Robert Downey, Jr. (left) and me (right, obviously)
Last night at The Restaurant (you know, the one downtown where I work) one of the tables stopped me and said, "Oh my God, do you know that you look just like Robert Downey Jr.?" I looked to see how much they'd been drinking, but it didn't seem like they were that drunk. It was an interesting suggestion, though. I informed them that I do much less heroin than Mr. Downey, Jr. (which is to say that I've never done any) but that, uh, I would take their suggestion as a compliment. Maybe. Sort of. They called me "Robert" for the remainder of the evening.
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One of the favorite games of staffers at restaurants with higher-end clientel is called "Guess Who's Got Implants." Last night we had a woman who took no guessing at all. She had her big fake-tanned knockers hanging right out of her shirt in a button-down contraption that looked rather complicated and, most likely, uncomfortable. Throughout dinner she leaned forward over her food and drinks as if she was engaged in conversation, but it seemed instead that she was just trying to hike her jubblies out onto her table, as if they were a morsel to be enjoyed with the meal and the fine wine. The wife of the couple having dinner with Ms. Implants and her husband looked none too thrilled with her own husband's eyes roaming the hills and valleys of Ms. Implants' chest. Hell, I'm a homo and I even had to get a better look.
The Restaurant recently won a few awards and has appeared in many more local papers and magazines (and even garnered attention in the Chicago Sun last week) and last night, by 4:30 p.m., half the tables in the restaurant were filled. (We don't even officially open each day until 5 p.m.) The wait for a table was consistenly more than two hours throughout the night and we had reservations for tables up until midnight (with tables continuing to fill up until nearly 1 a.m.).
After a hard night like that the best part is when the owners make the whole staff fresh margaritas and make a dinner for the whole staff to enjoy. Last night it was an exquisite spicy pasta and shrimp dish, not even offered on the menu, that went perfectly with the ice cold margaritas. It's great when your boss at work slaps down a margarita in front of you and says, "Good work tonight, kid. Drink up." There really should be more jobs like that.
