Thank you, Graham’s Records for gracing Erie, Pa., with your presence. A terrific little record store. I am certain I will punctuate my every visit to Edinboro with a trip to Graham’s from here on out.
On a day of general perturbation, I bring you a French bulldog, skateboarding in Clissold Park pic.twitter.com/rLHTcbY1ji
— Imogen Russell Williams (@ImogenRW) April 18, 2017
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My first job out of high school was as a busboy at a bar and grill just outside of Georgetown in Washington, D.C. This was not my choice exactly. I was trying to wrangle a job in a record store. But eventually the parent who was hosting me said that the deal was I was out of the high school now and was supposed to start experiencing this thing we call “working.” He said, hey, I know. Why don’t you go to Marshall’s West End?
My Dad tells this story differently. In his memory of this, I found this job busing tables all on my own, and it just happened to be at his favorite bar and grill in all the land.
But as I recall it, my DOD* was not going to have his son spend his post high-school summer in a feckless job hunt for a wussy job anyway, and so he directed me down to one of his favorite haunts where he knew the bartenders were excellent and would mentor me properly. I am eternally glad that he did. Because I got to work for Elliott.
What’s the voice I hear when I hear Elliott’s voice in my head? There’s an actor whose voice rings around there reminding me of what Elliott’s bark was. It’s a familiar voice, a black actor with a strong, solid voice, and I can’t think of his name now. But that was Elliott. My boss that summer was certainly authoritative. And he knew his business. My Dad and I just today were thinking about him, wondering whatever became of him, one of the best bartenders and finest men who ever walked.
The greatest thing Elliott did for me was to teach me the importance of being proactive for your chief. Anticipate when he will need a new tray of glasses and retrieve them from the dishwasher before he asks (this was a BIG one). Anticipate when the barkeep is ready to call it post-last-call and be ready to swoop down and steal peoples’ drinks from their hands. And, perhaps my most valuable lesson from this professor was something he simply called “ambience.”
I mean, all it involved was walking over to where the coffee station was and dimming the lights. But I can still hear Elliott the Bartender barking out “Yo, Aaron! Ambience!” If I was having a good night, my grubby mitts were already on the dimming switch before he asked. And, by the end of the summer, I had nothing but good nights. Elliott exhausted his exasperated trying to turn me into an enviable busboy. But he sure did it. I like to think he cried a little when I left to start college. In fact, he swore to me that I could go to college all I wanted to, but I’d never get the restaurant biz out of my blood.
He wasn’t wrong. I pine to feed people for a living to this day. Just not the path I ended up taking.
But my point here is to talk about ambience. And its importance. And how lost that appears to be on many entrepreneurs.
I heard the song “Rockin’ in Rhythm” recently. This is a Duke Ellington song that is, according to Wikipedia, “credited to Ellington, Harry Carney and Irving Mills.” The version I heard was much more up-tempo; the version I enjoy (from a â€œthe Original Recordingsâ€ collection called â€œMood Indigoâ€ that has been my go-to Duke for decades) has a much more playful tempo and attitude. But, it was unmistakable, and I whistled right along.
Because I was at the time enjoying lunch with my DOD*. At Sticky Lips BBQ in downtown Rochester. I did something weird and possibly unheard of: I ordered a cheeseburger. It is a delicious, passable cheeseburger, though I doubt I’ll do it again in light of the more authentic offerings on the menu. However, I wouldn’t dissuade another person from doing it. And, P.S. The home-cut fries can do battle anywhere. Fantastic.
But the ambience though. We walked in the door and the dude at the display counter immediately welcomed us and directed us upstairs. And 1940s era jazz played, including the aforementioned Duke Ellington joint that I recognized. And the music was not too loud. It was perfect. And we enjoyed our lunch. And we tipped pretty well.
Now last weekend, DOD* and I were in a little town called Edinboro, Pa. And we first went into the little used book store because that’s my DOD’s gravity. And we went in. And they’re playing the local shitty country music station. And it’s kind of got static.
We went to the Edinboro Hotel for lunch. They didn’t have any music on. Nor did they have any really relevant games on the TV. They had golf on. Golf.
So there is actually a Mexican restaurant in Edinboro. Weird. And their food is good. The chicken is marinated and delicious. It’s not bad for “Tex-Mex” fare. But. The ambience.
We walked in and went to the bar. They have a fabulous bar. Full-on island style. It is one of the reasons I like the place. Most Mexican places have shitty bars. This one is an entire island, with many spacious seats. It should be the most packed bar in Edinboro. But it’s like. Empty.
On a Saturday night.
We gringos were the only ones there. Besides somebody’s kid, who is sitting in the corner, entertaining himself with a coloring book or some such thing.
I noticed on the TV facing us, playing at a medium volume, was a network showing of one of the Smurf movies. On a TV not facing us, there is some Spanish program blaring. Nobody is actually tending bar, instead, a waitress is coming back and forth to take our orders and check up on us.
Now my DOD* and I are sort of frustrated restaurateurs. Could we afford it, and had we collectively the patience for it, the restaurant business certainly calls to us. So we were curious and asked the waitress if business ever picked up for this place. Tuesdays, she said. Taco Tuesdays.
The food was fine, passable Mexican fare; in fact, I recommend a chicken dish there as the pollo is nicely marinated. But these folks failed miserably on ambience, and I think their business showed it.
I mean, ambience doesn’t cost anything. But it sure can bring dollars through the door.
*Dear Old Dad
Postscript: I still have a mix tape Elliott the bartender provided me with, called â€œMore Stuff,â€ apparently created on Aug. 7, 1987. Here is what a mix tape from one of the best bartenders who ever walked the planet looks like:
â€œYou Are the Womanâ€ by Firefall
â€œDonâ€™t Cross the Riverâ€ by America
â€œAfternoon Delightâ€ by Starland Vocal Band
â€œSit Yourself Downâ€ by Steven Stills
â€œMonday Morningâ€ by Fleetwood Mac
â€œGood Enoughâ€ by Bonnie Raitt
â€œGive Me an Inchâ€ by Robert Palmer
â€œEmpty Pagesâ€ by Traffic
â€œYou Love the Thunderâ€ by Jackson Browne
â€œGoinâ€™ Back to Miamiâ€ by Blues Brothers
â€œCome on Upâ€ by Young Rascals
â€œThe Shape Iâ€™m Inâ€ by The Band
â€œBaba Oâ€™Rileyâ€ by The Who
â€œBadgeâ€ by Cream
â€œAqualungâ€ by Jethro Tull
â€œToo Many Namesâ€ by Eagles
â€œI Came to Dance by Niles Lofgren
â€œFire on the Bayouâ€ by Neville Brothers
â€œPressure Dropâ€ by Robert Palmer
â€œLove Her Madlyâ€ by The Doors
â€œSuffragette Cityâ€ by David Bowie
â€œKeep on Growinâ€™â€ by Derek & the Dominos
â€œTell Me Whyâ€ by the Beatles
It’s one of those days where I left work today having learned something, having gotten one step closer to comprehending the subject matter with which I work. Wait. I was thinking that Active Directory is this cute little service in a little box that sits on Microsoft Exchange’s shoulder and whispers in its ear. You’re telling me it’s actually a behemoth? That it’s global, domain-wide, and actually runs like at least five vital services and authenticates every transaction that goes across the server?
Well. Knowing that is going to help a little.
That is what I like the best about a job like mine. I can end a day calling it a success if I learned something new or if I realized during a phone call that I am actually mastering this.
Now at my first job at this concern, I was at that point in six months. But I had a severe background in HTML monkey work already. That was easy. I’ve been at this a year plus, and I still spend much of my time feeling like a six-year-old in a Pascal class. But I took two calls today and am starting to feel like less of an idiot on the phone with these admins. Maybe they were just being nice. Or maybe my gray matter is actually soaking in these abstract architectures. I mean when that guy today said he wanted to check his Java logs and I was like “yeah, you’ll go to the Event Viewer” and he was already going to the Event Viewer, I mean, my inner Alex Trebek was nodding and smiling. I like that.
Today, I am more competent than the White House Press Secretary.
“Sean Spicer is a profoundly stupid liar working for a profoundly stupid liar.” (Lawrence O’Donnell)
I have tonight gone the gamut on the TV; watched the Rachel Maddow on SlingTV, then tried to watch The Voice. It is horrible. Just horrible. I have no words to explain the horrible. So I have gone to Herbie Mann record I have around because my dear Mother recently bequeathed me all the vinyl she owned. And generally, I am not a Herbie Mann guy, at least not in the studio. His live albumes are fanastic. But this Windows Opened album is nice.
So that’s how I’m spending the last of my April 11. How about you?