Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Calling a Spade a Digging thingy...Part II

I did not pine for "The Pines" (Fire Island).

Maybe I am cynical? Negative? Bitter? Lonely?
Maybe I'm not into being surrounded by one demographic. I could see myself being the same way had I went to any other place wherein everybody there was on the same page, so to speak. It was like working somewhere and having only one restaurant to choose from, day in day out on your lunch hour. The menu gets a little played.

I come from growing up in a household where my formative years happened to coincide with living in the same house as my father. He happens to be a bigger racist and bigot than the fictional Archie Bunker. I grew up to be his opposite, at least trying my best to. Yet, I can not shake the feeling that his racism was too impaled in me.

For the few months that I lived in South Beach (shutter-Miami Beach) I worked at this International Hostel. The only way you could check in was to have a foreign passport. I absolutely loved being at this job. The daily mix of people coming and going or checking in for a week was such a great cross section of the world. At any given time there were 95 or so guests there and it just made me want to travel the world afterwards, based on this melange of culture.

Another example that comes to mind is working in a restaurant in Manhattan (specifically my stint @ 'Lemon'.) This basically pertains to the Front of The House. The maitre d' was French, the waiters and waitresses were all emigres from France, Ireland, Italy, Australia, Germany and South America. The busboys were usually Pakistani or Indian.
If you had a bitchy queen co-worker to deal with you went and talked with the cool Kiwi girl whose fashion ruled. If you got blue in the face speaking to the fascist reared Italian you went to speak to the more liberal Dutchman. If you wanted to pound some shots you went to hang with the Celtic girl who always smelt of Gin and Tonics. It was this great big utopian stereotypical world.

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