'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.' - George Santayana
This lesson, which we would all do well to heed, has prompted me to recall my past. With the aid of my memory and my journals - begun in April 1998 - I will attempt to recall my past every so often in this blog so that you who don't know these stories can come to know them and so that you who shared these stories with me can both recall them yourselves and see them from my perspective.
For this first look back, I will transport us to a time 10 years ago. A transition point in my life. I had just finished my third year at the University of Delaware. I packed my light blue Mazda with my belongings that last week of May and made the four hour trek - it's a trek to someone with an east coast mentality anyway - to my father's house in Connecticut. Although I was going home to relax, I had a lot on my mind, e.g. moving back to Delaware in June to begin my stint as a renter. Trying to figure out what was to become of the relationship between Steph and me. Trying to figure out how I was going to live in the same apartment as Steph when we were having so many problems. And, wondering what in the world I would do for money.
During that stay at home, I remember varied and lengthy conversations with my father, who was trying to advise me on a number of topics. But I was a cocky, insecure, and immature 20 year old. I didn't listen. Instead, I readied myself for a more significant move than I had ever made. I needed not only clothes, linens, toiletries, and books. Now I needed, cooking implements and bowls and silverware and cleaning supplies, not to mention I needed to bring my own bed and furniture. I packed the Mazda; my father packed the van. And off we went...
Steph arrived a couple days after I did. We settled in. And then we started fighting. The same old stuff. You don't love me. I think I love you. I'm not sure anymore. Why are you so emotionally distant? Why are you so overbearing? Wait, I thought we had broken up, so why are we even having this fight? We're trying to rescue this friendship, not rebuild the relationship. I don't know if there can be a relationship after what we've been through. Confusion reigned.
I still had no job. I had no idea what to look for in a job. I wasn't going to work at a supermarket again. My skills from the library and from babysitting weren't particularly helpful either. I started interviewing. Not many bites, especially during the summer. I started to become concerned. Steph, meanwhile, had a job on campus and dutifully left every morning shortly before 8. So, not only was I fretting about a job, but I had plenty of time to fret when I wasn't looking for a job because I had nothing to do and no one with whom to do it.
By mid-July, Steph and I hit a brick wall. After so much fighting, we knew we had made a mistake. Living together - as my father warned - seemed to be our attempt - whether conscious or not - to save the relationship, to fix what was wrong with us. But the relationship was irrevocably torn asunder, and neither of us could mend the fences that we had destroyed. She made the decision to move. I begged her not to move; I told her we could fix it. She simply shook her head each time with tears in her brown eyes and told me that it was time to go. I knew it, but I was afraid. Of loneliness. Of losing her in my life. Of not knowing what to do next.
And then I found a job. I drove into the Possum Park Plaza in Newark, DE and proceeded to walk into the Outback Steakhouse. A tall, stocky gentleman named Robert greeted me and asked me for my resume. I handed him what I had - which wasn't much. He asked if I had any experience in a restaurant. Nope. Any customer service? The library and a couple years in high school as a stock boy in a local market. He chuckled; I half-heartedly returned a chuckle expecting to walk back through the heavy wooden doors with another rejection. Robert surprised me. He was looking for a host. Hosting sounded fine to me. I just needed to pay the rent. I agreed to a base salary and tips. We shook and I walked out employed.
After a few training sessions, I was on the job. Rolling silverware. Taking 'Takeaway Tucker' orders. Seating impatient people. Telling the impatient people about our 'Bloomin Onion' and the 'Wallaby Darned'. Holding the doors open. Handing people devices that I told them would vibrate. Having those same people take the devices, snicker, and make lewd comments. Learning that you don't say 'vibrate', but 'shake'. Within the first week, I had met most of the staff, including two hosts to whom I began to talk on a regular basis - Brandon and Mike.
The night before Steph was to return with her family to Virginia, I made the decision to bring her out for a last meal. We agreed that we wouldn't fight, that we would be civil and enjoy these last hours together. I didn't have a lot of money. And Outback employess get their meals for half off. Outback, it was. We sat in what was then the non-smoking section. Against the wall. Rather late at night, I seem to remember, as most of the surrounding tables were empty. At one moment during that otherwise uneventful evening, Brandon came over to say hello to me and Steph. Given Steph's importance in my life up to that point and given Brandon's future importance in my life, I now see that the brief meeting between those two people spelled a significant and very real transition for me.
Steph left the next day. Heart wrenching sadness lingered. As well as a sense of freedom I had never known. An odd combination. Especially for a young, naive, immature, insecure 20 year old.
I had to look for a roommate. I found one. A gay, Costa Rican, graduate student. Nice enough, but I was in the midst of isolating myself from all but a few people. And he wasn't one of the exceptions. Even though I lived with him. In fact, I had no idea he was gay until the last day we were in the apartment.
During the month of August, I worked a lot. And for those of you who haven't worked in the restaurant business, the work hours - Outback serves only dinner during the weekdays - changed my internal clock dramatically. Instead of going to bed at 10 or 11 I started going to bed at 1 or 2 after I had completed all of my duties and had a couple drinks with my friends.
Speaking of friends, it was in early August that I learned that Brandon literally lived 30 seconds from my front door in the same apartment complex. I therefore became a fixture in his apartment drinking hard cider and smoking clove cigarettes. We talked for hours and hours. About life. About death. About Ulysses and Finnegan's Wake. About magic and Alistair Crowley. About religion and art. We talked and talked, becoming exceptionally fast friends.
August waned. Fall semester began. I returned to classes for my senior year. But I was not the same person. I lived in an apartment, had a real job, and didn't have a girlfriend. All for the first time in my existence at the University.
Ten years ago...
So, where were you?
No comments:
Post a Comment