The sum total of my Memorial Weekend. No social activities; only long, long work days and little food. Rest & quiet are in order for this day off. Not a single fuck shall be given.
Friday: a beautiful day, perfect top-down, at-the-beach, weather. The stream of visitors to the restaurant increased as the day worn on. All were joyful and ready to begin the summer - especially with margaritas. Happy Hours are now 12 to 5 PM - the bar/lounge remained full throughout the afternoon.
Saturday: Setting the tone for the day, the Locos-guys tuned the Sirius network to 1960s American Rock and Roll. As people left the beach for refreshments (hint, hint. We offered $15. Pitchers of Sangria.) whether liquid or solid, those of a certain age began singing along with the music of The Beach Boys, and everyone else associated with that ancient time I remember oh-so-well. It was surprising to note that those of later generations took part in the sing-along, claiming they grew up with the music being played by their parents. Made my heart happy, at least.
Had a 30 minute wait for a lunch table, and the entire weekend evening hours were totally booked. I didn't get off until 5:30 PM. I had been there since 7:30 AM, so you do the math. Walked home under my own steam, but almost completely drained of energy.
Sunday: 9 AM Brunch began well, with folks desiring a hardy breakfast before hitting the beach. At 9:30 three gals came in "starving" and having only just arrived, chose to have brunch at the bar, before heading to the sun and sand. That last bit never happened. They were contacted by 2 friends, invited them to join in the brunch scenario, and those 2 contacted others; before you knew it the bar was full of guys and gals enjoying brunch, Bloody Marys, Mimosas and discovering our new satellite trivia game from a company called "Buzzline" or "Buzztime", or some such. You can tell how interested in all this I am, right?
They began to challenge one another, inevitably the shots began to flow; the cheering, shouting encouragement grew louder with each new game. By 3 PM, (thanks to their many efforts) Dos Locos was among the top 20 venues in the US at that time. I had a splitting headache, diners up to my gonads, could barely see straight, and had not eaten all day. Even with all the noise from the bar, diners remained jovial and enjoyed their own big parties, upwards of 8 to 14, by the time I left at 4:45.
As the headache throbbed, I walked home in delicious silence, closed the door behind me, turned on the AC & fans (it was 90' outside & 82' inside), reached for a glass, ice cubes, gin, olives as the place cooled down, and turned on Pandora radio as I shed the work drag for shorts and a tee. I enjoyed another cocktail as the headache subsided and I started creating supper. Don't know where the energy came from.
I. Was. Famished. Then, still smelling like Fajitas, I took a long, hot shower and got into bed to read.
Monday: Regular hours meant arriving at 10 AM, though we knew it would be another big day. Drunks recovering from the previous 2 days of partying, families grabbing a lunch before the long drive home, and those who would be staying the entire week all joined us for lunch.
There were many reservations for large parties in the afternoon & evening, but nothing like the previous 2, so I was able to waddle home at 4:30, having (again) had nothing to eat since breakfast of Oatmeal and cantaloupe, ( more than the day before) I chose leftovers, a salad, and a glass of Merlot for supper. Never tasted so good.
It was a good weekend all round - at least every one of the drunks was a happy one - and now that it's over, there is a week of breathing space before the kids get out of school and the July 4th holiday is upon us.
Aside from a short trip to replenish the Bombay Sapphire, this post is all there is to show for today, the most activity I can muster up. I must be getting old.
And so it goes.
*