Greek Restaurant Underworld – Part Three

The third and last chapter of the Greek Restaurant tale.

Time rolled along.  After the experience with police officer Skuz recapped in Part 2, there was a shift in my status at the restaurant.  I got invited to work evenings with M.  Evening shifts were coveted and the other waitresses were jealous, especially those that had worked at the Garden for a while.  I thought that M had been the one to suggest it and had been surprised.  She always seemed a little haughty and condescending.  I thought maybe she’d done it to spite the other waitresses.

I took the evening shift and quit my other job at the burger and shake joint.  My move to SF was happening in a month.  Visions of dollar signs danced in my head because I’d heard that anyone who worked nights, either with M or in her place, made tons of money under the table.  There was no payroll for nights.  There were often evenings that the restaurant was closed to the general public for “private events.”  I don’t know how it looked in the books, but I was always paid with wads of cash in envelopes and so was M or anyone that worked an evening.

My first night was extremely memorable.  I had been scheduled to work in the VIP area while M worked the more relaxed main dining room.  It was unnerving because forty or so of Big J’s and Big G’s business cronies were there, along with several off duty police officers.  There were also a few people of questionable character.  Ms. L was there too, sloshed and weepy, hanging all over Big J.  Big J kept pushing her roughly away from him while he leaned in close with various others to discuss whatever they were discussing.

I was the only waitress serving them the drinks and food courses.  I thought M had arranged this clusterfuck so I would screw up.  When I questioned her in the kitchen she informed me, icily, that Big G had specifically requested I take over the VIP service.  I remember she was more haughty than usual.

Little G was manager at night.  He saw me and asked “what the hell are you doing here?”  I said “working” and that his dad had specifically requested it.  Little G did not look pleased.  This made me nervous.  I sensed the potential for ugly drama was building so I tried to tune it out and focus on working.

I got help from Little G serving the crowded, boisterous VIP area.  He was surly and watched me like a hawk.  Police officer Skuz was there, drunk, and kept trying to slip me money for bringing him drinks or food.  It was stressful.  Eventually, it was 11:30 pm.  My shift ended at midnight (having started around 7pm).  I felt exhausted and my nerves were rattled.

Highlights of that evening:

- Being propositioned by police officer Skuz, repeatedly, and then having to push the $20 dollar bills away.  Each time he apologized, he tried to slip me money.  Some of the others thought this was hysterical, including L who just laughed at me, yelling, “Oh just take the goddamn money already.  You’re hurting his feelings!”

- L and Big J got into a screaming fight during dinner which everyone else pretty much ignored.  The other patrons in the VIP area just raised their voices louder to converse over the drunken lovers’ quarrel.  At one point, L started wailing and Big J dragged her into the nearby office.  We could still hear them.  Big J was screaming unintelligibly and pounding on a desk.  L was sobbing hoarsely and when she spoke, she was unintelligible.  I had been worried and wanted to go see if she was okay but Big G intercepted me and said, “This happens all the time.  Not for you to worry about.  Go sit in the main dining area and rest.”

At this point I just wanted to get my shift pay, scoop up the tips, and get out of there.  I sat in one of the booths in the general dining area and noticed that it was empty.  It had been closed to other diners for who knows how long.  It also became obvious that both Little G and M had left.

I got pissed because Little G was supposed to cash me out.  I went to Big G and said I needed to be paid.  He said, “just wait until I let the rest of these people out.  We’re closed  now.”  He handed me a wad of cash, the tips from the guests.  (When I counted it later at home, I distinctly remember that it was just under $500.  For fucking serious!  Add that to what I got in the envelope for my shift pay and the total was almost a grand for a five hour shift.  I feel slightly dirty thinking back on it now, but it did get me moved out of town.)

The VIP area of the restaurant was finally empty.  I was still waiting for G to cash me out.  Big J had gone home to his wife.  L was sitting with me in the booth sniffling and drinking, but now calm.  She apologized for the screaming match and said something like, “people in love are passionate in anger too” which made me cringe.  She was so in love with Big J.

Big G came over sipping a drink with a drink for me.  He told L to go home.  She gave me a weird smile and left.  I was feeling very uneasy all of a sudden because Big G scooted into the booth next to me, too close for comfort.  He went into a long monologue about M, how she was really demanding, and wanted money all the time.  He bitched about her possessiveness and vicious jealousy.  He was a little tipsy but did not seem drunk so why the hell was he pouring out his mistress troubles to me?  I listened and nodded politely.

He went on for a few minutes about M, telling me how long they’d been together, and that his wife was okay with him having a mistress and other TMI stuff.  I longed for my shift pay and a drink at home away from the Garden.  After a bit he put his arm around me and asked if I’d like to be set up in a nice apartment.  He said he’d been watching me and felt I’d make a good mistress, “better than M because she is so greedy.”

Needless to say, I was horrified but also ready to burst into hysterical laughter.  It was so fucking surreal, comical, and yet sordid.  But laughter would have been very bad.   Big G was a proud man.  I did not want to get on his bad side.

I think I feigned a coughing jag and mumbled some lie about having a boyfriend in SF and that I was trying to earn money to move there.  Big G did not even blink or flinch.  He just nodded and said in a matter-of-fact voice, “oh, so you are leaving the restaurant soon?  Make sure you tell Little G and L so they can get another waitress lined up.”  He then stood up and said, “I’ll cash you out.”

Before I left for the night he said, “Think about my offer.  Maybe you won’t need that boyfriend in San Francisco if you decide you like my offer.”

M was not around much during the night shift after that.  I worked the week nights at the restaurant alone.  There were no private parties, just regular diners.  It was busy but manageable.  I made a boatload of cash to fund my move.  However, I was weirded out by M not being around.  I thought she’d gotten fired or quit.

Little G interrogated me.  He said he’d heard that I’d stayed at the restaurant after closing time to have a meeting with his dad.  I told Little G  the “I’m saving money to move to SF to be with my boyfriend” stuff, leaving out the mistress stuff.  Little G stared at me in silence for a moment and then said, “It’s probably wise you are moving to San Francisco.”  I got the feeling he knew exactly what I was not divulging about the discussion with his dad.

On my last night at the restaurant, M showed up at one of my tables.  She ordered dinner and watched me all night.  She was very polite and distant but there was also a slightly menacing quality about her.  After the last patrons left, she motioned for me to sit down.  This is what I remember of the conversation we had:

M:  “So I hear that Big G offered to set you up in your own apartment.  Do you know what that means?”

Me:  “Yes, M.  I turned him down.”

M:  “I know you did.  I just wanted to make sure you understood what that offer meant.  Big G is worth a lot of money.  I wanted to make sure that you really did refuse his offer.”

Me:  “I know that you and Big G are together.”  (I then tell the “boyfriend, moving to SF” story.)

M (in a condescending voice): “Well, Big G and I have reconciled.  So his offer is no longer available to you.  You’ve made a smart decision to move.  Good luck.”

With that she gathered up her stuff and said a polite good-bye.  I cleaned up her table and noticed she’d left a $100 bill for a tip.

L came in that night to bid me a sentimental good-bye.  Big J came in also and gave me an extra $300 as a “good luck for the move” gift from the restaurant.  (It had been a brief but financially flush 3 months working there!)

Epilogue: A year or so after moving to San Francisco, I returned to Utah to visit.  I dropped acid with friends and related the tales of my experiences at the restaurant.  Under the influence of LSD, I called the Garden to get in touch with L to see how things were going.  Whoever answered the phone told me that L had passed away of a heart attack a few months earlier.  This did not bode well for my acid trip.  I got incredibly depressed and maudlin, and managed to convince myself that L  had possibly been murdered.  I decided that for the future it was best to refrain from contacting anyone connected to the Garden again.

And so ended the Greek Restaurant Underworld chapter of my life!

Greek Restaurant Underworld – Part Two

The earlier post set up the people and summarized situations of a brief and surreal job situation.  I continue here with Part 2.  Some specific details in this particular part stay forgotten (like the name of the skuzzy police officer).  Other random details remain prominent like clearly remembering the tacky gold chain necklace worn by the skuzzy police officer.  (This necklace sported a few shark teeth for ornamentation and rested atop a wiry blend of dark blonde and gray chest hair that curled out of his always-open-to-the-third-button shirt.)

Working the breakfast and lunch shifts at the Garden started out okay.  It was just a busy waitress job.  The owners, staff, and management were, as is typical, a closely knit, highly dysfunctional family (among other more insidious things).  I didn’t feel the need to fit in at the restaurant.  I was pretty ambivalent (stoned) most of the time.  I went to work, did my job, collected my tips, and went to my other job or went home.

However, things slowly began to get bizarre.  Or rather, once I began paying closer attention to things and was less blissfully detached, I started to realize how fucked up that place and the people were.  I finally had to accept that being slightly stoned most of the time was not the reason things seemed so “off” at the Garden.  (In Rosemary’s Baby, when a half-drugged Rosemary is tied down and getting impregnated by Satan, she all of a sudden yells: “This is not a dream!  This is really happening!”  It was kind of like that, except minus the naked Satanists.)

There were other waitresses on duty at the Garden during the day but I don’t really remember them.  They were either close friends of the family or girlfriends of the cooks.  Everyone was very intertwined there.  I was the only real outsider during the time I was there.

The day manager L (described in Part 1) took a liking to me.  I wrote before that L reminded me of Angie Dickinson but she also had moments where she reminded me of the Faye Dunaway character in Barfly.  She was always pretty tipsy by the lunch rush because she started drinking in the a.m.  She ran that place like clockwork in spite of her drinking (functional alcoholic) and was very funny.  We had a great caustic back and forth and she would laugh a lot, especially when I told her stories of my life outside of the restaurant.  She told me I was scandalous and called me her “wild child.”

As friendly as L and I were, she still pulled a stunt that placed me in an awkward situation and which disgusted and infuriated me:  She pressured me into going on a date with one of the policemen that frequented the restaurant when he was off-duty (which seemed like constantly). What I learned later through the other waitresses is that this particular police officer (I’ll call him Skuz) was also involved in some of the questionable side-activities with the restaurant.  One of the “perks” of his “helpful association” with the Garden was that he got set up on “dates” with any waitress he fancied.  L and the other waitresses would say: “Skuz always gets a date with the new girl at the Garden.  It’s sort of a tradition.”

The other waitresses thought I was an idiot for not wanting to go along with it.  Eventually, because it seemed like such an innocuous thing to do, I finally agreed.

On one evening off from my other job, I met up with Skuz at the Garden for what I supposed was a pre-date drink.  The restaurant was busy with noisy people.  M was waiting on the VIPs in the semi-private dining area as well as working in the regular people area.  All I remember about Skuz is what I wrote about the shark’s tooth gold necklace, his open shirt, and his chest hair.  Why I only remember the comically horrifying details is probably a testament to my twisted sense of humor.  (Or the pot smoking.)

I discovered after a few minutes that the date was taking place at the Garden, and M was waiting on us.  The dinner experience was predictably awkward and dull.  Skuz was flirting but he was gross and I just wanted the date to be finished.  M looked put out every time she came around to our table but L and Big J were beaming like they were my parents.  Afterward dinner, Skuz offered to drive me home but we ended up for a “quick drink at a friend’s bar” first.  This became even more uncomfortable as I had to keep pushing Skuz’s hands off of me – off my legs, out of my lap, etc.

This goes on for a while with some dreary conversation in the meantime.  Skuz is persistent but is acting more confused than anything.  Eventually, the cocktail waitress wandered over, pulled Skuz aside out of earshot, and I could see she was reading him the riot act.  Skuz then came over and asked if I wanted another drink.  I said “no,” the cocktail waitress glared at him, and Skuz excused himself to go chat with the owner.  The cocktail waitress sat down and asked me if I was doing okay and if she could call me cab.  I said yes, and when Skuz came back, he gave me cab fare, shook my hand, and said “No hard feelings, right?”

At that point, lucidity returned in a wave of disgusted realization.  The ugly pieces fell into place and a lot more confirmed the next day when I furiously confronted L.  There was some unpleasant tension for a few days at work because I think Big J, L and a few others thought I was going to cause “problems” for the restaurant . As soon as they realized I didn’t give a shit and just wanted to be left alone to do my job, they relaxed, raised my shift pay, and started putting more customers in my section.  Skuz still came into the restaurant, sometimes sitting in my section, but I was always pleasant and he was not menacing. He would leave me a $20 tip for a free cup of coffee.

To her credit, L was very upset she had placed me in that scenario.  She said: “I finally get you and I’m so sorry I put you through that.  Please forgive me.”  She was genuinely contrite.  Considering the weird dynamics at the Garden, her liaison with Big J, her alcoholism, and the many other sordid things she was involved in, compassion came easy for me, so long as I was left out of the equation.

So ends this chapter recounting my stint at the Garden.  There’s more coming in Part 3, but this should be enough tawdry for now!

Greek Restaurant Underworld – Part One

This is my first official post here at Inky Heels.  The “About” blurb on the sidebar tells you a bit about my plans for this blog.  And with that, I’ll just jump right in.

The piece I’m posting below is from a collection of writings called “Soundtracks and Substance Abuse.”  SaSA is basically a memoir.  I have a handful of tales in my SaSA writing project and hope to continue to add to it.  For the purposes of this, my new writing blog, I am selecting stories from the Greek Restaurant Underworld chapters to post here to get things going.  This post is Part 1 of 3.  I should post these in reverse order so that Part 1 shows up first.  People are clever enough to realize these 3 parts should be read in chronological order, right?  I’ll decide later.   Here goes!

*

Have you ever been closely connected to a bizarre world within a world?  A situation that in hindsight engenders a bit of alarm because it was a sticky web of truly sordid intrigue embroidered by hints of organized crime activity?

Those are the elements of my brief waitress stint at a Greek restaurant in Salt Lake City a few months before moving to San Francisco.  I was obsessed with listening to Led Zeppelin during that time period and it  coincided with having recently discovered an affinity with marijuana.  Now any time I hear a Led Zeppelin song, no matter the circumstance, it jolts me back to some memory of that time period and the restaurant job.

Back in the late 1970s, my best friends T and T had moved to SF.  I missed them dreadfully and grew to despise living in dull, Mormon-controlled SLC.  T and T kept up a campaign to wear me down, and won.  At the end of that May, we all decided that I would move to SF by early September of that same year.

I had a job at a local burger and shake joint on the outskirts of the University of Utah campus, walking distance from my apt.  This was enough to pay rent and bills, but another job was necessary to fund my move.  I saw an ad in the paper, got interviewed, and got offered the job on the spot.  I had day shifts at the restaurant five days a week and kept late night shifts at the burger place three nights a week.

While working at “the Garden,” I was blissfully detached.  The job was merely a tool facilitating an end goal.  I was oblivious to the more sordid stuff at first because of always being slightly stoned.  It was all so amusing and entertaining.  The last month at the restaurant I went stone cold sober, however, because of an amplification of certain disturbing circumstances.

Before getting further into the tale, I must set up the restaurant players:

Big J - One of two brothers who owned and ran the restaurant.  A short, rotund, balding man, brusque with a volatile temper.  He was involved in numerous “other business interests” that necessitated frequent meetings with “off duty policemen.”  (One particular creepy policeman figures in a personally hellish experience which acted as the trigger pushing me to lay off the pot.  More on that in another post.)

Big G - Brother two, the other owner.  He did not look at all related to Big J.  He was tall with a thick head of hair that he styled like Engelbert Humperdinck.  I think he thought he was Engelbert Humperdinck.  He did a variety show at the restaurant on Friday and Saturday nights.  Belly dancers, live music, and Big G would sing Engelbert Humperdink and Tom Jones songs.  Between the breakfast slowdown and lunch rush, he would practice singing in the vacant VIP dining room area.  In my early perpetually stoned state, this was fucking hilarious and I was constantly on the verge of laughing out loud while serving people their meals.  Everyone mistook my habitual stoned cheerfulness as being really happy to work there.  This may have been the most unfortunate side-effect of the pot smoking at that time!

Ms. L -The restaurant manager.  A bawdy, trashy bottle blond. She was probably in her late forties or early fifties.  She brought to mind the Angie Dickinson character in Dressed to Kill.  She was caustically witty and I adored her.  She looked after me in a twisted, alcoholic way although she was also directly responsible for the scuzzy police officer experience that shocked and disgusted me into a more sober reality.

L always had a cigarette in her mouth and a drink in her hand.  Always.  Even at 6 a.m.  She was also the “acknowledged mistress” of Big J.  Theirs was an intense relationship and it had gone on for a long time.  It was possibly an abusive one but that might have been L creating drama, which she did loudly and well.  I never knew for sure.

M – The premier head waitress.  She was a gorgeous Italian/Greek mix.  Tall and slim with long wavy dark hair and huge dark eyes.  She looked and dressed like a model.  She was pleasant enough the few times I interacted with her and only ominous to me on one specific occasion toward the end of the summer before I moved.  That tale is most bizarre and comes later.

M had a high status at the Garden.  She was the sole night shift waitress most of the time. Night shifts were “bestowed” at the Garden.  Shift pay was under the table and you could make good money in tips alone.  It was a big deal to work at night as Big J often had private parties for his “other business interests” and for “off duty policemen.”  Usually only one waitress was on the schedule to cater to all of them.  M was probably raking in a few grand a month, easy.

M was also the long-time “acknowledged mistress” of Big G.  He paid for her apartment and many of her expenses.  I have no idea what she did with all the money she made at the Garden but the mind reels!

Little J – Big J’s son.  He was 18 and adorable.  Worked there as one of the cooks.  I had a super big crush on him and scored pot for him and his friends.  He was constantly terrified his dad would find out about the pot.  He told me he respected me because I was so discreet about getting him pot and didn’t expect him to date me for it.

Little G – Big G’s son.  Early thirties, handsome, trying to separate himself from the restaurant biz.  He monitored relations between the staff and L and the owners.  He took me aside many times and gave me words of caution and advice on how to avoid entanglement in the “shit that was constantly going down” at the Garden.  He either felt protective of me or sorry for me.  In thinking back, I am grateful that he intervened at certain specific times.  It probably kept me safe.

Okay this is already lengthy but a necessary set up for the rest.  Part II coming up in a separate post.