Hello — I’m thankful you’re reading this.
Late July, 1998
My first job in New York City was at Virgil’s Barbeque in Times Square.
The staff was very kind to me, but in those first few weeks I didn’t quite feel like I belonged.
I was a terrible waiter and struggled with all aspects of the job. Despite my limitations and lack of talent, I never gave up. I actually came in and worked often when I wasn’t scheduled. By doing this, my fellow waiters and the general manager who hired me gave me a chance to find my footing.
It took almost two months of lunch shifts before I started to get the hang of things and was finally scheduled for a dinner shift — Monday night, when Broadway was dark.
Everything I had learned over the previous two months seemed to disappear when all five of my tables were seated at once. My heart raced, and my forehead was drenched in a cold sweat.
I dove headfirst into the chaos and took it all on. I found a kind of flow state, and two full hours of craziness passed by. When the dinner rush was over, I finally exhaled. Things slowed down, and I realized I was still alive, still employed, and my co-workers gave me pats on the back.
When the shift ended, I knew several waiters were about to head next door to Jimmy’s Corner bar for a nightcap. I had heard many of them talk about the place — a boxing bar run by a gentle and soft-spoken man. They called it “the time machine” because with its Christmas lights and jukebox full of oldies, it had a retro vibe that stood in stark contrast to everything else in the area.
With my backpack strapped over my shoulders, I exited the building and headed toward the subway. Paul, the pony-tailed waiter who trained me, was sitting on the wooden bench in front of Virgil’s, smoking a Marlboro Red. He smiled and said, “Hey Adam. We’re all headed to Jimmy’s Corner. We’d love it if you joined us for a nightcap.”
I beamed. “Sure.”
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Thanks for reading!
Best,
Adam