By Scott Gordon
The second of a five-part series.
This morning I’m sitting in the outside portion of the Windjammer dining area, next to the glass-walled corridor inside. To my left is a little fat kid, maybe 12 years old, sitting alone and reading a book. A man walks up to the glass on the inside, looks to where the kid is sitting, and begins tapping on the glass with a fat, hateful porky-finger. Having failed to summon his son the way one might summon a fish in an aquarium, he taps on the glass once more, makes eye contact with me, then points to his son. I ignore him and keep on reading my book. Sure, I like to help people out, but A) it’s your kid, and I’m on vacation, and; B) if you’re the kind of guy who tries to reach his kid by just plonking your finger on a pane of glass well out of your son’s hearing, then you’re probably a mean fat fuck, and I’d like to buy the poor kid another moment of fat-fuck-free solitude. Least I can do, don’t thank me, and stop breeding.

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Posted on July 14, 2009

By Scott Gordon
The first of a five-part series.
This past June, I took my first real vacation in nearly three years. I joined my parents, sister, little brother, and grandmother to seal myself away from work and the laid-back comforts of home in a container called The Serenade Of The Seas. A pompously named vessel “Godmothered” by Whoopi Goldberg and operated by the Royal Caribbean International cruise line, the Serenade churned us through a week-long journey from the port of Vancouver up to a few beautiful spots in Alaska. Of course, before I took off on the cruise, all my friends told me I should bring along David Foster Wallace’s A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again and compare notes with Wallace’s infamous account of mind-numbing quasi-luxury aboard a Celebrity Cruises ship in the Caribbean. I’d already read this and brought it along on the trip, but never once cracked it. Because once you step into the world of a cruise ship, not even such a monumental iceberg of bad PR can pierce through. People are dropping a lot of money to be there (thanks, family!), often with their family units in tow, generating a fixed mini-society with a weird balance of elderly couples and mid-40s parents with middle-school-aged kids.
The cruise industry probably never had to worry about how Wallace’s essay played with readers in general, because cruise-ship culture is not a culture in which objections can take root. Even while I noticed that little has changed – the cloyingly attentive service, the inescapable, almost surreal tackiness – it’s mostly not even about that. What follows is merely an attempt to record the stimuli I experienced each day, but ultimately these thoughts are separate from what’s important, which is that I benefited from a change of scenery and catching up a bit with my family. One way or another, the Serenade helped me do that, so I can’t exactly stay mad at it. Plus, Alaska and British Columbia are stunning. So, indeed, I had a good time, but I also had way too much time to think about what exactly a “vacation” is and what it reveals about the vacationer. Since I’ve got to obsess over something at all times, I banged out the following ship’s log of sorts.

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Posted on July 13, 2009

By Patty Hunter

I’m not so sure I want to quit my job anymore. I still hate it, but where else does a world-famous rock group’s order get botched, a jerk of a has-been actor sit at one of my tables, and an aggrieved aged customer old fling food at me all in the same week?

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Posted on July 8, 2009

By Jerome Haller

My lowly status as a security guard finally became very clear on a recent Tuesday night. A cleaning crew had starting waxing my store’s floor. That did not deter a customer from requesting a lighter. The man wore a black jacket and black pants. His right eye sported a red shade. The other had a bluish tint. His breath reeked of hard liquor.
I told him no one could not get to the lighters because of the wax job. He left, but returned 15 minutes later. I repeated my earlier message. He walked out of the store and called the cops on me. Three squad cars rolled up. I explained the situation to an officer, who simply nodded and left.
The idea that a bum could call the cops on me made two managers laugh at my expense.
Such is my life in the current economic downturn. While completing college years ago, I wrote a short story about a hapless security guard. One liberal arts degree and a layoff later, I am a hapless security guard. Or what my father once derisively called a “door shaker.”

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Posted on July 7, 2009

Date: 6/13/09
From: Wicker Park
To: South Loop
The Cab: Has one of those credit card Verifone systems. Like a little TV screen. Hey, there’s an idea! Put quarters in the slot . . . watch a little TV. Or cab porn. Tax that, Daley!
But does it really only take MasterCard? I mean, I don’t expect it to take Discover, but . . .
The Driver: Late in the ride when I learned this was his first day on the job, I became embarrassingly excited. I was his second customer ever.
“How did the first one go?”
“It was trouble.”

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Posted on July 3, 2009

By Patty Hunter

Another week in pizza hell.
Maybe it’s not that bad, most of the time, but every time I hear “Let’s rock and roll on that pizza” or “Let’s pull the trigger on it,” a little piece of me dies.
Unfortunately, it is part of my job description to grin at you instead of cringe and walk away shaking my head. But inside, oh inside, it is a different story. I am probably cursing the people who gave you life.
*
I discovered this weekend why I don’t normally drink at work. As wonderful as it is that my bartender training has (stealthily) included tasting the drinks I’m making, it is harder to keep my potty mouth under control. I think it’s a give-and-take situation, though; my smiles and laughing are suddenly genuine. I am happy to see you and blabber about soccer or probability theory. I really do hope you are enjoying your pizza, because it sure as hell smells divine. I am also less likely to take offense at your terrible sense of humor. Just please don’t laugh when I spill water on myself. Being contained by a space that is approximately two-by-twelve feet does not allow for many places to hide.

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Posted on July 2, 2009

By The Beachwood Meetup Affairs Desk
The newest Chicago Meetup groups!
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Chicagoland REO Agent’s Group
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BluePrint Recovery Group, Inc.
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Paddlers 4 Jesus

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Posted on July 1, 2009

By J.J. Tindall

CARNIVALE
I hate my hurt
I hate my lies
I crave light wait
I crave lightness
I crave release
from the heft
of dreams, from the cruel
realities of
desire

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Posted on June 29, 2009

By The Beachwood Tuition Oversight Affairs Desk
The University of Illinois is increasing its tuition. Here are some ways they might spend the extra revenue.
* Upgrade clout list software
* Put finishing touches on new clout major
* Refinance hush fund

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Posted on June 26, 2009

By Patty Hunter

The last week was pretty uneventful. I only got yelled at twice on the phone by complete strangers, I didn’t drop anything on anybody, and only had two people leave gum on their plate. The kitchen didn’t even crash and burn. How did I possibly make it through the week, then, without the drama that fuels me? I don’t think I could have without the kind, thoughtful words of co-workers.
I work with my future brother-in-law. He is my rock at the restaurant. He has kept me from quitting or getting fired more times than I could possibly count. He switches stations with me if I’m scheduled to work an area that gets larger groups of people (there are only so many idiots I want to deal with at once) and listens to me bitch about his brother. He provides entertainment for his fellow employees, he plays pranks on the managers, mimics the unstable cooks, scares customers, and offers constant pearls of wisdom.

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Posted on June 24, 2009