Mid-town pretension

I don’t spend much time up town. Actually anything above 14th st or Union Sq for non-business reasons doesn’t get much time in for me unless it’s central park, a show, gallery or museum of my calling, or to see the woman. Tonight was one of those nights I was up for business to take some clients out; we met at the hotel bar that takes great care of us: Abboccato. George manages a great restaurant if you’re up for some unique and tasty Italian and Lana a non-drinker, knows her way around Italian wines and grappas.

On recommendation we took our guys up to. BLT Market on Central Park South, next to the Ritz. Already knowing the Ritz’s Star Lounge that connects the hotel and the restaurant, provides the cocktail service, I knew there’d be some pretense (and cost) for the evening heading here. As we walked in, I expected a wait, and greeted well by the hostess staff, they proclaiming we’d be eating in 20 min. Norman was the bartender this night and set us up nicely with some scotch whiskey.

20 minutes pass and then 30 then 40. Despite my own tardiness at times, I feel disrespected as a customer when restaurants don’t seat you at appropriate times. If the wait is 40 say Four-T, not 20 to appease the customer and apologize later.

Apparently it all got worse from there. Laurent Tourondel is New York’s famed French-born chef that is highly praised through out the city, however, this evening, the chefs and service were not executed to precision and made for one of my worst dining experiences in some time. The best part may have been the hot dog appetizers which were served free with the meal. I had a well cooked braised lamb but cod and duck were not cooked well. The service intermittent and being sat closest to the front door was the top irritant of the night.

I may be back but only on the recommendation and someone else’s dime. We spent the rest of the evening back at the hotel participating in grappa tastings and creating today’s hangover…

Pay Day

I was paying up at Gourmet Garage today for the evening’s dinner when I noticed a tall lanky white guy with thick rimed black glasses and a hair and ‘stache combo straight out of 1974, cruising the isles with a handful of envelopes. It was payday for the employees and he was distributing the best part of the month.

I watched as he towered over a crouched stock kid handing over the vanilla envelope with that satisfaction-well done smile. He didn’t even get up, slipped a finger in and pulled out the money with a smile… then a sign and a forced “Thanks!”….

It’s never enough is it. It never seems worth it right? and on top of that you have half your check going to the Gov. I remember the days when I’d be right there, working at Gene’s but come to think about it, I still get that sign when I pop open my bank account. I’m just not paid what I’m worth, however, I don’t have that mustached boss hanging over me to nudge nudge that great bagging job I do every week for Mrs. Johnson.

Home office loner

When you work from home, you don’t have the comradely of an office, office pals, jokes around the vending machine, coffee breaks or any personal interactions… it makes for a lonely career existence. Sure as a field sales guys your always meeting new and existing customers, partners, and career execs but these are business relationships that rarely last beyond the sales cycle without some report and personal attention. So when you have a few friends to enjoy a sixer or two and a roof top, conversation of a personal nature is treasured and belligerent sessions of intoxication and New York life are much to be desired…

This is a short rant, I’m sure I’ll elaborate on this biz. Right now the positive is, “Enjoy your cube farms suckas!!!”