Sometimes, change, no matter how drastic, is absolutely necessary. I found that out this summer while waiting tables in an Italian restaurant, and when you have to memorize the following, you might begin to understand why.
“Our list of specials tonight is as long as it is delectable. For our Catch of the Day, we have a very nice white fish in an oven-roasted haddock. It comes with steamed basmati white rice and a vegetable summer salad. For or Steak of the Day, we’re serving tender filet mignon medallions in a porcini mushroom sauce, with sautéed spinach and garlic mashed potatoes.
“For appetizers, we have an excellent selection, starting with grilled octopus, which comes over a white bean salad. We have a special bruschetta tonight as well, topped with fresh blue prawns, cherry tomatoes and a spicy red sauce.
“For pastas, we have a delicious array, beginning with my favorite, a tajarin pasta, which is spindly noodles thicker than angel hair, but thinner than spaghetti, and it is topped with a delicacy in shaved summer black truffles and truffle oil. We also have a risotto, topped with lobster meat and blue prawns, and a light red sauce of cherry tomatoes and sherry wine
“The last two specials tonight are a rack of lamb, which comes with potato gratin, and a garlic white wine reduction sauce. Last but not least is our zuppa di pesce, or seafood stew, which is every seafood you can imagine, mussels, littleneck clams, prawns, scallops, the fish of the day, calamari, a half a lobster and it all comes over a plum tomato broth, with a couple of pieces of grilled bread. Good luck deciding now.
That was pretty much my summer, reciting variations of those specials about a dozen times a night, 5-6 nights a week. I even had cues to say the same jokes, with the same punch lines, getting the same contrived laughs. Those specials will forever be seared into my memory similar to the way the scallops are prepared, and I found myself wondering, how did I get here?
I’m a Tufts graduate, who is very talented at Jeopardy and can talk well enough to, at the very least, make someone think I’m not a hobo. Those things considered, you’d think I could get a job in my field, or at least in a related field that I like. Think again.
Now I don’t want anyone to get the impression that people who wait tables are degenerates, if anything, it’s the opposite. The people I worked with were all those who needed to put cash in the bank, and working at a place like this, the money flowed in quickly and was all liquid. All you had to do was get run around by more often than not, stuck up people and working two jobs in a day. Not the most glamorous, but for those bills that needed to be paid, it sure did the trick. Free food didn’t hurt either, as long as dieting wasn’t in your repertoire, but all in all, I will definitely do this part time as long as I need cash.
The problem with my working at a place like this as much as I did was that I couldn’t spend my time pursuing what I’ve always wanted, being a paid writer. Heck, I didn’t even have the energy to be an unpaid writer.
Did I mention I was living at home?
Did I also mention that my home was less than 5 minutes away from my college?
I have never lived outside of Medford/Somerville, and, at 25, that became a relatively depressing thought. My resume since college included and unpaid editing internship, a part-time job selling veterinary surgical supplies for canine hip and knee procedures, a landscaping gig at my college and serving food at an Italian Restaurant. Not exactly Goldman Sachs Material.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t have the business bug. I don’t like sitting behind a desk. The thought of getting into a career that I hate for the sake of getting a stable job made me cringe more than having an impending root canal. My brothers think I have a hippie attitude when it comes to that 9-5 mentality, but it has nothing to do with a lack of work ethic, but rather a lack of commitment to a situation that will lead to depression, which is where I saw myself heading if I didn’t change my lot. Luckily, I didn’t have contractual obligations to my landscaping duties or restaurant patrons.
So what’d I decide to do? Move to a different city, get out of Massachusetts and try my luck somewhere else. Where to? California came to mind or New York, but I didn’t feel like waiting tables to similar people, all the while losing my hard-earned cash to overpriced rent and ten-dollar Bud Lights. No, I needed to see a place outside of the Northeast.
Living in the Caribbean jumped out at me. A life on the beach, sipping tequila laced drinks and Coronas, working a tan, and getting a cushy job at some resort, with little or no responsibility certainly appealed to me. It would appeal to most anyone, but I saw that move as a step backward, an excuse to permanently vacation, and I sure as hell did not want to become Paul Rudd’s character in “Forgetting Sarah Marshall,” because that would be an easy lifestyle to fall into, and wake up at 40 without ever having a real job.
No, I needed to go somewhere I always wanted to go, that could help put me in a frame of mind to focus on my writing and gaining new, productive life experiences, and to my good fortune, I had a friend living there already. My final destination? Australia. Let’s put another shrimp on the Barbie.
I could not be more excited to get out there, it’s less than a week away, and I can’t believe it is actually going to happen, that I’ll shed my Medford stigma and get to the land down under. I’ll be living in Melbourne for a few months with my buddy Davs, the main catalyst of the journey and the only reason I had the testicular fortitude to do this. Then, come November, I’m going to travel up the coast, to Sydney and eventually the Great Barrier Reef, working along the way, and stopping wherever I see fit. Sure, it’s a little frightening, jumping into the unknown without the stability of my family and friends, or the familiarity with the Boston area, but, at 25, it is about frigan time. I figure, it’s sink or swim time, and unlike my time at the YMCA, I won’t have any swimmies to keep me afloat.
This is the most liberating aspect of it all. Not the travelling, though it will be phenomenal. It’s the independence and lack of a safety net that I crave. The chance to set out to a strange place on my own, and figure it out. Simple things, cooking my own food or finding the cheapest places to eat will be as important to me as seeing Ayer’s Rock, or swimming with dolphins or trekking it on the Lord of the Rings tour in New Zealand. This independence, and isolation, will also provide me with much needed time to write about my experiences, and just put pen to paper in general, hopefully gaining more clarity of thought, and providing some creative inspiration. If not, the life experience will sure do me some good.
So barring some unforeseen obstacle, like crashing on the LOST island, or getting eaten by a great white, I’ll be posting travel articles, personal blogs, and pictures of my adventures, and I’m hoping you’ll come along for the ride. It looks like it could be a fun one.
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