Intoxicology

Years ago, I worked for a local upscale hotel.  If you ever lived in the Peoria area, you'll know what I'm talking about. The big German castle on the not-so-great end of town.  IYKYK.  The restaurant there was considered "fine" dining for our little corner of the world. Although, if you are well-traveled-you know it never really was. It was what Peoria deems "fine" But, it was no Michelin joint by any stretch.  I liked my job at the time. I had a four month old baby, and it was flexible in hours for me. I also made decent money.  Not a terrible gig, given industry standard.  I should also mention that, at the time, this hotel was connected to our casino boat. The family that owned the hotel-also had a large stock in the very first riverboat casino in Illinois. Comps and favors were abundant in the building with half of the Chicago elite traveling downstate to gamble-far away from the watching eyes of their suburban spouses.  So, one particular boring,...

  What OWNERSHIP is: Coming in (at the butt crack of dawn, four hours prior to opening) Cleaning, prepping, book work, staffing, more cleaning, more prepping, inventory, intake, stocking, shelving, more cleaning. THEN-working the actual lunch shift. Then, restocking for the evening, cleaning, more prepping, more staffing, resetting, maybe (if you are lucky) a 15-minute standing lunch break, and change of clothes, and cigarette-usually drags come between bites of a dead sandwich that Karen demanded had too much mustard.  THEN-working the actual dinner shift. Then cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, and more cleaning. Headache sets in. Book work with a headache, money counting, checking staff for their work and cleaning, and then closing the door and turning off the neons. You pour yourself a glass of red, and sit down-finally, and you are there until the wee hours balancing, setting up cash for the next day, cleaning the bathrooms, maybe eating dinner at 1am, and crying in your wine....

  Recipes.  Yes, traveling the traverse of bottled up (pun intended) cocktail recipes that have been bubbling around in my brain before I host the most epic Halloween party known to man.  Yes, I'm being serious. My yearly Halloween bash is like a bunch of late 40 to early 50-something's acting like a bunch of frat party douchebags-slopping ranch dip down their ridiculously over-planned costumes and drinking too much-everything until someone pukes into their lapel and holds it there all night. We don't even know it happened until we wake up the next morning and the smell hits us. Febreze is the word of the day.  But... See, we're adults now.  So-we spend actual money on costumes and "things". We don't do the 21-year-old sheet with a belt toga, or plastic fangs and a black plastic tablecloth tied around your neck. Or the ever present at every party on a budget hobo with your girlfriends mascara stubble and a bandana tied on a stick.  Refreshments consisting ...

So, as I was doing some internet sleuthing for this very post...I asked the oracle (Google) for some info.  I copied and pasted this for your entertainment and I hope it made you laugh as much as it did me...which incidentally, left me with a room full of teenagers staring at me and my my maniacal laughter- (I wrote it in my 6th hour independent study supervision shift) Here you go: Me: Where does wine get its smell and taste from ?  Google: Wine Gets Its Smell from  the Grape Lordt.  Is it me? Or is the internet getting dumber? I mean...is it dumbing itself down to the level of average intelligence? Does it burp out information based on what it assumes we can handle? I cannot.  Wine gets it smell and taste from grapes.  Wow, I never would have known that without consulting you-oh wise and powerful oracle.  Anyway, to that end-I did find some worthwhile info-eventually, and with much more specificity. Strangely enough, I did find some things I didn't a...

  I'm on a slight hiatus.  I'll be back this weekend with a fresh, new, post.  I have started back to school-you know, my real job.  And...I'm tired.  So-give me a few more days to get my feet underneath me and I'll have something shiny for you.  Hint: It's all about wine! See you soon,  T

I'm sure that when your 9th grade guidance counselor asked you: "So, little Johnny/Kevin/Karen-what do you want to be when you grow up" You absolutely answered: "I'd like to work in the most dysfunctional place in the world where alcoholics and drug addicts burrow in and never leave. I'd like to clean up metric tons of vomit, and give psychotherapy and divorce advice for free, and I'd especially love to be berated by a full on jackwagon of a 'general manager' who got his associates degree in business administration from his local junior college and drives a Dodge Stratus. I really want to eat standing up, chain smoke-standing up, sleep-standing up, have sex in the bathroom stall -standing up, and cry in a walk-in cooler when I get overwhelmed. I really want to lift and pull things twice my weight and super-punch soda syrup boxes until my knuckles bleed. I would like to also-cut thousands of lemons with those same bleedy knuckles and raw palms from...