That late in the evening on the 3rd Hell Night I began to spout uncontrollable jibberish did not particularly concern me. After three nights of heavy metal & hip hop blaring whilst I’m looking after the tables… personally handling up to fifty people a night on a handwritten & calculated check system in the midst of the smoke from the fog machine… Big black George moving through the restaurant in medieval costumes shaking a cowbell & screaming…
My brain may have shifted slightly in its fluid sac, causing the gutteral glub-glubing of my jaws to spout sounds that my subconscious mind formed into words. To handle the spouts flow I simply rotated around the customers, like a sprinklers. Everybody got doused but no one got soaked all at once.
If you are reading this right now because you have in your hand one of my bizness cards that I gave to you at Hell Night last night, all the while spouting a ridiculous recurring story about how the New York Times had come THIS close to printing that very card on the front page today, well if thats you then welcome to 3rdarm.biz.
The culprit behind the wires crossing in my brain may very well have been the double cappucino that the owner of 1469 gifted me, a blessing because I was misquoted in the New York Times yesterday morning. Speaking of all that, I want to say publicly that I thought Frank Bruni’s article was fantastic. Well written and well timed, like a new Madonna single. The man was good to be around while shadowing us at the East Coast Grill. I thought he was going to ask me out.
Butttt, I guess he probably just has all the futurific New York technology and manages to stay young by being part cyborg or something. Twenty years since he waited on tables? You should see the man. Even if Maureen Dowd offered me an apprenticeship tomorrow and I started living the New York high rise robot vacuum cleaner dream life… in twenty years will I still have teeth? Perhaps Frank Bruni put on an age-disguising mask as part of his cover as Gavin.
A woman I work with tonight had on a red wig and I had no idea. I told her the dye & new style looked fabulous! Okay I gotta go. Google Earth just finished downloading and I am going to try to find Dick Cheney’s eaglesnest, or just rove about.
Pah, you forgot to give us a business card. Probably because we caught you early, before your brain had started leaking out your ears.
Any particular reason the Grill hasn’t moved to a somewhat less taxing form of bill-handling?
(In case you’re wondering how I did find you, check the first result for raw search query +”East Coast Grill” +”Hell Pasta”. The things you find when you’re trying to figure out just what went into that delicious monstrosity.)