Behind my back, Jorge and the owner of the restaurant staged a coup against me. I was unaware, but they planned to hire a new GM and then shitcan my depressing ass. I had no aces up my sleeves. I did suspect some sort of foul play, however. For the interim, while they strung me along, they were both extremely nice to me and even I knew that meant something was afoot.

My replacement was a twenty two year old girl, Melissa. A stroke of luck. She was a friend of mine. A budding pastry chef at another restaurant in Boston, she had done part of her internship at Tavolo. We had kept in touch mostly because we both smoked weed and had some affinity for one another due to us both being rebellious spirits.

Goddam, she was an awesome chick. Gorgeous. Big brown eyes. Always ready to flash her massive toothy smile in any situation. One of those badasses. A young, single mother that somehow did it all without help. She drove this piece of shit car with a broken sun roof. Lived far away, thirty miles south in her mother’s house. She could bake and manage people with ease. An insane work ethic. No matter what occurred in her life, she always held her head high and kept a positive attitude, shrugging off the constant turds coming at her like bullets from a gatling gun.

Anyway, she called me out of the blue one day and told me the whole thing. As soon as she put her notice in at her old work and came over, they would put my neck down on the chopping block. They told her all kinds of nasty things about me and promised her the world. She knew they were scum, but wanted the experience running a restaurant because she planned on owning her own place at some point down the road.

Right up the street, was a cool, busy place called The Ashmont Grill. I often went in there after work to drink and complain. The GM there, Tara, was a good friend. She had an opening for a server, but not for a month which meant Melissa had to string everyone along. She was a good friend too. I was lucky to have these women in my life that gave a shit about me. Maybe they saw something, maybe they just felt sorry for me. Either way, it didn’t matter.

My friend, Tara, was a badass on another level. One of those GMs that took zero shit from anyone. She ruled “The Grill” with an iron fist. Somehow able to be a bartender (while collecting tips) and a GM at the same time (working five shifts a week) as well as a successful realtor. She made insane money, partied her brains out, vacationed six times a year, and still managed to look damn good in her 40s due to a boxing and crazy workout regime she never veered from.

Tara had no filter. I would come in and she would ask, “How’s life at that shithole going down there?” and “You ready to ditch that place, come up here and make some real money?”

At the time, my personal life was a disaster. My current girlfriend, Betty, and I were ships in the wind. While I struggled at my job, she bartended at the hottest place in town and made great money. I would often wake up late in the morning whereas she was super motivated and already out the door to yoga early and then to work. She biked everywhere and was in fantastic shape. I, on the other hand, drank too much and was in the biggest slump of my life. We had different days off. I knew the end was near.

Looking back, I now realize Betty and I were great friends that became lovers and ended up living together due to the situation of us both living in cities and not wanting to live with other people. This happens quite often. If I could name it anything, it would be “City Roommate Syndrome.” Where two young people become attached due to high rents and not being able to afford living on their own. It’s common that this happens to two people and they stay together longer than they should because it’s so difficult to live on your own.

That said, we had some great times and when I look back through the haze of the past I think of the years of laughs and amazing experiences we had instead of when it all took a turn for the worse at the very end.

It was a strange time in my life. Depressed but unaware and not doing much to alleviate it. Blaming the GM job would be a mistake. I think we go through these times, these ups and downs, for a reason. They strengthen us, prepare us for other events coming down the pipe. In my own youth, I often blamed the world for bad luck when, in actuality, I caused most of it with bad decisions. It’s a simple case of immaturity. At some point I began to realize the world cared little about me and my lame problems, that I was in charge of my own destiny. In the end, I consider myself lucky to have gotten through all of it and I even chuckle a bit thinking of all they people I fired and Jorge’s insane outbursts

The GM job was just another life test (I give myself a passing grade–D-). A great lesson. To this day, I am in awe of all GMs and the amount of bullshit they trudge through on a daily basis. Some more than others. It’s a hard, mostly thankless job. Listening to complaints on the regular is not easy. It performs a cruel tapdance on the central nervous system. Add in long hours for not much pay and you have the recipe for burnout. Good GMs are able to manage many personalities and please them all at once while simultaneously dealing with the many headaches appearing out of thin air in a restaurant; broken toilets, people calling in sick or quitting at random, surprise health inspections, wine rooms catching on fire, etc.