Me and my shadow: Beau follows me everywhere in the house. I go to the kitchen, Beau comes along. I go upstairs, Beau follows me (even though he is not allowed upstairs and he knows it). I go to the bathroom, Beau tries to push his nose into the door to open it. He obviously missed me. It's really sweet, but makes me feel guilty for not being here and for leaving in a week...Maybe he can come to S'pore with me. What do you think Mark?
In remembrance of Bob my former employer who recently killed himself, I'll try to recall some stories about Rocky's, the restaurant I used to work at as a waitress. Here's a quick description: A swanky (or trying to be) pizza/pasta restaurant in Buckhead. There's a list when you come in of all the celebrities that have eaten here. Among the list are Pat Buchanan and John Gotti (this dichotomy is very Rocky's. Bob befriended, or at least kissed the asses of all famous people and there was definitely some Mafia connection). Others that visited the restaurant in the time I worked there are: Jerry Garcia, Laurence Fishburn (met him, rather nice), Sinbad, Toni Braxton, Madonna, Joe Fraiser (a regular), Eldrin Bell(chief of police at the time), Max Cleland, GA Senator (who is a shitty tipper BTW)....there were lots of celebrities in the place over the years and many politicians (I became jaded about politics largely because of Rocky's. There is definitely a connection between politics and the Mafia. If you don't believe it just look up Bob's criminal record which was somehow overlooked and underpunished by the politicians that befriended him again and again).
There were also always LOTS of drugs in the restaurant. Both managers were heavy coke users. Most pizza cooks and several of the waitstaff were potheads who would sneak outside behind the garbage bins at night to get stoned. Many of the staff also took nips of beer, Chianti, or homey wine during their shift (homey wine is cheap really strong sangria-like wine the restaurant claimed was "home made" and served to guests with peaches. In actuality it was sold in screw top big old jugs like Boones Farm). I myself made a concoction of homey wine, sprite and pink lemonade on many occasions. Ironically, in spite of all the drug use, a lot of the kitchen staff were Muslim Moroccans who would take breaks during the day/night to pray. Many of these guys were perfectly nice, but some of them had serious issues with women and would constantly make advances on the waitresses.
And then there was Bob. Bob was also a coke addict (although I never saw him use it, just the effects). In the winter he would often stroll through the restaurant, chatting to guests, and pat at the guns in his gunbelt concealed under his jacket. On one particularly wild occasion after the restaurant had closed and all the staff had cleared out, Bob and one of his friends played "firing range" in the restaurant leaving several sweet little bullet holes that could then be seen above the smoking section booths and in the bathroom. The existence or raison d'etre for the holes was always denied, but they're there (still).
Bob was crazy, definitely, but not without some charm. He was always nice to me (although sometimes he scared me). And he wasn't stupid, he knew his life was bizarre and would make comments about it's soap opera-esque qualities he would refer to as "as the pizza turns". He had a good sense of humor and he generally treated his employees generously by feeding us most nights and letting us drink a free beer after shifts (while overlooking the stolen glasses of wine during the shift).
Many of the best friends I have in my life I met at Rocky's. The craziness of the place really somehow managed to create a (dysfunctional) family environment, which while totally insane, was really warm and fun a lot of the time. I'm going to see some other former employees this week. I'll pick their brains and see if I can come up with some of the better stories for you over the next week. There are sooo many stories to tell.