Western Avenue wasn’t only where I went to High School; it’s where I worked for a number of years during that same timeframe. My first job wasn’t on Western; it was actually on another nearby street… I’m sure we’ll cover that eventually. My second job was smack dab on Western Avenue… a few blocks south of where I used to catch that bus every day for 3 years. I was a bus boy at an Italian Restaurant.
What better job for me? I mean, I love food… I love Italian Food… I do get to eat for free, right? Haha… Well, yes, actually. At the end of every night, we’d get to take home whatever was left in the kitchen; mostly we’re talking pasta, but it was all good. We’d pack up the leftovers and head over to my friend’s house to drink and play cards, with a nice midnight snack to boot. I worked with one of my friends there; he got me the job. He actually started as a bus boy, ended up in the kitchen, and went on from there within the food industry; very successful guy that I knew since I was 5. Very hard worker, great work ethic… proud of him. I didn’t follow that same career path, but I did enjoy my time as a bus boy.
Besides the end of night food, we did sometime get some “in-game” snacks. Once in a while the waitress would scoop some food off a dish for us; ah yes, the restaurant secrets… haha. When I was “salad boy”, which meant I wouldn’t be on the floor, but would be in the back making salads and preparing desserts all night, it was my own little temptation island; I mean, all the meats and cheeses and cannoli filling in front of me… that’s like putting a crack rock in front of a crack addict. Hell yes I snacked away the evening. One of the owners, the mean one, caught me one time; if looks could kill, let me tell you. He was very demanding; I mean, don’t f-ing screw up, and don’t, and I mean don’t EVER just stand around; you better always be doing something. I remember one night in particular… I was very busy, sweating actually, when I dropped a plate in the middle of the packed restaurant. It was the type of plate that shattered into a million pieces; back to that whole looks could kill thing… I was red with embarrassment as I excused myself around the whole place, sweeping up the mess. An all time classic moment no doubt…
There were other, better moments, like New Year’s Eve; I hated working it, but loved the T-Bone steak that we got early in the evening. Or how about all the people I met working there? Bobby Hull, Carlton Fisk, George Wendt, Stan Mikita, Dennis Farina… those are the ones I can clearly remember. Although George Wendt ate almost a whole bucket of Chicken Vesuvio, Bobby Hull was the best. He’d come in through the kitchen, hammered, picking food off people’s dirty plates. He’d take his spot at the table; I’d bring him some water and bread. He’d reach out his hand, shake mine… he had some thick ass hands, like twice as thick as the normal human being, and slip me a $20. I’d look at his face with all those scars, and think about that iconic picture of him… He told me… “get some ham and eggs between the legs” or something like that. I escorted him back to his car the one time; guessing he got home OK…
As always, only the tip of the iceberg at the Italian Restaurant on Western; those were fun times, mostly. It was a good, mostly cash gig, that gave me plenty of money to blow on liquor and cards; what the hell else would I spend my money on back then? Hahaha…
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