I’d figured out a pretty good way of covering up my fat neck with a fancy scarf when I worked as the maiter d’ at the Dresden in Hollywood. Most people would comment that they loved my ascot. It wasn’t an ascot, nor was it a cravat. It was a woman’s scarf that I would do a somewhat clever wrap around my neck with a very loose knot. Regardless. I figured out a pretty snappy solution... I didn’t want to wear a tie (I did for a little over a year - I worked at the Dresden for almost 10 years). Ties only exaggerated my neck density and I didn’t dig that look at all. My first outfit there was a slightly worn blue suit coat left to me by my father and black pullover golfing shirt that I bought at K-Mart in Burbank. The other waitress at the Dresden, not Bonnie, the one from Jersey, (sorry, I forgot her name), the aggressive bitchy one, who seemed to enamor the owner due to her boosted up, pronounced, over exaggerated cleavage, complained that my blue suit coat smelled and he should make me get rid of it and wear a tie. So the owner expressed to me that I should get rid of my blue suit coat and start wearing a tie because the waitress with the pushed up breasts told him that my jacket smells and I didn’t look right for the place. The owner apologized for having to tell me such a thing, but, “That’s all there is to it.” I lifted my arm and sniffed the sleeve of my blue jacket and I will admit there was a faint smell of calamari and catsup to it. I think the owner expected me to be angry, or upset with him. I lifted my sleeve to his face and asked if it smelled. He told me that he didn’t smell anything and seemed compelled to remind me that Michelle - that’s her name, now I remember it - Michelle, not Bonnie, had told him I needed to make the change.
“Okay,” I said and thought about how there was no standard uniform for the waitresses and how silly it was that Michelle would manage that outcome with me. Only I think she was just trying to see how much ability she had to manipulate the boss. He seemed surprised by my pleasant response.
“You’re not mad about that?”
“No Jimmie.” (Since I’m clarifying some of these things - his name was Jimmie, not Mark.) “If you want me to change my look, I’ll change my look."
The next day I showed up in a new grey suit coat, light blue shirt, black vest, silver and black striped tie and black pants - “How does this look Jimmie?”
“It looks pretty good,” he generously responded with delight. I think he was happy because he could let Michelle know that I had listened to her directive on my attire.
Anyway, the grey suit coat and vest lasted for maybe six to eight months. Then I switched to an all black on black outfit. Black suit coat and pants with a black shirt and tie, only after I sang my songs with Marty and Elayne one night I stepped away from the microphone over to the dining room to relax... A short time later I realized I forgot to pick up my coat from the back of the chair I had draped it over while singing and when I went back someone had taken the coat. Now, I’m not using this story to commiserate on my own behalf about the limited paycheck I received working at this brilliantly cool establishment, only to say, I didn’t have the money to buy a new suit every six months or so… So I ditched the monochrome black for a shirt along with what passed as an ascot, sometimes with a suit coat, yet often without. The faux ascot seemed to give the shine of the character of the place. Carl Ferrarro, the original owner, can be seen in a photo on the hall of fame sporting an ascot vibe from the fifties. It seemed a hit with the patrons and it somehow managed the projection that I was the owner. Also, when people asked if I was the owner, in the spirit of fun, I lied and said that I was. It’s not like I expected anyone to believe me, and few people ever asked.
One night this short, goodlooking, squat fellow came in with some friends - a party of four. He was well dressed in a high end suit, and his friends matched his style. I could see they were all enjoying some top end fashion and were all nearly really mostly good looking - like, if I had squinted I dare say they would have actually passed for Ford Agency models. I’m just saying they all had a really nice sashay and vibe when they came into the room. It seemed like they had a great purpose for being there. They were all late fifties or early sixties in age. Classy folks coming into the timeless Hollywood establishment they had heard so much about. I happened to have on a black suit coat, a green flowered shirt I bought off ebay that had a slightly oversized collar from the seventies along with a solid textured taupe scarf with my specialty loose knot fastened slightly off to the right side. Along with some rather nondescript black pants that I had bought at Sears in the Media Center Mall, there in Burbank (very working class really). This fellow, the head of this fabulous party of four, expressed that he had heard so much about my place and was very excited to come in and experience the Dresden.
“I’ve heard so much about your place, and, since we’re in Los Angeles, we just had to come in - these white booths are even more glorious than the photos online show!” He was so kind to me, so careful to assure me that he anticipated an amazing dining adventure at the establishment he somehow thought I owned. It was the taupe scarf I had borrowed from my wife’s closet that said all that. Very vintage what I had going on that night. It all screamed - owner! Who else would have the balls to wear such a collection?
I made a point of visiting this fellow’s table 3 times while he was indulging in dinner. He charmed me. I didn’t really have to do anything but smile and take it. One compliment after another. The Prime Rib. The Old Fashions. The garlic bread. All perfect. “Oh, and my wife had the sea bass - she loved it!” Every larger round of veneration ended with - “We love your place! We really do.” (as a reminder, it’s not my place).
So when this fellow finally gets around to leaving… By the way I call him Money Bags in my head and therefore will refer to him as such for the remainder of this story. When Money Bags sets up to pay his bill he has his server, Michael, call me over to the table. I come to him in the interest of satisfying his request and he delightfully wrangles his hand and fingers in a way that says - come near so I can speak with you in a hush of discretion.
“I loved this experience!” Money Bags tilted his head towards me. I moved closer and slightly turned my ear to him to hear better. “My wife loved it. My friends loved it. It was amazing.”
I responded - “Fantastic, did you guys want a table in the bar so you can hang with Marty and Elayne? (the musical performers)”
“God, I wish we could do that! Unfortunately we don’t have that kind of time.” He pushed his mouth next to my ear. “We have to make it to the airport in two and a half hours.”
I acknowledged that I heard him by bobbing my head.
“But I want to thank you by showing good favor.” And, I didn’t understand. Then he asked, “How many people do you have on staff tonight?”
“I don’t know. I'd guess eighteen.”
“Alright. I want to tip every staff person you have on staff tonight.” And he dropped $3000 onto the table right there in front of where he was seated. “I want you to split this with everyone who is working tonight - that’s just my way of thanking everyone who was a part of making this dinner so fantastic for me and my guests.”
I’d never had anyone do that - “Alright!?”
“No really. I want you to take this,” Money Bags pointed to his money on the table, “and spread it out evenly to everyone who is working tonight!” And then he added, “Your restaurant is amazing!” - Did I already tell you it was $3000.00?
We mumbled some odd finality to his blusterous ending. Then I packed his load of hundreds into my hands and made my way up to the small dusty office upstairs at the Dresden.
I dropped the three grand onto Jimmie’s desk. I did the math as to how many people I had to split the money with. I could list all the names but it was eighteen workers that night. That math is eighteen goes into $3000.00 = 166. So I had to devise 18 packets for $166.
I looked at that money. And I thought hard. Hard in a way I had never thought. I considered placing all that money into my pocket. All of it. Who did I need to tell about any of it. Money Bags had to head out to LAX (the airport in Los Angeles). No one knows he gave me this money. Wow. F###ing just take the money John! None’s the wiser!
Three grand!
I put it in my pocket. I did. It felt good. I’d worked at the Dresden for some years not winning with a percentage of the profits thinking of course as all employees do that I have been a huge portion of why we even had profits and it sucked that I had received so few perks. Three grand! Wow. I just made three grand! Again, wow! And tons of explanation marks!!!!
And then I stood up to go down stairs. And I couldn’t.
I sat back down and begrudgingly pulled my 3 grand out of my pocket and set it back onto Jimmie’s desk. And I did the math and I redid the math and figured out $166 per person. Then I broke the 3 grand into all those packets. And I looked at those piles and thought - “Wow, look at where all my 3 grand is headed.” When I stood up I found it difficult to physically manage rousting those money packets in an orderly manner. Some fell out of my arms back onto Jimmie’s desk. Eventually I figured out how to gather all that dough and made my way down those steps from the office. It was then I realized I had forgotten to bust out a packet of $166 for myself. I had counted everyone who was working that night except myself. I did not include myself in the count. “F### it. It was getting late and I needed to get these people their money.” I did not want to do a recount so I stormed down and went to every person on staff and handed them their tip from Money Bags.
Michael, a waiter on the dining room side of the Dresden, was the last person I handed Money Bags’ tip money to. He promptly was overwhelmed and thanked me. I was promptly overwhelmed and thought - “wow - that’s it? Maybe I should have kept the money.” Beautifully, at that moment, and to my surprise, Money Bags came up to me and asked me - “did you give everyone their money?” And I looked at him and said, “Yes, of course.”
Money Bags, being a brash fellow who knows how to take care of business, looked over to Michael and asked, “Did you get your tip?”
Michael was appreciative of the $166 and responded, “Yes, John just handed me a very generous sum of money. Thank you.”
Money Bags looked at me and said yet again - “Thank you. I love your restaurant!”
I tightened the loose knot on the woman’s scarf around my neck and smiled as he and his party of four merrily exited the building. It was then that I realized - due to my math of dividing the $3000 by 18 - that I was still holding a small sum of money in my pocket. Turns out my tip amount from Money Bags that night was all of $12. Ah, to be perceived as the owner of the Dresden in Hollywood!
Additional information: You can find out more about the author at JohnReneaud.com