PoBoy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
Guest
Or
Pest
“… we’d
sing and dance forever and a day; we’d lived the life we choose , we’d fight
and never lose, those were the days, oh yes, those were the days.” Mary Hopkin
In
the late seventies, I used to frequent a saloon on Grant Street in San
Francisco’s North Beach; fittingly, the joint’s name was The Lost and Found
Club. The kind of place where everybody doesn’t know your name.
Z.
Z. Top on the box, you drank until last call, maybe go home with a stranger; the
main lighting was either from the juke box or the faux Tiffany lamps over the
pool tables. Very rarely was there any trouble (unlike other joints on the
street at that time); you know, old school serious. The kind of place where
everyone was hiding out and no one was looking for them.
At
odds one Thanksgiving, I slouched my way hence to find the place lit up like a
prison break. There were sheets of plywood on the pool tables and I surmised
that possibly there was a renovation or crime scene in progress, but, seeing as
I was being waved in, in I went.
Gathered
around the bar, the usual suspects were at their usual places on their usual
barstools, swizzle stick legs and all; crooked smiles were forming as
tablecloths were draped on the plywood and food began appearing from… wherever,
until a beggar’s banquet was laid for those of us that are simply known as The Holiday
Orphans. We ate, we grinned, we bought eachother’s drinks and tipped hugely;
feeling like a family for one fleeting gustatory moment, we went our separate smiling
ways.
Nothing
fancy; you know, the prerequisite turkey, dressing, sweet and Irish potatoes, a
veg or two, gravy, cranberry and those obligatory brown and serve rolls. There
could have been a pie or two, maybe a salad; I’m not really remembering it all.
It was all pot luck, and began (unbeknownst to me)as a task, a request and an assignment to the regulars, by the
bartender, to bring a certain holiday meal component and show up for the giving
of collective thanks, (and, who ever could
refuse their bartender a directive?). If you know the story of Stone Soup, it
was kinda like that. The bird was supplied by the bar.
It’s
not all fun and games for all of us on the holidays; especially if you’re in
the service industry. Many of us have had to work those special times when
those times are special to everyone but us. We give the roses out on Mother’s
Day brunch; we dress up for your Halloween night out; we serve Easter,
Christmas, Carnival and yes, we’re there when you decide that someone else will
cook (and serve) the turkey on Thanksgiving.
Not
everybody who works in a service oriented town, such as we are here in New
Orleans, has a family in stone’s throw of their living arrangements; generally speaking
in a bar or restaurant, the people that you work with become your family. These
establishments are fast paced, close quartered and semi-unpredictable in
atmosphere; the unexpected circumstance is perpetually expected. You become
close knit; you have a lot in common (IYKYK).
Tending
bar can be a lonely gig unless you’re either part of the rest of the ‘family’
and/or make working relationships with your customers, the more regular the
better; “Mercy, mercy, mister Percy,
there ain’t nothin’ back in Jersey; just the broken down jalopy of the man I
left behind” (Tom Waits).
So,
what do you do when the rest of the world is gathered around a communal table
of siblings, parents and relatives by the dozens celebrating a holiday that
you’re spending at work, mixing up another Sazerac cocktail or delivering
complimentary bread pudding to strangers polishing off a gut busting holiday
table d’hôte?
Maybe
you work in an office tower or at an auto parts store, health facility or
middle school; maybe you ‘go home’ for the holidays, perhaps you are that
customer out with Mom, Aunt Grace and Cousin Ralph at the casino buffet. Good
on ya, Mate. However, there is a tradition for service workers (and other
Holiday Orphans) and it happens just like it did at the Lost and Found in San
Francisco.
Your
coworker comes up and asks you what you are doing for insert holiday here; you say you have no plans except ones
concerning adult beverages and binge watching reruns of M*A*S*H*; and they say;
let’s get the gang together, go over to Alice’s
(she’s got a big place with roomies to boot) and have a pot luck, I’ll bring my
famous string bean casserole and we’ll get everyone to bring something and
feast and gab and have a holiday!
Or
your bartender says “Listen, we’re having a potluck here for insert holiday (or saints game) here, you in? I need someone to bring a
salad.” If you’re lucky, chances are
that you may have given or gotten this kind of invitation; it means that you’ve
got friends, whether you want them or not, you are, in essence, made.
I’ll
bet you dollars to donuts that I can go out this Thanksgiving and find at least
half a dozen pot lucks that I or any other Holiday Orphan would be welcome at;
I’ve been to a few, in fact, I’m gonna call The Golden Lantern to see if they
need a salad.
