This morning I regained my sense of smell.
I’m not sure if it’s temporary, but my sense of smell has never been that strong – or at least not as strong as other people I suppose?
The only thing I can attribute it to is the massively sugary cake that I made yesterday. The original recipe called for whipped cream, but instead we opted for some homemade vegan icing, of which the primary ingredient is powdered sugar. After it was all said and done, I fell into a nightmarish sleep reminiscent of the trippy tunnel scene in the original Willy Wonka movie.
But the reason I think that it affected my sense of smell so much is that it reminded me of one of my first real jobs – Soda Jerk at the 59 Diner. I worked there back in the halcyon days in the 80’s. Wandering around Houston at that time, you tended to run into a lot of people who jerked (hee-hee) for the 59 Diner. It was almost like a secret club. From my understanding, the SPRAWL house was right behind it, but I wasn’t cool enough to be running in those circles.
The name should give it away –
While the place did have a certain retro appeal then (it was actually a really cool place), it’s changed owners several times since and has lost some/all of the uniqueness that it originally had when I was there. I’d certainly stop by for some fries or something, but I never expect truly greasy diner food any more (which is what made the place so great). It didn’t hurt that it was across the street from Rockin’ Robin.
Rockin’ Robin holds a special place in my heart, but only because of one of my favorite guitar teachers and a really great friend of mine (who plays for The Guzzlers) put up with my teenage shenanigans there (practice your guitar? What’s THAT?). I learned a lot and made a lifelong friend. I still recall his response, similar to everyone else’s, when I told him I was getting a job at the Diner, “Really? My friend got food poisoning there.” I’d love to say that as a young lad I hung out at the feet of the coolest guitar store employees around, but that really wasn’t the case. My experiences in the downstairs store part from that time period were tainted by one of the most bitter, washed-up, ex-roadie guitar player/store employees named Dennis. I kid you not here’s a sample exchange between myself and him:
Me: “Hey, uh, what does a flanger do?”
Dennis: (looks annoyed) “It flanges”
I sheepishly walk away.
This isn’t to say that exchange today might not be somewhat similar to any Guitar Center these days, but Dennis seemed to just go out of his way to be an immense prick.
Anyway, back to the ’59. These days, when people ask for a full resume including EVERY job that I’ve EVER had, I make sure to include the Diner and pad my resume with such things as “Extreme time management” and “Made custom desserts to order”. In all actuality, there’s not much padding. That job is certainly one of the toughest I’ve had. Working in food service is a special circle of hell – one of which I’ve managed to escape from a few times now. Some of the recruiters have joked with me about it, but typically only because they’ve worked food service too – so they understand the “battle” mentality of an understaffed dinner rush.
The upshot of making desserts in such a time-stressed environment is that my sense of smell and taste were severely jacked up. The entirety of the time I worked as a Jerk, my diet subsisted of Cheddar Cheese blocks and Pink Grapefruit Juice cocktail. Coming home reeking of ice cream and whipped cream and syrup was disgusting in its own way. Soda jerks tended not to last very long, I’m not sure if it was always the trial by fire, or first rung of the ladder kind of deal or not. Typically everyone who jerked eventually hosted or waited tables. I’m sure there was more money in waiting, but I got out as soon as the summer ended.
