Vintage IV

This week I start training at the gorgeous Lower East Side restaurant "The Stanton Social," a multi-level, multi-ethnic, experimental shared plate restaurant and bar. Having sipped and dined at "The Stanton Social" numerous times since its opening a year ago, I can certainly say that it is a beautiful and striking addition to the fast and often unwelcome gentrification occurring in New York's L.E.S. But "Stanton" seems to stand out for its ability to feel both original and at home amid its area's graffitied streets.

I'm excited to begin working again and am having a wonderful time thus far. It goes without saying, however, that the process of entering back into the restaurant universe can be a worrisome one. You just can't help but tell yourself, "I thought that I got out of this already, once and for all?" And lord knows I certainly keep shifting back and forth between the, "Yay! Nightlife! Fun co-workers! GREAT money!" and the "am i here again?...strapping on the apron?...so, how exactly did this happen?"

It was due to these ponderings that I kept thinking back to just over a year ago, when I carried my first cocktail tray, bussed my first table and sold my first set of specials. It should be noted that I am in a very different place by now, that I treat this position solely as a job and not as my "life definer." And I'm happy to be where I am. It's not forever, by any means. And it is all part of the journey. So, I'll apologize in advance for this oh-so journalish entry. I promise no "Dear Diary, I think I have a crush!" ramblings. But there is a fair amount of soul-searching, which I think comes with any change.


Originally written in my journal
January 25, 2005

I walked by a mirror the other day.

Not an uncommon occurrence in my life, the reflective surface and I usually get along very well together. But this mirror was different. I looked into the glass while passing by and realized...

I'm a Server now.

Having felt confident, sexy and healthily challenged by a daunting new job and the ongoing responsibility of memorizing an entire menu, wine list and work protocol I, in one glance, was reduced to the size of a breadcrumb. Perhaps even one of the very breadcrumbs that I was learning to invisibly scoop off a table and away from the patrons without their noticing.

I shrunk. It hit me. This is where I am. This is the direction my life has taken. And this was not the way my life was supposed to be.

I was just surprised to see myself is all. I was always the kid IN the restaurants, always the lucky one who didn't realize that he was taking things for granted.

I was promoted, I suppose, from Host to Waiter. To be given the chance to serve at a top rated Manhattan restaurant despite no previous experience is an amazing opportunity. But I looked a lot different once my tall host stand was snatched away from in front of me and then replaced with a tray loaded high with tap water and cheap champagne. It was hard to feel "fabulous" without my reservation list of who's getting in and who's not. And the air of glamour aided by the slight sensation of power no longer existed once my Armani blazer was removed and exchanged with an all black server uniform complete with matching apron.

You just grow up... and it's all over.

I kept walking of course. There are mirrors covering nearly every surface at Park Avalon, the restaurant where I was, at my manager's kind suggestion, promoted from my hosting duties. I can't express how invaluable an opportunity like this is. The money will be so much better, the work so much more rewarding. Funny as it sounds, I'm breaking into a field that rarely lets in outsiders. Most restaurants in the city won't even look at you without two years N.Y.C. experience under your belt. And at any rate, it isn't so bad. Not yet anyway.

It's work. It's, as I always heard, a living. And it CAN be completely temporary, so long as I maintain control over my own destiny.

But the more I think about it the more I realize that maybe this is how I'd always imagined life being after all. Maybe I haven't steered myself so far off course.

As a student, whenever a professor would ask us to imagine the "actor's life" that lay ahead I always sensed I'd graduate, struggle for a good little bit, find my footing eventually and somehow manage to find a job waiting tables while my life began.

It's happening. This is it.

I guess now, maybe even know, that I needed to live these last few months convinced that the end times were upon me, that life as I knew it was over, in order to come out of that reborn, aware to the fact that maybe just maybe I am on track. That maybe I do have something great in store and that the belief in this potential greatness, the honest to God belief in it, is what living life is all about.

Because I need to believe in something. And right now I don't have anyone else but me.

All I know is that I'm trying to do my best. Trying to not be terrified by the fact that the world only spins forward. Trying to be the me that isn't mean, that isn't hurtful, that isn't scared.

I want so much from this life and have learned enough in these twenty three years to know that I won't have it all.

But as my eyes glaze over to avoid the oncoming shadow of my own reflection, cocktail tray in hand, I cannot help but wonder, What will I have? What do I get to look forward to? What on Earth is in store for me next?