in honor of n64jerry, I want to share a story that's not about him all. About how I got introduced to the Grateful Dead.
I had a summer job on a mountain in the Appalachians. I had gotten my TABC license the year before and knew how to mix basic drinks, manage the tape printer, and talk to customers. The head bartender was a woman named Trish, her husband James was the head cook and her son who looked like James Franco (different father) was a line cook. She introduced herself the first day by pointing to her nametag, then flipping it around to show where she had gotten it printed "BITCH" on the back. She was multi-generational hillbilly, knew how to cook possum and raccoon and roadkill, and never stopped laughing and joking around.
Except when we dealt with the fry cook in the kitchen, a big goofy dude named Grateful Dave. He had a huge red nose, long curls, an always-dirty chef's smock, and half his words were "Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaah" and the other were "Ijustburnedmyfingers!" 2 replies
1 recast
12 reactions
Basically, Grateful Dave the fry cook was James the head cook's worst nightmare. Always late, brain perma-fried, a danger to everyone. Trish accepted zero shit from us, the bar staff, but she had to listen to her husband go on and on at home about Dave being late, Dave spilling fryer oil, Dave burning his fingers, etc.
The bar staff loved it all.
Grateful Dave was a super nice guy too. Heeeeeeyyy man, and then he'd do a goofy giggle. A gentle, nearly brain-fried giant at age 22 or 23.
But he had a nearly encyclopedic memory of Grateful Dead sets, concerts, who played what part in which season of which year. It was like his entire brain was Grateful Dead mix tapes, catalogued like his actual precious deck of tapes.
Whenever he met someone new, he'd try to start a conversation about their favorite Grateful Dead track. And it would quickly turn into an argument over Phil and Bobby, how one was canon and the other was blasphemy... 1 reply
1 recast
7 reactions
1 reply
0 recast
2 reactions
