Tag Archives: hiding

And Then He Becomes A Jerk Again and I’m Glad He’s Not My Problem Anymore… :-)

Posted on by Standard 31

So, let me share the reasons I haven’t written in a couple of weeks except for my last sad excerpt. The main reason is because I got distracted from my misery…by Chef.

It is weird how I had settled into a routine in the couple of months I lived at the hotel, and moving into my tiny, real-life ghetto apartment was somewhat of a shock to my system. I’ve lived in dangerous places before, but I don’t know that you ever get over the shock of random strangers knocking on your door with a pint in a brown paper bag in one hand and their other hand reaching out for some money because, “I used to have a friend that lived here and she used to give me money”. Now, of course, I’m not throwing stones at the people around here. Most of them, turns out, are like me. Life dealt them a hard curve ball, and they are dealing with it the best they know how. I just wasn’t quite expecting that to happen, or the other dozen or so incidents that I’m now getting accustomed to. Frankly, now these episodes make me laugh a little bit. No. I don’t hand out money at my door, except to a tiny 6-year-old entrepreneurial soul who takes out my trash each day for a dollar. I’m not hardened enough to resist that sweet face! But, let’s face it. I don’t want people showing up all the time at my door. And it would only take one instance of giving a stripper $5 for gas, and I’d be answering that door constantly. Stuff like that travels around, and I don’t make enough money to be handing it out all the time. But, I have been being friendly with people around here,  and I hand out my cigarettes pretty regularly. But most importantly, I try really hard not to stand out. I don’t want to be noticed. I work really hard at just blending into the background.

So, back to Chef. Ever since I moved into this home, Chef has not been pleased. Somewhere in that strangled mess of a conscience, I think he became concerned that I was not probably in the safest of places, and he started to check up on me. A text would turn into a phone call, which would turn into breakfast, and on and on, until he actually was coming by the apartment to fix stuff for me. So, even though I knew this probably wasn’t good for me, I still craved seeing him. I liked that he was showing signs of caring about what happened to me. I, in other words, am a great big sucker.

We got away from talking about what has transpired this last year, with the occasional skirmish if we spent more than an hour or so together, and then he began to talk about when we got back together. Not “if”, mind you. “When”. But all the while, he still has the new girlfriend living with him at our old home, working, paying his bills..etc. So, I started feeling creepy about that. I know I’m his wife, but if felt sneaky…So, I told him. I don’t like this sneaky, other-woman feeling. He would promise me that T knew that he was still wanting his marriage to work..blah, blah, blah. No way he tells her the stuff he tells me he says and she be okay with it. And because I know he’s full of crap when he is talking to me, I can just imagine what crap spills out of his mouth to make her feel better, too.

So, I had to make him go away again, and the only way I know how to do that is to make him furious at me. That usually buys me about two weeks, and then he comes around again, always thinking that I’m sitting around waiting for him. Pathetically, he’s kind of right. I’ve been on a few dates, and they were horrible. I don’t want a boyfriend. I don’t think I even want a husband. I think I’m going through the motions like learned reactions, but I have to say, I really like coming home, locking my door, playing on my computer, and ignoring his phone calls if I don’t feel like hearing what he has to say. Today, he was particularly angry because he can’t get his electricity turned on at his house under his girlfriend’s name. So, in true Chef fashion, he called me at work to take it out on. Because I have so much pull with the stupid electric company! I didn’t know what to say, but I do feel sorry for him. I’m having to pinch every penny too to pay down some old bills, so I know how this feels. But, the difference to me is, I don’t call him and yell at him about it. He then informed me that I needed to get both dogs and both cats and move them into my apartment with me because he never wanted pets in the first place…I was the one who had problems when the kids left home…not him. It was all designed to pick a fight with me. I realized a few weeks ago, he must not fight with T because when he wants to blow off steam, he always calls me. I even asked him once if they ever even disagree with each other, and he said no. She is too meek to put up any kind of argument with him, which in turn makes him feel bad if he yells at her. Nice. So, he saves it for me? I don’t think so.

One of the commentors on my last post wrote a long, rather beautiful piece to me about knowing who I am. He was right. I don’t know who I really am. I’ve always been someone to someone else. A wife, a mother, a daughter, an employee…I don’t really know who I am when I’m just me. I see that I lost sight of what I was supposed to be learning from all of this because I fell so comfortably back into the strange relationship I have with my husband now. Even though it was different, it was also the same, and it pains me to admit, I let myself be fooled on purpose. I liked being around him..(sometimes)..but most of the time, it is rather disconcerting just how different he is now. It is a strange sensation to see a person you’ve known your whole life, yet find them oddly unfamiliar. I am back on the path I shouldn’t have wandered from, but I can’t make a lot of promises about not blowing it with Chef again. I’d pay good money if he’d just move out of Oklahoma. :-)

So, instead of answering all of your concerned comments, I thought I’d tell ya’ll what’s up, and thank you all for sticking around, even when I went into hiding. Love you all!!

– Catherine

 

Hurt Feelings, Misunderstandings, and Never Ending Spaghetti Bowls

Posted on by Standard 18

One of my favorite restaurants of all time is The Olive Garden. And it isn’t because of their delicious Italian food, awesome salad dressing, or unending spaghetti bowls, either. Those things help, but they aren’t the real reason

Chef is one bad muther...Shut Your Mouth!!

It is because I met my husband Chef there, and because my all time favorite restaurant story about Chef took place at The Olive Garden right after 9/11.

Besides being one of the absolute worst days in America‘s history, I had the added pleasure of having jumped over a couch in my living room, while drunk, during an argument with Chef, and crushed my heel to pieces. Fodder for another day, my friends. So, while recovering from surgery, my doctor and I watched the unfolding horror that the news media kept plastered all over every channel. It was horrific. My sister E and I had eaten at the World Trade Center restaurant at the top of one of those towers the year before, and all I could remember was that my ears had actually popped in the elevator as we made our way to the top. Random, I know, but I think my brain was refusing to process the terror I know those poor people had to have experienced.

Add to this little misery was the fact that Chef’s sister works at the Pentagon. So, when that building was hit, my family was freaked out, to say the least. Turned out she wasn’t there that day, but it was a long few days before anyone knew that. All in all, it was a bad experience for us.

At that time, Chef was working as a restaurant manager for The Olive Garden in San Antonio, Texas. It was located near the busiest mall in that city, which meant the place was always crowded, and you never went there without knowing you were going to have to wait for a while for a table.

About two weeks after 9/11, Chef was working in the kitchen, managing whatever Kitchen Managers manage, and there was a Front of the House restaurant manager taking care of the front of the operation. Business was plugging along just fine, until a little episode turned that entire restaurant upside down.

San Antonio has a lot of visitors from Mexico, usually the more wealthy upper class. Situated by some of the most expensive stores in the city, it wasn’t unusual to have Mexico’s Upper crust come into the establishment. And on this particular day, some Nationals, as they are called in Texas, had stopped by for a little refreshing Italian food. Coming up the steps, an American elderly man held the door open for them, and they, unassuming and completely oblivious, walked through the door, up to the hostesses, and put their names on the list for a table. A completely benign occurrence, right?

Flag of the City of San Antonio for fair use t...

Flag of the City of San Antonio for fair use to illustrate the article about San Antonio, Texas. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Well, the elderly man’s daughter and her two teenage kids, saw the polite act of the elderly father, and were incensed that, out of courtesy, the Nationals didn’t stand aside and allow the elderly father and his family put their names on the list first. And as they sat on opposing sides of the lounge — the Nationals clueless, and the American family fuming, a resentment began to form. Angry whispering and evil eyes were directed towards the Nationals, who simply didn’t notice these pesky Americans at all. Grudges were taking root.

About half an hour later, the hostess called the National family, and guided them gracefully to a seat towards the back of the restaurant. And because resentments and grudges had been formed, that simple act pissed off the American family, and the old man started feeling like he was having a heart-attack. The daughter freaked out, and aided her father down to the floor, loosening his tie and shirt buttons, and causing a general panic in the lobby. Hostesses started panicking a little loudly, mainly because they are twelve years old, and in all the commotion, the two teenage sons, Spawn of the American Daughter, decided that the Nationals were going to pay for causing their grandpa to have a heart attack, and they went running through the restaurant looking for where the Nationals were seated. Once located, they began to yell and insult them, in English. The Nationals obviously didn’t speak English, and they were confused, and angry, thinking they were being robbed.

It was a perfect storm. Because of the obvious, shell-shocked atmosphere of our country right then, and because hostesses kept yelling 9-1-1, as they ran around uselessly, every one in the restaurant assumed they were being attacked by terrorists. Chaos ensued. People went running out of the restaurant, into bathrooms, or dodging under tables. The front house manager was one of the ones hiding in the girl’s bathroom leaving everyone else to fend for themselves. It was a each-man-for-himself moment, that’s for sure.

All the drama finally dribbled into the kitchen area, and Chef, curious, went out to figure out what the hell was going on. People were terrified, including the Nationals hiding under their table, with the American Daughter and her spawn screaming that they had killed their father/grandfather.

Even before really figuring out what had happened, Chef yells in a loud voice, “Everyone shut the fuck up!” Every person in the place froze. He points at the American troublemakers and says, “You keep your mouths shut and get away from this table.” In an effort to explain her side, American Daughter starts babbling about her dad, to which he asks where the old man is. When she indicates the lobby, he tells her, “Get over there by him, keep your mouth shut, or I swear to God, I’ll drag his dying ass outside so he can die in the parking lot. If he doesn’t die from the heart attack, he’ll die from a heat stroke!”

Compassionate to the end, that one.

Slowly, people started righting their chairs, and some semblance of order was being restored. The crazy little manager from the kitchen seemed to have things under control again. People were beginning to laugh nervously.

Until some bilingual table-neighbors told the Nationals what the American Spawn had been yelling at them. Then, their pride completely violated, The Nationals decided to take the fight to the lobby, where the paramedics were administering their services to the old man. Chef had to break up a physical fight between National Wife and American Daughter.

Finally, with the old man tucked safely in the ambulance, American Daughter, her spawn, and the National Family all found themselves unceremoniously dumped outside the front door, barred from entering The Olive Garden ever again.

As the atmosphere finally began to ease, Chef then went looking for the manager who should have kept all of this under control in the first place. Where did he find her, you ask? Why, standing on a toilet seat in the women’s bathroom behind a locked stall door, of course.

That’s why they get paid the big bucks, folks.

– Bird