"Oh Kevin, honey this is Bill. His band is playing next door at the Bluebird tonight!"
My Mom greeted me as I walked into the restaurant one Tuesday night. It was my night off from Rockit's and I was planning on popping over to the Bluebird. First, I wanted to see how business was. Even when I was off work, I was never really off work. It was the early/mid Nineties by this time and the business was…
The first time it happened I felt like a voyeur, an uninvited guest.
It was so intimate and amorous.
The couples danced, close and slow.
Living in that moment, only for one another.
"Unchained Melody" played on the jukebox, romantic, intoxicating. The lights were dimmed and the dancers, four of them, tuned us out completely. They held each other. Oblivious to their audience.
It was one of those…
My years cooking at the Villa taught me something; sometimes working in food service sucks. The work can be frantic as hell. The breaks are erratic, if you even get one. The pay is lousy. The hours are shit, and the customers are sometimes jerks. When you get the right co-workers however, it can be a lot of fun. If you were to ask me what the best part about owning a business is, I'd say that you get to pick who you work…
There's a special group of people who gave me the wherewithal, the diligence and the inspiration to stay sober. They make up a small segment of our society. Some might consider them an aggravation, but to me they were a godsend. They gave me clarity and perspective when I really needed it most, and I'd like to thank them now.
I'm talking about The Drunk Obnoxious Assholes.
Thank You. Really. From the bottom of my heart.…
I never considered myself enthralled.
Held in bondage.
Truth can sting sometimes.
The worm started to turn after the Gulf War began. I had never thought my drug use and drinking was that big of a problem, that is, until I actually had to manage some real responsibility. Running a business and staying high, staying high and running a business. It was fast…
Never get into business with someone you're not sure about.
I always had a sneaking suspicion that Frank might be a fraud. In the couple of weeks after Johnny Rockit's opened, evidence began accumulating. Incontrovertible evidence. Mountains of it. I mean, I had always taken Frank's stories with a grain of salt, but my confidence in them containing even a grain of truth was starting to unravel. It was very disconcerting. Frank had…
I was drunk. There I said it. That's it. That's all. There is really nothing more to it. A simple explanation. No-no-no, I know what you're thinking:
"That's just an excuse Burd."
"You know what my friend John always said about excuses." I'd retort politely.
"Excuses are like Assholes...everyone's got one...and they all STINK!"
So no, it's just an explanation. It can't…