Raymond, Denny and The Cologne

When I was young, I worked several restaurant jobs. I began as a dishwasher, moved to making espresso, then to making sandwiches, on to waiting tables, all in Berkeley, and then went back east and managed two cafes in Brooklyn, New York.

It was at the main cafe (there was a second, satellite location) that I was the part-time night waiter. They hired me on the spot, probably because I was the only waiter to use a resume when applying for the job. The full-time night waiter, a guy I’ll call Derrick, was a buddy of mine for about a week, until he was fired for dealing drugs (cocaine, I think), and then he disappeared, and I got his job.

I worked as the night waiter for a long time, and then filled in for the morning waiter on some shifts. That was more challenging as the breakfast menu had more items and complexity than the dessert menu, although desserts at night had to be sauced, whipped and garnished by the night waiter, to say nothing of the espresso drinks I had to make all day long whether a day or a night shift. I was a barista before they were called barista’s, not that that’s a big deal.

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But I made good money and my clientele liked me. And why not? I had a habit after being at the café for a while, of comping certain items for clients. One day the owner of the place pulled me aside and mentioned the comps. I’m not sure if I was nervous, but he said that whatever I was doing was working, and that I should keep it up at will. I was glad he wasn’t mad at me, and kept right on comping.

Later, people who worked at the cafés started taking stuff home. I did it too sometimes. I shouldn’t have, but I’d occasionally take a small cake or some bread or pastries. I think the owner didn’t mind but it was unethical. Eventually, one of the cooks was caught taking supply foods that were ingredients and other items, and he was fired. I don’t think the owners minded us taking small items home, but to take supplies and ingredients in large quantities hurt the business. 

Looking back, I think I’d have asked before taking things like cakes and pies home. The owners let us eat all the food we wanted when we were there, and so we should not have taken advantage. I don’t suppose they considered our free stuff stealing, but maybe it was. I do know that taking home milk and eggs and supplies from the walk-in and stockroom was not okay, and that the cook was not allowed to keep working there.

But I digress; this story is not about food or stealing, however wrong the taking of food (definitely) was. 

As I said, the night waiter was let go, and I got his position. I filled in for the day waiter, and then moved to days. Eventually, two more day waiters started there as well. I’ll refer to them as Raymond and Denny. They were like night and day. I guess you could say they were both a little light on their feet, but they were friendly and did their jobs well.

Raymond was a neat freak, kept his waiters’ station clean, butters just soft enough, supplies stocked, and was quick to get people taken care of. He was neat, clean and fast.

Denny was super fast, but he was very messy, casual, and apropos of nothing, I found out that loved to DJ at night. I never saw him perform, but he was quite a character.

They were both nice guys, but while Raymond had a steady friend, Denny did not seem to have anyone steady that I knew of. Not that I kept track of their love lives, as if.

After they’d worked for the cafe’s for some time, Raymond’s mother came to town. I think I met her but I don’t remember very clearly. There was a tragedy however. His mother died around that time. It seems she was allergic to some specific food, and accidentally ingested it and perished.

I felt really bad for Raymond. I am close to my mom (who she is still going strong today, thankfully), and losing her would have been a very hard thing for me. I think I gave Raymond a card or something, to try and console him. What I do recall is that he was so grateful that he gave me an expensive bottle of Georgio Armani cologne.

I liked to romance the cafe ladies, but failed to see the utility of his gift in that regard. I kept it for a long while, and then gave it to a male family member. My relative lassoed a wife around that time, and I didn’t marry until sometime later, but who knows how my love life would have gone had I worn the magic cologne on my few but coveted dates.

Raymond gave me a wonderful gift, and I regret not making better use of it, but I sometimes recall those past days, and the kindness of a fellow waiter.