Maplewood

(this isnt the restaurant....this is the Ames Free Library in my hometown of Easton)
Do you remember your favorite job? Well, I dont mean the one you have now....I mean the one you had "before" your career. A summer job? A part time gig? I've had lots of jobs, and, now that I think of it, I am thinking that writing about some of them would make a nice "series" on this blog (Edmund's restaurant, the Lobster Trap, Camp Maplewood, Plymouth Rock Assurance, McDonalds, etc). But I had been meaning to write about Maplewood Restaurant (no relationship to the camp....except that rich Jewish idiots ran both). Maplewood, in many ways, defined me.

Not really though.

Maplewood was an Easton staple; long lines serpentined around cars during the summer months, as the establishment doubled as both a successful restaurant, and a popular ice cream stand. One early fall, it seemed like I got this "tip" from some of the guys at school that Maplewood was hiring busboys. Naturally, I applied. Also, I was hired. Me, Jay Ponticelli, Mike Bushey, and a slew of other OAHS juniors made up the most elite busboy team in the country. Our "cooks" were the Roney brothers--Dave and Kevin. Dave was drunk most of the time--even when he was there, and he would often come in at 9 AM (they were open for breakfast), punch in, leave, and then come back at 4 when his shift "really" started. One time when I was working, I had been there for two hours already when all of the sudden, he emerged from the walk in cooler, where he had been sitting, by himself, relaxing from the summer heat, and knocking back Miller Lites. He scared the crap out of me. His brother Kevin was even better--he was miserable and bitter and always had relationship drama, and now I think he is a cop or something. I worked on Thursdays, and on Thursdays he would make me do all his cleanup so he could sit in a folding chair and watch "Melrose Place" on a black and white TV (Melrose Place started at 9...we closed at 8:30...and he was there, alone, long after I left).

Causing a permanent rift in our brotherhood, I was promoted to cook, while Jay (who had seniority over me) was kept in the busboy ranks. Sadly, now that we are both in our 30s, this is actually the only trump card I have in any "life contest" we may have. But you dont understand what a powerful trump card it is. Jay and I would both work on Saturdays; usually, I would come in and cook the breakfast and lunch shifts, and I would be alone. But then, around 4, my minion Jay would come in to serve as my dishwasher. We would absolutely rock out the place...and, if there was time, we would bus tables and cook dinners.

Mark Minske, the idiot who owned the place, knew less about running a restaurant than he did about parenting (his kids were punks). And we totally exploited this flaw. We would eat the poor guy out of house and home; I'd fry up clams, mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, and lobster (that's right...LOBSTER!) and we'd indulge all night. The guy was never there to catch us (or care) so we just kept going. Actually, all the help did--the cooks, busboys, hot ice cream window girls, and hostesses. When we'd get tired of eating, and things were slow, we'd have lobster races--with live lobsters, of course. Dave Roney would teach us how to hypnotize lobsters, and then put them in weird contorted positions. He would usually laugh for 14 minutes about this, what with him being drunk and all.

The "fringe benefits" as they were greatly outweighed the initiation process of my brethren and I, as the Roney brothers made sure to put us through a gauntlet if we were to be true "Knights of Maplewood." As busboys, this would usually start when Kevin would pour a bottle of dish detergent into the commercial dishwasher, so that when we closed the dishwasher to wash dishes, suds would permeate out the doors and onto the floor. Everywhere. Then he'd throw a mop at us, call us "weinie boy," and yell at us to clean it up. Next came the chicken skin, where the older guys would cut chicken fat off of birds that would later be broasted; one would hold us in a Full Nelson, and the other would smoosh chicken fat and skin down our clothing, forcing us to keep it that way for the rest of the night. Although their drunkenness made them forget they told us this. Sometimes they would throw raw potatoes at us, and that was fun. But the piece de resistance had to be the branding (yes, branding). They would take a spatula, keep it on the hot griddle for a bit, and then hold the sharpened edge against your arm, wrist, or whatever, essentially branding you. I am pretty sure Ponticelli still has this mark on his wrist (am I right Jay?)

It was really sad when the board of health shut the place down, because we really enjoyed working at Maplewood (well, that was the rumor....that the board of health made some recommendations and Mark didnt have the money to put into the place...so he shut it down). It was the only job we ever had where we were SAD when the restaurant closed. I mean, we were happy to go out with our friends after work, but it was sad when we had to call it a night. Because I was the cook, and had less "clean up" responsibilities than my subordinate Jay, I was always done first, and I would yell at Jay to hurry up so we could leave (we'd drive together). In a fit of annoyance, Jay would take silverware, plates, bowls, and coffeemugs, bring them over to the back door (which was set up against some woods), and start chucking them into the forest--a hailstorm of plates and bowls must have terrorized many a chipmunk or squirrel. Then, weeks after doing this, Mark would hold an "employees" meeting, and ask if anyone knew where all the plates and spoons were, since there were a lot missing. We all knew, and we tried hard not to laugh.

Just another day at work....

Did you ever have a job like this?