A question for the ages…
To the person who says that “you can have too much of a good thing,” I say they obviously weren’t living alongside me in Las Vegas in the eighties.
Too much money?
Right.
I have no animosity or envy of rich people. I want them to succeed the same as I wish for all of us in the human race to, and I just hope that there is some room for generosity in their hearts above and beyond what they aren’t paying in taxes.
That is why I admire people like Melinda Gates who has been responsible for funding many charities that benefit the collective.
Too many women?
Right.
Too much makeup?
Oh hell yes.
It seemed like the first girls I ever chased (and caught) were the heavily-mascaraed, mini-skirt wearing birds in Jolly Old England in the sixties.
Thick, black eyelines.
My first was not on American soil.
Too much trust?
Yes.
My wife is the purest part of me.
She does not have a suspicious thought in her head. She trusts everyone implicitly, almost like a family member.
I worry about her and I admire her for it, and there was a time in my life that I viewed the world as a free, cool place full of cool people.
I grew up.
Our country lost its innocence several wars ago and I remember exactly when my own innocence dissipated.
I heard of a young girl that was kidnapped when she was hitchhiking near Tucson, Arizona. She had no arms and was wandering aimlessly along the interstate.
Now, I was one of the lucky kids who always had access to cars for any dates or social functions and that included road trips, so I picked up a lot of thumb trippers.
I met some people that still bring smiles to me in reflection.
Too much bullshit?
What would it take for you to walk out of your job in the middle of the shift?
I actually did just that when I first moved up to Las Vegas.
I was attending the University of Nevada-Las Vegas to play soccer and study restaurant hospitality in the schools’ prestigious program. I got there two months early to make a little bread.
For a part-time job on my second day in town, I went to a Sambo’s restaurant (remember those?) which was located at the southeast end of the world-famous Las Vegas Boulevard (The Strip).
In fact, it was nearing the last days of the world-famous Aladdin Hotel and Casino which bordered the little chain restaurant.
The Aladdin was being prepped for demolition and the same was being planned for the nearby Hacienda.
All the drilling and heavy machinery did was stir up the millions of desert rats and forced them to abandon their meal ticket and head elsewhere.
Elsewhere was the restaurant I had been hired to be the graveyard cook.
Talk about busy.
Non-stop.
Sambo’s and the low prices were in direct contrast to the high-priced casino restaurants, so it was always packed.
I remember walking behind the cook line and inspecting my new job site.
I opened up the reach-in cooler and saw a block of cheese slices that looked like someone had just taken a bite out of one of the corners.
“What the hell?” I asked the manager,” a graveyard old battle ax that was the only one stupid enough to do the job.
She chuckled.
“Probably mice. Mice love cheese.”
I chuckled along with her and went to work.
Long story short.
Restaurant TOTAL breakdown.
The other cook had quit so I was going solo on a busy Saturday night. The thing is, I was a super-spat hellgood short order cook and I was actually pulling it off.
I go to pull out a slice of cheese from the cooler and sitting right on top of the cheese is a little rodent looking up at me.
I called the manager over.
“I need someone to bring me a new block of cheese from the walk-in cooler. There’s a mouse in my cooler.” I lowered my voice so as not to make a big scene.
“A mouse! A fucking mouse!” she screamed. She was making a huge scene and now the customers were in on our exchange.
“Knock the little fucker off the cheese and use the slices. Don’t be a pussy.”
The whole time the manager was cussing me out in a heated tirade, I was smiling.
I didn’t say a word.
Because I wasn’t listening.
I silently grabbed my knives, walked to the kitchen, cleaned them, rolled them up in my kit, and walked past the huge crowd at the door.
I was bound and determined to make my way without help from the enormous clout my father had in the city due to his union affiliation.
I grew up.
Stay well.
