Notes on a Cocktail Napkin

I understand it’s some sort of book. Never read it. Not important. Since my five-day weekend has been cut to two, I really have to plan my free time. The big question is how many films can I see in two days. Not many films out right now look very good. My Dad told me to see Burn After Reading. Here’s a film whose trailer looks terrible to me, but I figured for once in my life I would listen to my Dad. Guess what? I liked it. It had some serious tonal issues, especially in the beginning but the film did get better as it went on. Also, I was high as a kite and cracked up several times, which is I all I really want from a comedy, or life for that matter.

Expectations have been a big theme this week. When I order a bloody Mary and it says it’s garnished with either garden fresh vegetables or a blue cheese stuffed olive, then that’s what I expect. You give me just a lime, or not even that, and I’ll break my foot off in your ass. There was a time in my life when I gave up on expectations. I chose not to have expectations of my friends; therefore, I would never be disappointed. Someone pointed out that’s no way to live and they were right. I was doing not only myself a disservice, but, more importantly, my friends a disservice, too. One thing about expectations is that unless they’re communicated, they’re of little use. For instance, I’m always early, which in Los Angeles is as rare as a fourteen year old virgin. (Go ahead and judge me, but Isn’t that what myspace is for?) Instead of communicating that I would appreciate a call if one knows they’re going to be late, I usually yell, “Is your time more valuable than mine?” This usually leads to a few minutes of uncomfortableness and doesn’t solve the problem. Work expectations are a funny thing. Since I’ve become a manager, I’ve learned that a person getting paid and having a job title, like I don’t know, Door Man, doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ll always be by the door. I’m kind of shocked by that. For example, if I see someone drifting away from their post, towards an attractive woman, in order to “hit that,” I have to explain, “After you clock in, it’s best that you stand by the door and card people, because bartenders won’t check I.D.s as often if we know there’s a door man on.” Oh, yeah, and it’s your fucking job, so do it with pride. I guess that’s where I’m most often shocked about the state of the union. I remember one day years ago, I had a few errands to run. In a seemingly impossible way, every person I dealt with got more and more stupid, until I came upon a sales associate playing with his own feces. (That’s what I get for going to Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.) I asked a friend, “Are people really that dumb or are my expectations too high?” I received a one word answer, “Yes.”

They say that children love structure. They may fight rules or curfews but that’s their job. I’m getting the drift that employees are the same way. There are some bosses whose motto is, “Give them enough rope and they will hang themselves.” I don’t want to be that guy. I want to be that guy that says this is what I expect from you and if you can’t do it, then go fuck yourself, or, maybe a more professional corollary, or I’ll find someone who can. Getting a drink made the right way, people showing up on time, employees doing their job, are these great expectations?

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