Meatball Dialect
Like most broke creatives, I have a part-time survival job in a restaurant. I won't give any identifying details about the place, because I don't want to somehow get in trouble, and I must make the disclaimer that almost all of my coworkers are lovely people. That said, there's a lot of funny shit to write about when you work in the industry. I've always loved in-jokes, jargon and slang, the particular words or technical terms that only certain people in a certain place or profession will understand. Restaurants are a prime example. Eighty-six: nothing left. We’re out. It’s done. No more. Someone ordered the last lobster. Kaput, forget it, fuhgeddaboutit, stop listing it in the specials. I haven’t the slightest idea what the innocent number 86 ever did to become associated with privation, deprivation and emptiness, but there it is. And there, in the kitchen, it isn’t. The guest who overhears one waiter calling to another, “Eighty-six meatballs!” might