Harbor Hazing and Hysteria

Working in a restaurant can be very exciting: there’s people moving around everywhere, tons of noise, lots of chaos. But it can also be extremely monotonous. Six days a week, I walk into the grill, greet the same general people, punch in, and walk out to the hostess stand. Throughout the day, I go through the same motions and say the same things, most usually “How Many?”, “Would you like to sit inside or out?” and “Ok, you can have a seat over there and I will give you a shout when we’re ready for you!”. Many of us joke about how we’ve even adopted “waitress voice”, a much higher tone of voice in which we recite these lines.


Unfortunately, all this repetition really starts to make you feel as if you’re living the same day over and over. Coupled with the aggravation of obnoxious customers, it can all make you go a little crazy by the end of July. For the past couple of weeks the staff has been getting stranger and stranger as they come up with new ways to liven up or just make it through their days. Last week for instance, I tried to make it through my whole shift without turning left, a la Zoolander. I spent my entire morning making spastic and dramatic spins every time I had to “Hang a Louie”’.

But its when there is no manager on duty that we have the most fun. Like a group of twelve year olds whose teacher has left the classroom, we all go nuts when we know there is no one nearby to reprimand us for our immature and completely unprofessional behavior. Last week, on one very hot day, Maggie and George showed up to breakfast with water guns and, because Erin and Gary weren’t there, a pretty large water gun fight broke out on the front porch, right in the presence of the customers. It continued in the back for the rest of the day, and I was constantly being startled with a shot of water to my face whenever I walked through the kitchen.

On another day, we started a giant dance party in the wait station. Though the kitchen guys usually play sublime, reggae, or laid-back hip-hop, for some reason they were rocking the club music, so we all busted out dancing in the middle of our shift, even creating “the Grill”, our signature dance move. At the height of the party, as George had Tara bent over while he grinded against her from behind, Mike , the owner of Harbor Grill and a pretty intimidating man, walked into the wait station. Everyone froze as Mike stared at them. Then, suddenly, he burst out laughing. After all, how else do you react to a situation like that? Later, when he returned to the kitchen, he walked through and pointed at each of us as he told us“You’re fired. And you’re fired. And you’re definitely fired”. You know it’s a good day when you can even make Mike loosen up a little.

But of course, we’ve all always been a little strange like this. We speak in weird voices, openly fart in the wait station, and take shots of grenadine to pump ourselves up on busy days. However, the largest portion of our time is probably spent annoying each other. My friend Bryan and I have a fun little game where we just push our fingers into each others faces until one or the other gives up and pulls away. He usually wins, seeing as I have a very sensitive neck, but regardless I think I do a nice job of getting on his nerves. And as far as ball busting goes, a common habit at the grill, I can no longer count the number of times I’ve been called a slut, a bitch, or a fat ass, but it’s probably somewhere around the same amount as I’ve asked Billy to make me a meatball omelette or told Gosia to start speaking American or go the hell back to Poland.

But, of course, our harassment is done all in good fun. It has even come to be an expression of endearment. In fact today, when Billy told me my new shirt was nice, i was oddly offended. I waited for a "but" or a "for a change" but he actually said something genuinely nice to me. I was totally offended. Was he mad at me? What had I done? It wasn't until later that day when he made some comment about how I "get around" that I knew things were ok between us, and that his previous comment was just a rare change of character.

But seriously, when we’re not insulting each other, we all get along very well. I love the people I work with, and have really come to realize just how much this past weekend. Because my parents were in town visiting, a bunch of us went with them out to dinner at Harbor. Though, the hostess on duty made a mistake and we ended up having an immense wait for our table, everyone working was so nice. They brought us out free drinks, complementary appetizers, and several of them came out to say hi and ask my parents if they were having a good time. Maybe it was because of all the Stellas I had drank, but I have to admit their ample kindness choked me up a little bit. But of course I would never tell them this. Instead, Ill probably throw out a bunch of sexual innuendos or write obscene comments about them on the kitchen whiteboard and just hope they know how grateful I truly am.

Lance Bass is SO Gay

In the current issue of People Magazine, the former Nsync member reveals that he is in fact homosexual. Other stories in this week's issue:

The Earth is Round!
Studies Show Diet and Exercise May be Good for Your Health!
Gravity: What Goes up Must Come Down! Scientists Shocked!
Oprah is Really Rich
George Bush Doesn't Like Black People


Reporting that Lance Bass is gay is about as obvious and piontless as reporting the current weather on the news. No use in highlighting the obvious, People. The man danced around in shiny space suits for Gods sake. If I find anyone who's actually surpised by this, Im smacking them upside the head with my Nsync factbook.

Im Never Drinking Again

I feel like shit. Its 8 oclock at night, and I am still hungover from last night. For breakfast this morning I ate grilled cheese, a bowl of pasta, and George’s “meat cakes”, pancakes with pieces of bacon and sausage in the batter. Then, when I got home from my horrendous 8 hour shift, I threw up for the first time in nearly four years.

What could cause this agony, you ask? Well, last night Sara decided to have a bunch of people over for pong and flip-cup in our garage. I was working dinner at the grill, but I made plans to head over with my friends Gosia, Magda, and Bryan afterwards. Fortunately, something was wrong with one of the grills so we closed a half hour early. Unfortunately, though, Bryan and Gosia’s last tables took FOREVER to leave. So, while I was waiting for them, I sat with my friend Colleen at the bar and had a glass of wine. I planned on just having the one drink since we are entitled to a free one for every shift we work, but next thing I know Colleen has me doing a “Dirty Silk Panties” shot, her latest obsession, with her and Gigi, who was on bar for the night. I had never done the shot before, and I will NEVER do one again because im fairly confident that its what led to my downfall that night.

Well, that or the numerous games of flip cup we ended up playing. When I got back to the house Sara and Natalie had already started playing pong with Timmy, Justin, Nick, Dave, Fiona, and Sandro. But when the rest of us arrived we decided to switch over to Survivor flip-cup, where the team who loses a round has to vote off one of their players. Though a fun game, it really messes you up if you play with a lot of people and are one of the last to be voted off, which is exactly what happened to me. We played two long games and I stayed in both to the end. I was really proud of my dominance in the game, but also REALLY drunk because of it. Natalie and I ended up crashing on my bed insisting we werent coming back downstairs and were just gonna “cuddle” all night. Five minutes later, after puking in our bathroom, Natalie was taken home by Bryan, her brother, and I was passed out cold.


This morning I paid the price. Though you’d think I’d be rewarded for my victories last night, I was anything but. I woke up at 7 am extremely nauseous and, after eating a grilled cheese sandwich and some pasta, headed to work. I stumbled in still feeling extremely gross and walked up to George, my friend and a chef at the grill, and demanded some sort of greasy meat, the reason I ended up with his special "meat cakes". It just might be the most glorious hungover food EVER, something I’d never consume in any other condition but made me feel GREAT while I was eating it.

Unfortunately, though, the relief only lasted while I was actually swallowing the meatcakes. Then, afterwards, I was back to feeling like 100% shit. I was tired, weak, and nauseous. All I wanted to do was lie down and go to bed. Then, to make matters worse, at the height of my agony, some kid actually parks himself across the street and starts playing the bag pipes- loudly and poorly. God was clearly having a good laugh at my expense...as was half of the Harbor staff as they watched me cringing and groaning as this 12 year old squeaked his way through the same 3 songs over and over. It was like something from a movie: a situation so perfectly bizarre that no one would ever expect it to happen in real life. Yet it did. To me. On the bright side, though, I wasn’t the only one suffering: most of the office staff was hungover as well, including my boss who was therefore pretty understanding of my inability to function. Not understanding enough to let me go home, but you can only ask for so much.

So, needless to say, it was a day of hell. At four o’clock, I bolted home and collapsed on my bed. An hour later, I heaved all over our toilet. I’ve never been able to make myself throw up but, after today, I understand why everyone does it. Although I still feel kinda crappy, I’m in MUCH better shape than I was before. It’s been a long time since a night of drinking has caused me to swear off drinking but I have a feeling it may be awhile before I can take a drink again. Judging from the way I felt today, I may be hungover for the rest of the week. Looks like Ill be the girl drinking water at the bar! Hey, at least, I’ll save some money!

I Don’t Care What the T-shirts Say, I Hate New York.

Ok so I don’t hate New York, but after this weekend, I have a slightly bitter taste in my mouth. And that’s only because anything that could possibly go wrong, did.

Because my roommates and I are moving out of our lovely fourth floor Bronx walk up this month, I really needed to head down there to clear out some items. I promised Erin adn Caroline I would and, since I have off Fridays and don’t work until 5 on Saturdays, I decided to head out Thursday after work to get some stuff done there.

From that point on everything goes down hill. I really should have realized things weren’t going to go well from the start. Thursday afternoon, as Hurricane Beryl grew closer and closer, I was forced to leave work a little early out of fear that the ferries would stop running due to rough seas. Luckily they weren’t, but as I began to move my car to the ferry parking lot I realized I had forgotten my apartment keys. With only 30 minutes to spare, I hurried back to the house, found my keys, and made it back to the docks with 10 minutes to spare. Sitting in my ferry seat, I exhaled a deep sigh of relief knowing I had made it.

So, finally relaxed, I reached into my bag to call my friend Chris, who I had PROMISED to call when I got on the ferry. I dug around through my big black bag, but the cell phone was no where to be found. Thinking back, I realized that, in the midst of my hurry to catch my boat, I had left my cell phone on the front seat of my car. I, the girl who SLEEPS with her cell phone next to her in bed, had forgotten to bring her the same device on a multi-state trip all alone. NIIIICE.

With nothing else I could do, I brushed the loss aside and decided I would get by without it. I mean, just ten years ago I would have been able to function just fine without one. Then again I would also be eleven years old and probably be watching Saved by the Bell while dreaming of my future as a famous Fashion Designer. Things sure have turned out as I planned.

Anyways, after getting over the situation, I took a little nap on the ferry, had some candy, and made it to Penn Station unharmed and a little more rested. But then, on the 2 subway, I got so immersed in my freshly bought copy of Cosmo, that I forgot to transfer over to the local and found my self smack dab in the middle of Harlem. So I, the only white girl in a ten mile radius, wearing my gauchos and a head scarf mind you, was forced to get off the train, turn around, and head back to Caucasia. The woman next to me had curly gold hair and was wearing stilettos. Needless to say, for numerous reasons, I think I stood out a little

Despite the hassle, I made it back to the Bronx but, keeping in theme, I was hit with yet another surprise as I opened my apartment door. Though I knew my roommate’s sister, Dianna, was staying at the apartment with her roommate while they looked for a new place, I had no idea they were still there. Upon opening the door, however, and seeing loads of new and rearranged furniture I quickly pieced out the situation. Dianna wasn’t there at the time, but when she returned later that night to find some girl sleeping on the couch it was sufficiently awkward. Luckily, I know Dianna and she’s extremely nice, so when she figured out who, it was slightly more normal, but regardless it was weird all around.

In the morning I quickly headed out, went down to Manhattan, taken care of some chores, buying some things for my coworkers in Block Island, and eventually getting a hotel room for the night since I felt strange about bringing back my brother and his friend Pat to the apartment that Dianna and her roommate were now occupying. I watched some tv, got a few minutes sleep, took a shower, and met up with Freddie back in the Bronx to remove my crap from the apartment.

However, because I had no cell phone, I couldnt call Caroline to ask what needed to be done. In addition, Dianna wasnt there for me to ask her what she wanted and/or needed. With no one to turn to, I decided to take only what was definitely mine. It wasn’t until later today, when I was finally reunited with my phone, that I got the message from Caroline asking me to clear out the kitchen. Instead, I traveled numerous hours and spent loads of dollars to remove a pillow, a clock radio, and a two mirrors. And now I need to try and bribe my brother to return to the Bronx to take care of the remaining stuff. And, I have to hope my roommates aren’t too pissed that the things they had wanted done weren’t taken care of.

But luckily, after that, I was able to relax for a little and even had a fun time out that night with Freddie and Pat. We “did” beers, hit a few bars downtown, and destroyed an entire pizza. The next day I even woke up fairly on time and, though slightly groggy, feeling not so bad. I gathered up my stuff, laughed at Freddie and Pat sleeping in the same bed (no homo), and headed to Penn Station.

Well, I don’t know what schedule I was looking at, but when I arrived to catch my train, the departure I was looking for was completely unheard of. The next possible train wasn’t until one, meaning I would get to work at least 15 minutes late. After reacquainting myself with the pay phone and visiting every store in Penn Station to get change for a dollar, I finally got a hold of a coworker who, after laughing at me profusely, informed my boss of the situation. Everything, though a little tense, was taken care of.

I think we all know my bad luck doesn’t end here. After thinking I was in the clear, my train, of course, ends up arriving late. Not 5 minutes late. Not even 15. It was an hour late. Meaning I missed my intended ferry and was forced to take the 6 oclock. Again, I went through the 411/ pay phone drama and let the grill know the deal. Sitting in the cold, foggy wind, I was convinced I would soon be fired and maybe even be spit on by my boss.

When my ferry finally pulled op to Old Harbor, I dragged myself off exhausted, disheveled, and, admittedly, a little smelly. I hurried over to the grill and fell into my boss’s arms, apologizing profusely for everything. Well, what did she do? She give me a raise.

Seriously, she gave me a raise.

It turns out that Friday, while I was away, we were totally slammed and the crazy Ukrainian hostesses working that day couldnt control the crowds. So my boss, Erin, after talking to the owner, got me a little bump up on my salary. I wont be able to take the two week vacation I had intended in August, but Its nice knowing that my work is appreciated.

So, although my weekend was chaotic, I have at least returned with some piece of mind. Its gonna be a little nutso trying to convince my brother to go back to the Bronx to unload my stuff, but once this apartment stuff is taken care of Ill be golden. Things are good here on Block Island, and I am happy. I have great friends: my new friend Natalie is one of the best I’ve made since collage. My job is going great. And I have a boss who, when things are shitty, I can fall into her arms and cry to like she’s my mom.

Things could be worse: I could still be in Harlem, the weird white girl in the hippy head scarf, trying to get to her apartment without a cell phone.

V.I.P

Living on Block Island is awesome, but it starts to make you feel a whole lot cooler than you really are. Though town is teeming with people right now vacationing for the Fourth of July, in the winter months the island consists of only about 750 people, and in the early months of summer when I was just arriving here there was probably only two hundred more. This means you meet people constantly, see them again frequently, and become friends quickly. Walking down the street to work or hanging out at night at the bar I am always running into numerous people I know, some just by face and others quite well. Though this is likely the case for all island workers, the attention causes you to believe you’re way more important than you are in reality.

For instance, the other night while attempting to get into Yellow Kitten’s, a popular local bar, we were met by an obnoxious crowd of people (mostly tourists) attempting to get in. Because the island has become so strict on carding, they were all waiting for the bouncer to meticulously inspect their IDs. My friend Natalie, however, apparently knew the bouncer, so we breezed through un-IDed and without paying the cover charge. Now, we weren’t trying to enter Studio 54, and Lord knows how many other people he allowed to do the same, but Natalie, Bryan, and I all basked in our pseudo-celebrity as we sauntered through the bar with our extra 5 bucks. Of course, 10 minutes later we realized we didn’t know a soul in the place since it was packed from wall to wall with tourists, and so we quickly left. None the less, we had our ten minutes.

And this stuff happens all the time, the little things that most people wouldn’t blink at yet make me think I’m Paris Hilton: slipping past cover-charges, waves from cars as they pass by Harbor Grill, knowing the members of the band playing at the bar. The other day I asked for water from the bartender at Nick’s, and my friend Chris, who was also behind the bar, over-heard and tossed me a bottled water instead of the tap water that is typically provided. I was ecstatic and, though I attempted to remain cool, I totally mentioned to all my friends my “sweet hook-up”.

It’s not just me though: everyone wants to feel a little V.I.P. At work, when attempting to seat customers, spacing them out in different servers’ sections, I know I can usually get them to sit where I want simply by proclaiming a table “the best seat in the house” as I begin to set down their place settings. Their eyes may have been wandering towards the comfy looking table in the corner , but with these simple words I can see their minds change as the “special treatment” starts going to their heads. I laugh at them a little to myself, but in reality I’m sure I’d do the same thing. I’d probably even feel cool enough to go home and write a blog about it. Now, if that’s not the definition of a cool person, I don’t know what is.