So, it turned into one of those days where I just go through and reread the past posts. I end up spending so much time reading, there isn’t really any time to formulate the next post. It’s been a while since I did this, but it is where we are at.
I have not done a Hogwash post in probably a few years now. These blog posts started out as a way for me to let readers know who I am. A lot of what I wrote in the past though– I wound up not liking very much. Shared a bit too much or, or went off on a soapbox rant about something or other. I actually took the ones i don’t like down. Let’s go back to where this started, try to let readers know who I am.
I started working in a kitchen when I was fifteen years old! I remember because I was hired on for Mother’s Day, which was around the time I turned sixteen. It was only a week or two ahead of my birthday, and- if I remember right, my mom had to give me permission to start at only fifteen– which she clearly did. I worked at that same restaurant for nine years. I started out washing dishes. That only lasted a couple months though. One night they were short-handed on the line, so I went over and helped cooking. The remainder of my time there was spent as a cook. I did carry-outs mostly, we called it ‘Go’ or I did… ‘Dave Daoust on Go’! if you have visited this site before, you might know my last name is actually pronounced ‘doe’ like a dear, a female dear… So anyway—’Dave Daoust on Go’, rhymes, which is why I both said that, and felt the need to explain it… super great post so far Dave.
Anyway, like I said, I worked there for nine years. My young life was pretty much– school, work, party… not sure when the partying got in the mix. Maybe junior or senior year? Probably younger. I don’t remember, I had a bit too much fun back then. So much so, that I actually quit drinking before I ever turned twenty-one. A hot topic among a lot of the older guys I used to drink with, was all about how they wanted to quit drinking. To me, all these guys wanted– was to not be drinking. After a while of being completely shit-faced drunk with these same people, it started to be ridiculous… Anyway, I decided if I ever wanted to quit drinking, I was going to do it.
It took being ‘black-out drunk’ for me to finally want to give it up though. It only happened once, but that one time of waking up with absolutely no memory of what happened the night before, was enough for me. I found fist-sized holes in like three different walls. I vaguely remember arguing with my parents… I don’t know. Like for me, I came home, unlocked the door… went to bed. Like, that’s what I remembered. But that’s not what I was told happened. I was so messed-up, I could not even get the key in the lock. I’m pretty sure my brother said he had to do it, but this inability to do it myself, sent me off on a tantrum. I don’t know, I still don’t remember to this day.
See, through all my years of drinking, I always said it was having to remember all the stupid shit I did, while I was blasted, that was my curse. Alcohol just makes me a whole ‘nother person. For the most part it was fun. I was fun. Only a couple times were truly cringeworthy. But the ones that were, uhg, they still make me cringe to this day. All that being said, it turned out, I could live with being cringeworthy way better than having no clue what I did the night before.
When I quit, though, I quit. I was done… you know, after all the times I failed to quit. Took maybe a year, maybe two. A lot of it was just making sure people knew I was done with that. Get it through their head that I did not want to go out and drink with them.
Here’s the rub, the problem with quitting drinking, everyone thinks you are an alcoholic– FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! Especially the guys that really want to quit drinking, but can’t. I mean, I quit drinking before I was twenty-one, I did not have another drink for nine years. Only reason I started back up again, NINE YEARS LATER, was kind of over a girl, but mostly just to go to the bar. I didn’t really do the bar thing in my early twenties- obviously, because I did not want to drink then. The bar thing only lasted like a year. Once I found myself right back out there, drinking way too much… Doing that cringeworthy shit all over again… uhg, I quit again. Didn’t have to reach the blackout drunk thing again. Got rid of anyone that could get me drinking heavy and just found myself again. Wasn’t even hard that time. Yet, I am still the tragic alcoholic among a society of drinkers. Weird.
Ultimately, I don’t ‘not drink’ anymore. It has been maybe three years since I had a drink, but if someone wants to, I’ll drink a couple. I think the last time was because I was loading trucks; I would drink some whiskey at the end of the week just to help my muscles relax. Didn’t even finish the bottle. No, wait! the last time, I was drinking whiskey for my stream! haha! I was having a hard time loosening up, so I got some whisky in the mix. It was actually a lot of fun. Hmmm, I stopped doing that for some reason… probably just got bored of it.
Okay, back when I first quit drinking, I quit doing all the other stuff that went with such a lifestyle. Except smoking cigarettes, I smoked way too long. I quit eventually but it is probably, still, going to be what kills me.
This isn’t even what I sat down to write about. I was going to write about my first job, and how I lost that first job— nine years later.
Nine years seems to be a theme for me.
Ok, so let’s do it, the job story— After all those years of working for those people, one night this rando waitress puts in an order for fish. I cook it, I wrap it up, I leave it under the light. Just like every order I have ever cooked in that place. Next day the owner calls me about it. The waitress that put the ticket in, she did not pay for that fish. I didn’t know why he was talking to me about it. I remember he called me a ‘leak’, then he fired me.
In all the years I worked at that job, I never once accepted money for an order. Not a single one. There was a hostess that handled that job. For all I could say, not a single order I ever put under the light, got paid for… at all. The cooks don’t deal with costumers at all. How the fuck is this guy even calling me about that shit?
Anyway, that same night, there was also a canceled order of poor-boys, several in fact. They were going into the garbage, so I decided to hand them out to the other workers. This -might- be why I got the attention for the fish. Passing them out, however, was not an original idea. I don’t know. None of that food came home with me, all I want to say.
For years and years I felt like that guy just wanted to get rid of me. Like he just made some shit up so he could fire me. Or he had the waitress do that shit with the fish so I’d be the one to cook it. I don’t know, I never set foot in that place ever again.
My next job though— in retail– I was on flow! ‘Dave Daoust on Flow!’ For some reason, the jobs I keep for a while, tend to rhyme. Another theme maybe?
I’m glad loading trucks doesn’t rhyme with anything though!
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