Waiters were the next rung down, but not by much. They were all stunning in completely different ways. They were musicians, writers, actors, designers and a few were clearly models. Some didn't do much of anything, but who cared? They were great to look at. There was a different type of waiter for every type of customer who entered the Odeon. Some regulars came in expressly for them. It created a collegial, egalitarian atmosphere I've rarely seen in other restaurants. The waiters matched their customers in style, wit and substance. Many waited for their favorites and gravitated to the bar to have a drink or some other substance with them after their shifts were done.

The bar-backs and the bussers were, to a man, the most wonderful, kind and hardworking people at the Odeon. They received almost no recognition except a percentage of the waiters' tips. They were routinely ignored by customers and spoken to sharply by managers and staff alike. I marveled at their perseverance and even-tempered disposition. I couldn't do what they did and even if I could, I wouldn't be able to do it with such good grace.

One of the people at Odeon who stood out in particular was our m'aître d', a dashing Moroccan named Kahlid (a pseudonym). After I knew him a bit, I believed about 45% of what he told me but didn't mind because he was inimitable. For example, he said one of the most beautiful waitresses, also Moroccan, was his sister when actually she was one of the many women he was sleeping with. The complexity and chutzpah of all his lies was almost admirable. He was married to a poor, defeated-looking woman clearly for his green card, and they had a daughter whom he absently adored.

Kahlid was tall, handsome, impeccably dressed and masterful at his job. He'd generate tables out of thin air. He would have the busboys carry them up from the basement and create availability in minutes. He called every regular customer who was a women, "my princess," and every man "my brother" mostly because he couldn't remember their names, but they loved thinking they were singular. Everyone wanted attention and special treatment. He made everyone think he was theirs, but of course he belonged to no one. Kahlid was using them when they thought they were using him. It was one of the first times I saw "important" people act subserviently. I realized that people's attitude toward wanting food and drink was primordial and deeply personal, almost sexual. If they didn't get what they wanted, they reverted to a neediness bordering on rage. When they did, they were ecstatic and grateful. All they wanted was his momentary devotion. He told his customers with a Cheshire Cat smile that he'd have their table ready in ten minutes and they would happily wait at the packed bar for an hour.

Kahlid had a democratically mercenary view of the world. He never really listened to anything anyone said to him and he judged no one. The only thing he was interested in was the way a person could be of benefit to him. He was constantly scheming in one way or another. He could sell you some beautiful rugs, he could hook you up with a trip to Morocco, he knew someone who made suits or had access to premier seats to concerts or sporting events. Kahlid had his fingers in everything and relished the dirt. He hit on any mildly attractive woman who worked with him but wasn't offended if they didn't succumb to his charms. The first day I started working for him he tried with me too, but it was half-hearted as if he felt he had to go through the motions or I might think I was overlooked and abandoned. It was very nice of him to consider my feelings.

After I had been at the Odeon a a few months I became competent enough for him to consider leaving the floor for short periods of time, then longer. I was pretty much intimidated by everything but learned to pretend I wasn't. It was some of the best acting I've ever done. If you deal with snotty people calmly, reasonably with a hint of condescension as if they were unruly children, they generally snap back into shape.

I also got better at my job. I learned how to make sure everyone and everything at the Odeon flowed smoothly like a dance. You sit a waiter with the correct number of tables so he or she won't be slammed, so the orders will be properly timed with the kitchen, so the bussers will clear the tables to make sure the courses come out quickly but not so quickly that the customers feel rushed, so the check will be placed on the table at the appropriate moment, so that the customers without being aware are shuttled out of the dining room maybe migrating to the bar for an après dinner drink. Then you repeat this performance until the kitchen closes at midnight. Eventually regulars recognized me and even started to ask for me.

My competence was richly rewarded. Kahlid would sometimes leave for an hour or so. One night he said he was going across the street to Bar Odeon to teach them how to make Caesar salad dressing. Fifteen minutes after he had left the restaurant exploded. Kahlid's regulars were up in arms demanding his presence. I did the best I could and actually managed to placate and seat customers in the appropriate amount of time. I was fairly proud of myself. When the restaurant had calmed down I called over to Bar Odeon to find Kahlid. The waiter who answered the phone was confused: "Kahlid hasn't been here all night and Chef just sends over the same Ceasar salad dressing you have so why would he need to help us with ours?"

Kahlid blew in about ten minutes later, sniffing violently and said "What is this? What have you been doing to my restaurant?? You did it all wrong!"

I was and still am naïve about drugs. At the time I wondered how customers and waitstaff - we often sneaked sips during our shift - could drink so much for so long and stay seemingly sober, even energized. I only learned years later it had to do with coke and other substances I knew less about at the time. Coke had been offered to me several times when I was in high school during the heyday of 80's club life in New York City. I was terrified I would like it too much. It also seemed to exacerbate the worst individual qualities of the people doing it, and so I said no. Actually, I said I had done too much already so as not to look uncool and the people offering were so high they accepted my lie as truth. At any rate, the Odeon bathroom saw a lot of activity. Management must have been marginally aware of what was going on, but the restaurant was hopping night after night so they looked the other way.

Because he continued to leave me holding the reins at the Odeon while he went about his errands, I knew Kahlid actually respected my abilities. Eventually we became wary friends with each other. I was promoted to m'aître d' myself. Despite his shadiness, I had a soft spot for Kahlid. I knew his bravado barely covered his extreme insecurity. I saw the ambition that had allowed him to start as a busboy at the Odeon and work his way up the ladder to the top of the heap. He was an alley cat landing on his feet for the ninth time; a survivor. I admired him but I didn't want to get too close to him either. In his own particular way, he was an excellent teacher. Most of what I know about operating ably in a busy restaurant I learned from him.