tongue.

And I think about the busboys we had at Jerry's. They were all Mexican (if all Mexicans went on strike in New York I swear the City would shut down.) And now that I am in their shoes I cannot help but feel a deep respect and admiration for all that they did and still do. These men made their lives out of bussing tables in the hardest city to live in. They got married and had families. Some of them worked at Jerry's for over ten years (and here I am almost crying after two weeks.) When Jerry's closed I thought about them a lot. That restaurant gave them a steady pay cheque which they had grown accustom to. Hard, cold cash that they had on their hands after each shift. It wasn't always great money, but it was always decent. And they were able to survive and have girlfriends and wives and make babies and go to church and party. They were a part of my New York experience, my New York family. I saw them almost every day. And now that Jerry's doesn't exist and I am no longer in New York, I keep them in my thoughts. It's really tough out there, especially to find work under the table (or in my case, legally!) that will afford you a decent living. But they are a true source of inspiration now. Because I know, like myself, they are survivors.

To Berna, Manuel, Alvaro, Flavio, the kitchen staff, everyone I was lucky to work with. Good luck out there. I am thinking of you all/