Mijo

It was 2010, and I've been running for almost a year now. My body and mind was used to how things worked in the kitchen, and signaled when a server was bound to fuck up, it became natural. Gaga and I were the only runners in the evening shift at the Grilling Company and with the new manager Erick — Or how I liked to call him 'Obama' — looking to hire reinforcements for spring break, he would end up hiring somebody who would wind up as a brother to me in the GC.

Obama (Erick) definitely brought change to the GC during his first few months there. His first order of business, hook-up the hostess band. We already had a hot-gorgeous Ecuadorian hostess name Shanna, but I have to admit, the uniforms the hostesses wore were just awful and atrocious; An old lady look, no cleavage, big-ass pants so an ass shaped couldn't be formed. A change of style for the hostesses was brought, where an all black uniform showed the sexiness of our beautiful hostesses.

The biggest change that would occur a few months into Erick's time as a manager. He would hire two new guys; One was a tall, skinny, black guy. The other would be another tall, funny looking version of me; David Campo.

I'll admit, I didn't really like him in the beginning, matter of fact, I hated him because my hours were being cut, and he all of a sudden became the sweetheart of the Grilling Company, a position I held on until...well. Who does this wise ass think he is!!?.. A rookie getting more time than a veteran, that was just a slap in the face towards me. I underestimated him though. There came a time when Obama asked me if I can train him to food run while I expedited the tickets. You see, Kathy who was our original and the legendary expeditor hasn't begun working with us yet, so the runners would expedite and run the food; a huge pain in the ass because if we weren't back to the window to pick up another order, a dumb ass server would stick their hands in the window and pull whatever food they thought belonged to them.

I told Obama that I'll take the honor of training young david, knowing my sole intentions were to guard the window from the servers. David was a host most of the time, something I did before I took the role of a food runner. The hostesses were all hooked up with uniforms, however, the males lacked new uniforms and David's uniform was just a no-no to food run with.

First day of David's official day of food-running, my man wore a white shirt, with a black tie along with a black sweater vest. Black dress pants and dress shoes which in a restaurant world is a big NO-NO! and in my world a big 'LOL.'

I couldn't fault him, it was his first time working in the food and beverage industry, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. It was the calm before the storm and I was teaching him how to carry multiple plates and how to carry a large tray full of plates. He was a quick learner (wise old Asian man voice) but hilarious at the same time. He was from New Jersey, I was from New York and the reason why I despised him in the beginning was because there's an unwritten rule that New Yorkers - the assholes that we are -- have a sense of showing those bastards from across the river who's boss.

Business was picking up and the cooks were putting countless of plates in the window. The noise around the GC was picking up and I looked at the David and told him it was showtime. I can remember the look in his face as he was ready to take the plates of food to their exact location. He was fidgeting, not knowing the plates were hot, his finger tips got a hold of the edge of the plate and next thing you know, OUCH!! I couldn't help it, I wanted to burst out laugh, but I held it in. He was nervous and what came next was the tray challenge; seven plates in one tray. I told him what I was taught. Grab the tray, pick it up with one arm while the other arm grips the tray for leverage. As soon as that tray goes up, for comfort lay it on your shoulder; I'm a lefty, so I laid the tray on my left shoulder while carrying the tray jack in my right hand. Mind you, he was wearing dress shoes, so I hoped there wasn't a slippery spot. Overall, he did great, a B+.

Towards the end of the night, I told him that I sonned him, a term we 90s kids say that means we fathered you in something so you were sonned. He countered back with calling me 'Mijo' which means son in Spanish and given he was a year older than me. Till this day, we son each other, but deep down I sonned him on his first food-run. Next day at work we greeted each other by saying the following:

Me: What's good son?
David: Mijo, what's good?
Me: Chillin' kid, you know you're my son in this game.
David: Mijo stop it! We know I'm your papi.

Through time I would drop the 'Son' term on him and called him 'Mijo." By the way, mijo is pronounced like 'Me-Hoe' not 'My-Joe' don't ask me how, but that's how it is. We would form a bromance, he would tell me the girls he's currently fucking, I would tell him about problems between and my current girlfriend at that time were having. We talked bullshit. But we were competitors. A new girl just began working at the GC, blonde girl who was extremely beautiful. I was determined to bone that, meanwhile Mijo had the same intentions. I was recently single, so to pull something like that was hard since I've been out of the game for a while, but Mijo was single and had that advantage.

Summer 2010 arrived and Mijo for sure got a hand in blonde's pie alright, that bastard. Obama left as manager by that time, serving as manager for only six months. A busy night at the GC was coming to an end and we chilled in the back with the blonde mistress. Blonde and I were together alone at one point where we were flirting as she had her hand on my legs almost close to my crotch, she was willing and I was willing. Mijo comes along and pulls off the greatest robbery since Al Capone. Grabs her and she gently sits on him. We're all talking, at the same time I'm thinking you bastard. Blonde starts talking about strange places she's had sex in and I'm thinking we could of fucked by the walk-in only if Mijo didn't come by. I left, leaving Mijo and blonde to be alone. The next day, he comes up to me and tells me that they went to a bar afterwork and got it in. Good for him, but dammit, only showed I had to improve my game.

It was the beginning of 2012, new things and new challenges awaited me, and I was bound to conquer all of them. Same shit, different day it was at the Grilling Company. I rarely worked with Mijo since I worked weekends because I went to school Monday through Thursday, so he worked on my days off. We would, from time-to-time, go out for a drink and talk our bullshit. During that time, I was healing from a 3-year relationship I had with a girl which ended in its demise, so a wingman was needed and Mijo was that guy. We went out to clubs, bars anywhere social just to talk to women and have a good ass time. But later on, I would lose my wingman after he reconciled things with a former lover of his, leaving me to fight this battle of depression alone.

I was depressed for much of 2012, coming out of a three year relationship with someone who was special to me, the world to me, was tough. Yes, Mijo had his girl, but to be quite honest, things didn't change yet. Pay-per-view fights at the Ale House, roaming Downtown Orlando or even beer pong at someones house were positive moments and brought a slight bit of happiness to me, true friendship.

It was my 22nd birthday and I was scheduled to work a dinner shift at the GC. I was pissed the fuck off, angry any type of negative adjective could sum up what I felt. Mijo was already working in the morning at his other job, so asking him to work on my birthday sounded a bit too much and exhausting and trust me, working a triple shift in the restaurant business is draining, plus I needed him because regardless I was planning to go out that night and I needed his energy to party and drink the fuck on.

I worked, but fuck it, I was getting paid and since it was past Labor Day, the whole resort was dead and low in occupancy. I did, however, make $80 in tips so things weren't all that bad. My good-old best friend since moving to Florida; Carlos moved back to Florida since moving to San Antonio, Texas three years earlier.

I left the GC, and got home, bathed, changed and left the house looking to party the night away. I was talking to one girl, who at this exact moment has my heart, asking her to come to Terrace 390 since that is where I'll be celebrating my birthday, but sadly she was sick and couldn't make it. My cousin Stephanie, however, brought a friend; A white girl from Chicago and boy was she banging. We all rode in Carlos' car, heading to downtown. Carlos was a street racer, a need-for-speed Puerto Rican racer who lived life in the fast lane. He was swerving, it was around 11pmish, switching lanes, cutting other cars until.....BLOOP! The bastard popped one of his back tires.

He felt bad since he thought that ruined my birthday night, but I didn't fault him. Accidents happen and the good thing was we were all okay. Mijo called me asking my whereabouts and I told him we were stuck in Interstate 4, and without hesitation  he asked me where in I-4 was I located and he came right up to save the night. Carlos was able to get things fixed, however, I would ride along Mijo while my cousin and banging friend tagged along.

As we entered the club, I noticed my cousins friend, who I will finally name; Ashley, grabbing me and asking me how old was I turning. She was about 19-20-years-old, so the thought of me turning 22 might have triggered an interest. So I executed. Carlos arrived just in time and Mijo and I discussed the shift at the GC and if I was going to do something regarding Ashley. I did, and we danced and grinded for most of the night. With all the loud music, she whispered in my ear, where I still could not hear, and all of a sudden, she grabbed my arm and lead me toward the bathrooms. Next thing you know, she tells me happy birthday and we start making out. I never had sex in a club, but I was sure enough ready to partake in the legendary practice. A club full of nosey people and to find a place to do it, was impossible, so I told her to hold on to that. Mijo and Carlos kept on buying me drinks and my cousin Stephanie and I danced some merengue songs. Moments into the song, I feel someone grab me away from her and as I turned around, it was her. She told me she was sick and couldn't make it, but wow did she surprise me. I gave her a huge tight hug and quickly began dancing with her. She brought her friends, one for Carlos and, well Mijo had his girl, so I guess Carlos was the lucky bastard that evening.

That night was a night to remember. Good friends, good company equaled an overall good night.

As I'm finishing this story, I can only help to remember the moments me and my friend have had. Towards the beginning of 2013, David and his girlfriend got serious. So serious that it resulted into them expecting a baby. Matter of fact, the baby is bound to be born or already born, thus marking a new beginning. Well, you're wondering the ending of his ride in the Grilling Company, right? Well Mijo always had a passion to hustle and grind. He was studying and focusing on getting his real estate license. The Grilling Company was still there for him and he got the promotion to be the official expeditor, which was good because it paid more by the hour and got to be beneficial when the baby comes. Well, management dropped the ball on him. Apparently, he wasn't getting paid what he deserved to be paid. I'm talking about a guy who is no longer a rookie, but a veteran, and he isn't getting the fair treatment. I understood David leaving, I mean he had too. He had/has a family to look after, so after management kept on putting his request for a raise on hold and ignoring his requests, he put his two-week notice and left. A move that I was critical of because dammit, who else am I going to talk bullshit with? I'll say it today, tonight and forever, with the inclusion of Gaga. Mike Gramajo and David Campo are the best food runners in Orange Lake Resort.

I wish you nothing but the best, I know you'll be a great father and I can't wait to meet the little guy. As I'm finally finishing this story, I have a cold bottle of Bud Light right next to me. Cheers to this new life and I'm here for anything.