Lort. First off if and when anyone reads this I’m running off of cliff notes. My career their spanned around ‘93-96 ..I think. If this gives you any indication of my time there. It was a blur. No I’m not referencing how fast time went by it was literally a blur due to my shift into some not so good habits here. Like any of my vocational stories I’ll focus on the beginning, some fun stories in between and the departure. Still friends with a large handful of these folk and I won’t throw anyone under the bus just for a good story. If you ever heard any rumors of some dumbass shit I did during my tenure here chances are it’s true. Some of my habits I formed here took decades to wash off. I’m not in anyway bashing the establishment, I’m friends with Charlie. It’s the system that grabbed ahold of me. If you’re a long time patron or employee there you’ll understand.

‘93ish

I had recently left my serving job at Fatz to move over to the Blockhouse. One of my best high school buddies put in a word for me and I got hired relatively easy. Service industry in the early 90s was a tad different. Hard to believe there were restaurants and bars that you had to know someone on the inside to get a job. Turnover wasn’t nearly as bad as it is now. In comparison that is. I sure as hell dealt with it in that kitchen every single shift but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Andy brought me in to talk to Tina and I was hired on the spot. My only experience with serving had been my one year of calabash and yeast roll slinging at Fatz. I was still somewhat awkward serving due to Fatz had been a write on a ticket, hang the ticket and then let the hostess/cashier take care of the transaction. Blockhouse introduced me to working with a POS and carrying my own bank. Also I was encouraged to not write orders down and memorize them. I was actually quite good with remembering orders before I started going 3 days at a time without sleep. I was still rooming with half the defensive line at Furman, I was single and the Blockhouse seemed like a great fit for me. 23 years of age, I was sheltered from a somewhat unremarkable childhood and at that time still managing to hold on to most of my scruples and morals. At 23 I was a clean cut kid, no tattoos and my only vice was the occasional late night binge and some weed. I’d start smoking a pack of Marlboro daily within the first 6 months. Blockhouse was fairly strict on uniforms at that time. We all had the iconic, heavy polos, khakis for bottom fans white tennis shoes. Converse were not an option. Mondays were casual and we got to wear the Blockhouse branded t-shirts. I had to be clean shaven or goatee, no beards and only one piercing per ear. Yes I had my ears pierced right after high school to thumb my nose at the system.

I’m fairly certain I came in under Charlie’s radar. Most of the servers were female and Charlie preferred it that way. When he saw me for the very first time he asked “Who the hell are you? Do you work here?” I looked down at my blockhouse branded polo and apron and looked back up to see if I missed the joke and Charlie was already on his way to the bar. This literally happened three times in one week. I started to question my existence but my friend Andy had already warned me that “Charlie will take a little while to get used to.” so I just kept my mouth shut and stayed out in the dining room when Charlie was around.

The Blockhouse, in case you’ve been living under a rock for the last 40 years is one of the oldest staples on Augusta road. That irritatingly. narrow ass four lane of constant congestion where Jesus Christ himself doesn’t have the power to widen or hell just add a goddamn turning lane. It has two entrances. both will cause you to stop as soon as you enter to allow your eyes to adjust to the low lighting. The only window you can see out of throughout the entire restaurant is the window that runs along the hallway into the dining room from the front entrance. Every other window is encased in stained glass. It’s fitting. There were nights you wouldn’t want to peek in and see the goings on after closing. It got wild in there. Much more so once I was given a key to the building. You would walk into a smoke filled, low ceiling bar with brick arches low enough to stump a basketball player’s noggin. As you gaze down the bar you’re most likely to come across the same bar regulars sitting in their respective stools that have been occupied by the same jaundice, ridden boomers that have been coming in since the Reagan administration. If one passed another was right behind them to take their stool. Sometimes that legacy is taken over by their children that were most likely graduates from Greenville or JL Mann high school. This is true it’s written in all the scrolls carefully hidden behind all the annual Blockhouse party collages that roam all over the walls of the restaurant. Patty Mize? Was that the short lady that did all of those? Does she still do that shit? On opposite ends of the dining room were intimate privacy booths almost euro bunkerish, that surrounded the room. Lounge that had a giant three seat poker machine that took up half the dining room and probable brought Charlie in more money than the lounge itself. Poker machines were legal at this time. They came with mid 90s and left with Y2K. The back dining room was more spacious, better lighting. The long back booths were usually usually filled with servers rolling silverware or napping. There were two stained window doors that led into a sizeable private room for banquets. The cooks would go in there to watch afternoon tv with the lights off.

You can see the kitchen from the bar if the kitchen doors are left open and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them close. In my era Willy would stand by those doors waiting for all of his bar regular friends to arrive. We’ll get to Willie soon. Willie or Willy, I can’t remember how I spelled his name on the schedule but it should’ve been spelled Will he? for will he show up for work? Don’t worry my man. You get your own chapter.

The heirarchy at the time was Charlie, Cindy the GM/bookkeeper and Tina the FOH manager. Tina was a bundle of energy and upbeat. The way she could familiarize herself with the bar regulars should be written in text. She read the room quite well and at only 20 years of age she managed a handful of hardheaded servers stuck in their ways and all much older than her. She carried herself like she was 30.

Cindy the GM/bookeeper and I got along fairly well. She was a shorter lady full of spunk. Everyone that managed there at the time was full of spunk. Not sure if it was the energy or the cocaine but there was energy to be had there and as a manager the level of anxiousness seemed to thrive in that position. Cindy was the manager that kept me around. Charlie stayed pissed about my gender for about three months until he finally learned my name and accepted me in his restaurant. After awhile once he got past the reality that my white shoes would never be clean enough for him he started warming up to me and after about 6 months I liked him back. We’d make it about 2.5 more years.

The System

This is how I refer to the environment of the service industry. Not the establishments, companies, departments although they do have a bearing on how you are introduced into it. Take for example and the service industry folks will get this, the system and environment you may absorb at a sit down Pizza Hut or Golden Corral is going to be hella different than say Fiddler or Corner Pocket and especially the Blockhouse. There are multiple layers of systems you can fall into in the service industry. Depending on your level of position, tenure and department. Some of you are capable of working your shift, smoke your cigarette while you roll silverware, turn in your paperwork and walk out the door without a second thought. You don’t show your face at work on your day off unless it’s to grab your paycheck and most of the staff have no clue where you live. Others blend in smoothly. Hang out on special occasions, talk and learn about coworkers and their significant others. You’re engaging and will sit at the bar after your shift and have that one decompression cocktail or shift beer and head your way home. These folk slowly build their way up to the ones that get completely absorbed into the environment. That shirt on your back is how people recognize you at grocery stores or late night bars when you don’t bother changing after a double. You work several doubles a week. Work is your life. Hobbies are work and hanging out with work friends. If you aren’t home it’s because you are literally at the ‘House all the time. That’s me. It’s always been me. I absorb my surroundings like a slow soaking sponge. I don’t grasp things quickly. If you show me how to do something I’ll need you to show it to me again. And then maybe again. Even then I’ll just say “got it!” and walk away thinking “I don’t got it”. Somethings you can show me a hundred times and I’ll never get it. If I’m given time to absorb it then I’ll consume myself with it. If you sat me in a room full of astrophysicists for a week I could talk to you like one of them. Carry on a conversation about astrophysics. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t have a fucking clue as to what Im saying but I’ll pick up your mannerisms, verbiage and keywords to fit in with the rest until I know how to at least physically handle an astro. I realize that this makes zero sense the point I’m making is most things I’m not as smart as I may appear. I excel in bullshitting until I figure it out. The service industry was one of the few things that came natural for me and why I excelled in it. I think the only reason why I stuck with it over the years was because I didn’t have to be shown how to do anything more than once. It could also have something to do with I don’t like going out of my comfort zone and I got real comfortable with the chaos of the industry . Unfortunately for me

This side of me also absorbs the energy and atmosphere of a room, establishment and company. It’s why I’ve always been considered a company man. I’m all in once I’m in. It makes for a good employee once you’re patient with me enough to allow me to get into a groove. When I would first try out for sports I was always one day away from getting cut from the team until i got it. I absorbed it. Then I was decemt. My daughter shares this trait. I love watching her start slowly on a team and by then end of the year she’s a completely different athlete. She gets absorbed. Hopefully she learns to pull away when necessary.

That’s my issue. And yes I know that paragraph was quite the tangent but to better explain myself and how my mind attaches itself to things I need for you to understand. I go all in to everything once I’m comfortable with it. It’s not just work. It’s relationships, friendships, lifestyles, current events, hobbies etc. Once I embrace it I don’t know how to quit it. It usually takes something substantial to pull me away or I become some consumed it pulls itself away from me. No that’s not meant be stalkerish. I just don’t shed things very well. It’s the whole “all eggs in one basket” theme for me over and over.

Blockhouse brought me into the trenches of the system. My sleeping habits flipped. That is when I did sleep. All it took was a bar regular pissing in the urinal next to me offered me a toot for my first taste of cocaine.

I’m definitely not a good cocaine person if there’s even such a thing. I still get accusations of being on cocaine to this day. Nope, haven’t done it since I was 25. This is just how I’m wired and why people like me should never do cocaine. Bi-polar goes quad-polar. Just a brief example because I’m not here to glorify eras of my shitty behavior. I don’t dance. Like I’ll leave if someone tries to get me to. One evening I danced for two straight hours during a Doors cover band at Henni’s late night. I was literally the only person there dancing. I don’t remember any of this but my coworkers were nice enough to watch me make an ass of myself the entire night.

A couple of years later I’d have a doctor recommend that I stop the cocaine or die. So I took his wisdom to heart. Go big or go home.. I finally went home on this one.

Late night was the theme early 90s. Private bars would stay open until daylight and if they pushed you out well hell Blockhouse was right down the road and I had brass access. During that era I was banned from Casablanca’s no less than four times. Encouraged at least three bar brawls (one I managed to get a large portion of my furman football roommates involved) *banned

Shoved a bouncer’s head through the little front door window *banned

Punched my fist through same door 3 months or so later *banned

There was another instance I just happened to be present and they thought I was involved. I retain my innocence to this day.. Casa B’s had terrible turnover I’d just wait a few weeks and there would be a new crew and the internet wasn’t around to bash me like the hotdog water kid. Iykyk

This wasn’t my behavior all the time. I was just feeling out the crowd.

Was asked to leave Blue Ridge for head butting some guy. No clue as to who he was and tried to break a glass over an obnoxious bartender’s head.

Got banned from Boardwalk/Henni’s Late Night for trying to steal a surfboard off the wall. It was tied up too tight so I was using my lighter to burn the rope holding it up. .

I behaved myself at Gargoyles. I loved that spot. Crocs, I don’t recall anything bad happening there..

Some nights we’d get high and climb up the second floor of the old Poinsett hotel, kick in the blocked up windows and explore. Sit on top of the tower next to the air raid siren and watch the stars. That was actually pretty amazing. Coming back down from there, on all levels, not so much.

That late night “system” doesn’t mix well with me. I became a morning person over time to save my life.

I served for a bit and Cindy, the GM asked me about becoming a key and I said sure, why not? I had some management experience from my Hyatt days, buck an hour raise to do a server schedule ain’t shit but I was team ‘House by this time. I was one with the system and I didn’t have shit to do anyway. Hobbies aren’t important when you’re buzzing like a hornet 20 hours out of the day. The week I was promoted by Cindy she was fired for embezzlement.

I enjoyed bartending there except for Mondays where I would only shuck oysters for 8 hours and pass the Bud light down to Bruce or Mike. Hard to shuck when your hands won’t stay still. I’ll admit I wasn’t the best bartender to ever tend at the ‘House. I did not engage with most of the bar regulars. Well, I kinda hated half of them. The Blockhouse had some characters in the 90s. I got there when the bar wall was littered with open tabs for weeks and weeks. I’m willing to bet there were in the upwards of around $6k in open tabs at one time. One person that always seemed to have one was Sam. Sam was a red-faced self entitled twit that never worked and would write checks from his mother’s checkbook to pay his tab. He was at least 40 years of age but looked much older. His thick glasses were always sitting crooked over his little nose and beady eyes. His face, beet red from his lifestyle choices. I didn’t like this man and he in return didn’t like me. One day I suppose he grabbed a check from the wrong book and it bounced. So I hung it up behind the bar and wrote “Do not accept checks from Sam’s mommy.”

This sent Sam into a fury. It took a 5 foot tall Willy holding him back to keep us from fighting. I had no intention of fighting Sam, it would’ve been like breaking a beer bottle over a pillow. When Charlie found out we had a brief discussion about “you sure this is the right fit for you?” But with Charlie it was probably closer to “don’t do that shit again Chad.” Not all the bar regulars were terrible obviously. I’m still friends with a few and Randall, who I met from there is one of my inspirations for going sober and was the first person I reached out to when I had considered buying a food truck.

I had a good gig going there aside from the extra curricular activities.

During the slow times I’d hop on the kitchen line and cook my own orders. Usually it was because Willy was nowhere to be found or Moe was making one of his soups. I enjoyed cooking for a bit. I had no intention of actually working in the kitchen. I worked a few shifts on pantry when needed. Slow lunch days servers made their own salads and desserts anyway. I remember mostly Moe and Willy. Moe and I got along fairly well and I’d watch him make his soups and learn his techniques. He’d hold back some ingredients when I watched and would add them when I wasn’t looking so I couldn’t copy his recipes. After awhile I’d figure them out. Moe’s she-crab and potato soup to this day are the best I’ve ever had. (The gumbo is not traditional gumbo sorry y’all) I watched him make them on several occasions and still can’t get them the same which means he managed to hide a few key ingredients from me one being a tablespoon of ham base I would later find out. There was Tony who worked fry. I believe his brother or cousin was the poor kid that was held down by a few police officers and died by asphyxiation a while ago at the detention center. He had also worked there for a bit. There was little Ronnie that worked pantry who always called me Richard because the Micros printer printed my name as R. Chad (my first name is actually Roland) and G-man who I thoroughly enjoyed as a human would come in to make the turtle pies. His were always unblemished. Perfectly smooth. G-man always talked about his nephew. He was going to be the greatest basketball player that ever played the game. He was only in tenth grade and they were already talking about he would go first round. G-man had a flair for some good stories so I took it with a grain of salt. The “g” in G-man stood for his last name Garnett. His real name was Robert. Robert Garnett. You might’ve heard of his nephew, Kevin. He ended up being a decent basketball player after all..

Curtis was my dishwasher for a few years. He still washes dishes downtown. He would get mad when I took his beer away from him in the dish pit. “I paid for it it’s mine!” It didn’t occur to him that drinking at work was frowned upon.

About this time Brian started working there. I think he’s still there to this day. I tried to lure him to Arizona and later Southern. That’s how much I thought of this kid. I say kid but he’s probably 46 years old now. Quiet unassuming kid. Long hair, skinny but started a savings portfolio at the age of 18 while washing dishes. I loved that guy. The world needs more of him.

One day the KM at the time decided to call in sick and play some golf instead. He was like that sometimes and I guess he played one too many holes because Charlie fired him.

I was placed into his KM role without so much of a notion of thought or planning . Charlie didn’t promote me he drafted me. Not like the NFL draft either. More like Vietnam.

The Blockhouse became my first KM job. By this time I could cook just about anything on the menu at a slow, SLOW pace and I had zero grasp on the financial aspect. It was never shown to me. I’d sit in financial meetings with Dawn and Charlie and he’d let me know that food cost was sky high

Me -“Charlie I have no idea what food cost is.”

Charlie – “it’s the money you spend on food purchases.

Me- “.. I don’t get it. I’m buying food and people are eating it at the prices you printed on the menu. So why is it high?”

Charlie “Do you not know how to do your job?”

Me- “obviously I don’t.”

I’m good at playing dumb. It comes natural I guess. What I told Charlie was his buddy at Bigger Bros was padding my orders to get his quota in. Charlie knew this and told me not to worry about it. I also told him Willy was feeding half his family out the back door and the kitchen staff was eating prime rib like they were at the Golden Corral. Charlie was also aware of this. I still didn’t know how to do my job.

He wasn’t wrong though. I was a terrible KM. I had no set of kitchen skills, could barely work a slicer much less a grill. I learned from the hip. I watched Willy and Moe. It took me years to lose some of the bad habits I got from watching some of those guys. I didn’t know right from wrong as far as the kitchen “rules of conduct”.

The kitchen rarely observed me as their KM. Willy did his own thing and Moe would tell me he didn’t take orders from “crackers younger than him”. My era of never having kitchen staff began. This seems to have been the bane of my existence. My kitchen staff, when you take away Moe and Willy were usually drunks that lived in shelters or halfway houses. One of them, his name was Bo, resembled John Amos from Good Times. Big guy who was on work release. As long as he kept his job he wouldn’t go back to jail. He would relay this to me on a daily basis while his eyes widened like I was going to call his parole officer at anytime to come pick his scary ass up. I’m not usually scared of humans but this guy had me. He would jokingly say if I ever fired him he’d stuff me in the smoker outside and cook my white ass. That’s some solid job security.

One day Charlie came in and said “Bo! You’re out. Get the fuck out of my restaurant.” Charlie would do this from time to time with my kitchen staff. There were no memos, emails or staff meetings to discuss personnel. I rarely fired anyone. Charlie made that easy on me I suppose. Who does Bo turn to with his crazy ass John Amos eyes blazing? Yours truly.

I took a gun to work everyday for 4 month after that.

Willy

Ok. Let me say this. I loved Willy. He was charismatic. He was fun to work with at times. He knew that kitchen better than anyone. And he treated his mama well. That carries a lot of weight with me. Charlie for all of his huff and puff sometimes treated Willy like his stepchild. He was loyal to Willy to a fault. They’d fight like family sometimes and you’d think to yourself “this is it! Charlie is about to fire Willy!”

Nope

Willy was a handful. When he’d get pissed at me he wouldn’t show up for the one shift we didn’t work together just to make me work on my day off. This wasn’t paranoia he would tell me this if I got into his ass. “I’m callin’ in tomorrow Chad fuck you!” We had some good exchanges. There were a few occasions I had to pick his ass up and walk him outside to keep from beating his ass. Yeah he was a character. He’d deal outside with the bar regulars on the back dock during the dinner rush while tickets were running 30 minutes. Even had one of the bar regulars come in the kitchen and yell at me because Willy served him cold prime rib. He was literally talking to Willy for 20 minutes outside while his plate sat under the heat lamp. He slammed the prime rib plate on my finger at expo. I missed his head with the slab of beef by about three inches. I may have missed but the back splatter from the meat hitting the wall next to his face didn’t. Words were exchanged. Willy saved him.

I literally caught him (Willy) and his brother smoking crack on the back dock. Both were working for me at the time. I was told to not worry about it. Great!

The first rule for the bartenders were they were not allowed to leave the beer cooler unlocked because Willy would get drunk. I was present for quite a few of these. He’d stand by the bar walk-in shoveling beers out and sliding down to his friends out the back door. Sometimes one of his bar regular friends would sneak him a beer or 5. You can throw the whole fucking shift away after one of those nights. Willy’s primal scream was “TA DOW!” when he’d get excited. You could hear it across the restaurant. Or the other one “FUCK YOU CHAD!”. When clean, if he ever was, Willy could cook. He actually could’ve been a great cook in another life. This life had already taken over Willy for good.

Willy had a good heart when it wasn’t dredged with alcohol and god knows what else. He was a charismatic little shit when he wanted to be. I don’t have that soft spot Charlie had for him though. I loved Willy like everyone else. There was never a boring day with him there unless he was hungover and quiet but if I had to do it all over again? Nah.

I got a text a few years ago from a number I didn’t recognize letting me know Willy had passed away from cancer. It took it way harder than I thought I would.

Moe and I got along much better. We had our head clanks every once in a while but I’ll give credit where credit is due, I learned quite a bit of technics from watching Moe. I picked up many of his cooking procedures because I was raw as shit in the kitchen. I absorbed Moe’s cooking instincts and some of his palate. Moe has an amazing palate. Or at least did. My cooking style is fairly unorthodox to any classic style. I’m a kitchen mutt. I absorbed what worked best for me.

Moe was the biggest influence on my cooking style. There’s a lot of soul in my food because of him. Take that as you will. Moe will always have a plate at my table anytime.

I lasted about a year in that kitchen. I made a good line cook, I was doing enough extracurricular things off of work to wear it like a badge of honor. I finally told Charlie I had enough and went back to serving. Charlie brought in an old employee of his from Harper’s named Yogi to run the kitchen.

Yogi was an odd cat but he was organized and had his shit together. I learned some techniques watching him run the kitchen. I had never worked with a real KM before. I come from a long system of KMs (kitchen managers) before everyone started labeling themselves as chefs. While I can respect both, KMs have always been easier to work with and are much better with balancing administrative and creativity. Sorry to some of my chef friends, no offense but the more talented the chef I’ve come across the less money my bank account have at the end of the month.

Yogi was talented and respected. I wish I had spent more time in the kitchen when he was hired. I might’ve fixed some of the bad habits I’ve picked up over the years. He was sober which seemed an impossibility in that environment.

He came to apply for prep at Southern right after we opened. I hadn’t seen him in 20 years. I ran up to say hey and he didn’t recognize me. Yogi wasn’t sober anymore. He was in fact drunk at 10am. It made a little sense to me then why I never saw him drink at the Blockhouse. That’s a lot of talent in that bottle. Yogi I hope you’re still fighting and winning some of it my man.

I write these like my daughter will them some day. Definitely not now but in a few years. Some stories will always stay in my head. Some are rough and probably shaved a few months off my life from absorbing dumb shit I should’ve never done. I’ve orated a few of these to some good friends. Others I think I might’ve only dreamt them. Hard to tell the difference some days.

I do recall a bachelorette party in the banquet room that got a little rowdy. By rowdy I mean 20 screaming women, a stripper named Caleb hanging out like an Evian bottle and then an orgy proceeded while I served oysters and wings to the party. All they asked was I didn’t leave the door open in between cocktail rounds. It was a week day for fuck sake. Something tells me that marriage didn’t last very long. If anyone complained about hair in their food for the next month all I could do was smirk and I’d want to say “let me tell you what happened in that chair two weeks ago.

See?

Even this story may get removed.. and that’s a just a 5 out of 10 for my experience at the Blockhouse.

Blockhouse brought out the ego in me. It didn’t turn me into a terrible person but my habits that I developed during my time here sure as hell did. If I could erase any era of my persona it would be during this time. I was reckless, selfish, drunk, fucked. It brought out my demons. My wiring got all absorbed into that system. You wouldn’t believe how long it’s taken me to shake off those demons from almost 30 years ago and a lot of them still live in me. It’s almost cancerous. I lived somewhat a sheltered life growing up. Sure I had my drunk days like some young adults, went to some parties, stayed up all night to keep the high going. But this was every single day for over 2 years. It took a toll on me.

My relationship with Charlie sort of deteriorated over time. It came to a head one night while at a party at his house. Drinking went wrong and we had a falling out. A very public one. Some things were said and well it was time to go. I left my key on his desk and we had a short professional phone chat. It was a good decision for both of us.

I still enjoy the Blockhouse, grab dinner there as often as I can when I’m on that side of town. Love to say hi to Charlie when I hear him running around. He even brought one of his sons to come work for me at Southern a while back. I take that as a solid sign of respect. I still see the same faces at the bar they’re just a little yellower now, many have passed. I made some solid friends working there with Tina, Bruce, Mike, Holly, Terry, Angel, David, Randall, Cindy, Christie, Andrea and quite a few more.

Nothing but love for the ‘House. It might’ve taken off a few years of my life but many lessons were learned. Would I do it all over again? Hell no but life’s an adventure sometimes and I can definitely say I absorbed quite a bit from that time. It gave me some primal energy for the hard times.

Wilbur burger will always be in my heart.