86: Vintner's.

86: french dip

I gave a full speech Sunday afternoon to my tables, an extended version of my usual introduction and run-down of the specials that I never sell. This new version included a full 86 list, a list of things we couldn't give them. That was my speech Sunday afternoon, as I had to tell every customer what we had already run out of, so they didn't get their hearts set on ordering something they couldn't have. And I told them why, too, and it wasn't because our kitchen manager was too inefficient to order things before we ran out them.

Sunday was the last day Vintner's of Blowing Rock was open for business.

86: cheddar

Depressing? Lord, yes. Will the rest of Blowing Rock notice? Maybe. Will they notice after a month or two? Probably not. Fickle, fickle town. But I'll miss it, miss the people, miss the disorganization, miss the ridiculousness that was and always will be pure Vintner's.

Where else do they lock up the ketchups so it doesn't get used up too quickly? Where else do all the dressings have too much garlic? Where else can you get free tableside wine service where the server will cut himself while opening the bottle for you? Where else can you call the host a jerk and have the server agree with you?

86: reuben

"Welcome to Vintner's." It was my favorite phrase. Not to customers, but to employees who commented on something ridiculous that happened. Because that's just the way it was there. And some people couldn't handle it. The craziness of it all just got to them and they got out. But the rest of us, those who thought it was funny and wonderful, we were a special breed.

86: portobella

And then he sold the place, sold it to a garden shop down the street for a ridiculous amount. And we closed our doors after a final push to get rid of everything that wouldn't keep ($1 beers!). We had moving sale signs everywhere, and everyone kept asking me where we were moving. I hedged and said, "Well, we're moving, we just don't have a destination yet..."

86: salmon

I was the first to leave that day, after having opened for the last day. I went down a row of my coworkers, receiving hugs and good lucks nearly in tears over a silly college job. I cut the last lemon that morning, stocked the last creamer, set up the last dessert tray. And though I was entirely conscious of it all while I was doing it, I don't think it sunk in.

It still hasn't sunk in. And I don't know when it will, when it will hit me that I'll never welcome my customers to Vintner's and tell them that my name is Sandra and that I'll be taking care of them today. Maybe this Saturday when I wake up because it's midday and not because my alarm is telling me I have to get up and put on my black and whites.

86: mango brie quesadilla

I'm trying to write it all down, to put my experiences down somewhere before I lose them in the untrustworthy thing that is my head. I want to write down the kinds of characters that I worked with, the kinds of crazy that people have to be to work in a restaurant, this restaurant in particular.

86: thousand island, raspberry vinaigrette, roasted pumpkin balsalmic, swiss cheese dressing

I don't know what I'm going to do now. It's the off-season and no one is hiring. I'm in no rush to get another job. I suspect this will be the last time in a very long time that I can get away with not having a job. Besides, it's kind of like a betrayal to get another job right away. I need a little mourning period.

86: Sandra