When The Italians Start Screaming

What I learned washing dishes at The Bearded Clam for twelve weeks.  For a large cross section of the people working in far flung restaurants, there is a very thin line that separates them from completing being washed out of society.  These are people who can't deposit paychecks into bank accounts, do not file taxes and are the reason advance paycheck cashing stores exist.  They are running from potentially multiple entities; the IRS, debt collectors, spouses, the cops, demons or shady underworld figures. Like the crime syndicate de jour in the Knight Rider episode. An Italian Restaurant may provide the refuge and bullet proof windows they seek. After all, the idea of harboring someone on the run from a corrupt system would not phase most Italians I've met. 

A very thin line indeed. I met people who don't drive cars, have no paper trail and sought out refuge from mental anguish on a country beach.  For a short time that does work. When you first jam your feet into the sand and look out across the jetty as the Gulf of Mexico slams into the horizon, it is like an injection of horse tranquilizer.  That will wear off and whatever they are trying to escape will track them down.  If you saw Adam Sander's host appearance on SNL, you saw his skit about Perillo tours where he basically said. "If you are a miserable bastard before you come to Italy, you'll still be a miserable bastard when you get here."

I was inside the Alvin's Island Department store when I heard a tourist ask how anyone could be miserable living here, on the beach?! It is elementary you rich prick. People come here in droves and bring their mental health issues, alcoholism, poverty and demons with them.  I certainly understand and empathize with their pursuit. Though, no matter how far and no matter how long one runs, the destination will not save you.

I didn't just learn about people who are truly living on the fringe of society. I also learned about screaming Italians. Joe ran the front of The Bearded Clam and his sister worked the back.  When I first heard Joe and his sister screaming at each other in Italian, I immediately began to tuck and roll like I was on fire. A co-worker found me under the dripping chicken in the walk-in freezer and told me not to worry if they are screaming in Italian. When they start cursing in English, then be afraid.  What were they screaming in Italian? Joe would ridicule his sister's weight and she in turn would stab him him in the face, "Why all your wives left you ah miserable bastard." 

In the end, It was worth all the screaming in Italian. Until landing at The Bearden Clam, I did not know dick about Alfredo. People make it from scratch? Wild! The Alfredo at the Bearded Clam was creamy and buttery with fresh parmesan and the smell of garlic on the frying pan would make Paula Dean herself wince in delight.  "Hey y'all. I ate all the Alfredo Sauce. I'm so sorry y'all." 

I stole the recipe but can't even get close to the screaming Italians.  But give me some parmesan cheese, garlic, heavy cream and butter and I will crank out something slightly better than Paul Newman's Own jar of acidic heartburn alfredo. 

I spent twelve weeks as a dishwasher at the Bearded Clam in Panama City Beach, FL.  Eventually leaving for WMBB and the less lucrative field of local television. My extensive restaurant experience includes a similar stint at The Taco Stand in Athens, GA as a taco jockey and a couple semesters at a well known sub sandwich shop.

 -Fister