In Memoriam, Q.C.C.
To whom it may concern,
Today marks the end of the embattled and all too short-lived Quince Catering Company, of Dover MA. Due to increasing financial instability, and external pressures, I have closed it down.
Some of you knew about this side project of mine, and regarded it with passing fascination.
To me, it was much much more, and I hope to use this small space to do it an ounce of justice.
I was kicked out of Kenyon College in August of 2006. Not asked to leave, not because of financial troubles. Kicked out. Because I had chosen to put my priorities above those of the College. I was disgraced, and I was heartbroken. My friends were in shock, and it caused irreparable damage to one particular relationship that I fear I will never live down. Shortly after this, I formulated a hap-hazard plan to get back to Kenyon. I was told I had to wait a year to re-enroll. It was my goal to be back in six months. My mother, little knowing what was ahead for her, agreed to take me in, provided I get a full-time job and go to classes in the morning and at night. I did just that. I took on four classes at the local community college, and I got a job waiting tables at a restaurant called J.J.'s, outside of Jacksonville. My school was fifteen minutes to the south of my house, the restaurant around 45 minutes north.
I worked hard. At the restaurant, more due to my resilience and my ability to understand abuse in french, I was promoted through the ranks of chef. At school, I earned an A in every class. I was up most days at six in the morning, and wasn't back until 12 at night.
This took a toll on me psychologically, causing me to say and do things I will always regret. My relationship with my mother faltered, as we are both very emotional people, who wear our hearts on our sleeves and don't contain feelings very well. By Christmas, we had trouble making eye contact, and I left, to return to Kenyon six months ahead of their schedule but right on mine.
At Kenyon, which should have been my moment of triumph, I froze. I came back to a very different dynamic and different people, some of whom I'm sure were upset at me for leaving, some who didn't know how to reincorporate me after my absence, and some who regarded me as a ticking time-bomb, a mentally unstable hazard. I do not blame them for this. However, this caused me to 'freak out' just as they had predicted, and I began to have frequent panic attacks and became unable to leave my room for extended periods of time. I was not ready to return.
I left, again in shame. This time, I turned to my father in MA for support, and I received it. We worked on a plan that involved me getting a job, taking classes and seeking psychiatric support for my troubles I experienced at Kenyon.
While I was taking classes and working on my problems with Dr. Mitchell, I had trouble procuring a job. It was around this time I ran into the mother of a friend and told her of my job in Florida, working as a chef. She knew about my trouble to find a job, and offered me a one-time catering gig for a small party of hers.
From there, Quince Catering took off. Through word of mouth and the parents of my high school friends, I was able to establish a somewhat-successful and financially gratifying catering company. For the first time in almost a year, I had something to be proud of. I was not some stopgap for a French restaurant, or a college flunkie, or a failure son, I was a successful entrepreneur. When I returned for Senior Week at Kenyon, to see my friends off and wish them well, I had something. I had something to vindicate myself in their eyes. Yes, I had failed Kenyon. Yes, I had failed them, twice over. Yes I had failed at life, and yet, I had this. I had my own company. I had taken the first step, albeit forced, into the real world; And despite a shit storm that (not to sound bitter) few of them could even come close to understanding, I had survived. More than that, I had thrived. Still, I could tell that in the eyes of some I was still a failure. Or, if not a failure, I was no longer one of them. I had forsaken my membership to our circle when I had become a failure to the academic system. I left senior week to go down to Florida for my sister's High School graduation, crying much of the way from West Virginia to Georgia. It was then I resolved that I would never let other people judge my worth. That I would rest my laurels and my pride on my own skills and abilities.
After a summer working at a boys' camp, I returned to Kenyon again, lonely and isolated. Resolving that I could not continue my company from here, I sold my control of it to a friend of mine, a recent graduate of Johnson and Wales. Within a month, it was clear that he, though a far better chef than me, could not handle the financial and PR facets of the company. It was near bankrupt.
So I bought back Quince with what little money I had left, and despite being busy with schoolwork and a mounting series of family problems, I took control from 1000 miles away.
Despite my best efforts, it was not to work. And so, today, I fired my friend and shut down the company indefinitely.
This brought back a sense of shame and failure I had not felt since that drive down to Florida. That's when I realized that, however proud we may be, however hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise, we do crave the acceptance of others. And I had once again provided fodder for the chorus of people ready to label me a failure. You can take this moment or an earlier moment to say no such chorus exists. That I am being paranoid. If you are saying this, you are one of my friends from college. If that is the case, you know god damn well that people have gone behind my back and said shit behind my back in the past. I have no reason not to believe that those people, and others, less judgemental though they may be, still consider my exodus from Kenyon as a failure, and myself as one as well.
It's hard to not take this the wrong way. For a good six months, this was the one thing in my life I had some pride in. It vindicated me. Sure, some of my friends were at school, and successful academically, and happy, but I had proven my worth in the real world. I had built a testament to my resiliency, and I felt that for the first time in over a year I was worthy of, and deserved, some respect.
With it gone, so has that feeling. I feel like November 2006 all over again. I am alone, I am isolated, and I am a failure.
Quince was a security blanket when I had nothing to hang my hat on, nothing to be proud of, no sense of self or of pride. It was a savior for me, and it is gone.
Me? I'm gonna go drink a bottle of Hennessey and wait until all this blows over.
Insert pithy pop-culture reference to make this less pathetic here,
RM
Today marks the end of the embattled and all too short-lived Quince Catering Company, of Dover MA. Due to increasing financial instability, and external pressures, I have closed it down.
Some of you knew about this side project of mine, and regarded it with passing fascination.
To me, it was much much more, and I hope to use this small space to do it an ounce of justice.
I was kicked out of Kenyon College in August of 2006. Not asked to leave, not because of financial troubles. Kicked out. Because I had chosen to put my priorities above those of the College. I was disgraced, and I was heartbroken. My friends were in shock, and it caused irreparable damage to one particular relationship that I fear I will never live down. Shortly after this, I formulated a hap-hazard plan to get back to Kenyon. I was told I had to wait a year to re-enroll. It was my goal to be back in six months. My mother, little knowing what was ahead for her, agreed to take me in, provided I get a full-time job and go to classes in the morning and at night. I did just that. I took on four classes at the local community college, and I got a job waiting tables at a restaurant called J.J.'s, outside of Jacksonville. My school was fifteen minutes to the south of my house, the restaurant around 45 minutes north.
I worked hard. At the restaurant, more due to my resilience and my ability to understand abuse in french, I was promoted through the ranks of chef. At school, I earned an A in every class. I was up most days at six in the morning, and wasn't back until 12 at night.
This took a toll on me psychologically, causing me to say and do things I will always regret. My relationship with my mother faltered, as we are both very emotional people, who wear our hearts on our sleeves and don't contain feelings very well. By Christmas, we had trouble making eye contact, and I left, to return to Kenyon six months ahead of their schedule but right on mine.
At Kenyon, which should have been my moment of triumph, I froze. I came back to a very different dynamic and different people, some of whom I'm sure were upset at me for leaving, some who didn't know how to reincorporate me after my absence, and some who regarded me as a ticking time-bomb, a mentally unstable hazard. I do not blame them for this. However, this caused me to 'freak out' just as they had predicted, and I began to have frequent panic attacks and became unable to leave my room for extended periods of time. I was not ready to return.
I left, again in shame. This time, I turned to my father in MA for support, and I received it. We worked on a plan that involved me getting a job, taking classes and seeking psychiatric support for my troubles I experienced at Kenyon.
While I was taking classes and working on my problems with Dr. Mitchell, I had trouble procuring a job. It was around this time I ran into the mother of a friend and told her of my job in Florida, working as a chef. She knew about my trouble to find a job, and offered me a one-time catering gig for a small party of hers.
From there, Quince Catering took off. Through word of mouth and the parents of my high school friends, I was able to establish a somewhat-successful and financially gratifying catering company. For the first time in almost a year, I had something to be proud of. I was not some stopgap for a French restaurant, or a college flunkie, or a failure son, I was a successful entrepreneur. When I returned for Senior Week at Kenyon, to see my friends off and wish them well, I had something. I had something to vindicate myself in their eyes. Yes, I had failed Kenyon. Yes, I had failed them, twice over. Yes I had failed at life, and yet, I had this. I had my own company. I had taken the first step, albeit forced, into the real world; And despite a shit storm that (not to sound bitter) few of them could even come close to understanding, I had survived. More than that, I had thrived. Still, I could tell that in the eyes of some I was still a failure. Or, if not a failure, I was no longer one of them. I had forsaken my membership to our circle when I had become a failure to the academic system. I left senior week to go down to Florida for my sister's High School graduation, crying much of the way from West Virginia to Georgia. It was then I resolved that I would never let other people judge my worth. That I would rest my laurels and my pride on my own skills and abilities.
After a summer working at a boys' camp, I returned to Kenyon again, lonely and isolated. Resolving that I could not continue my company from here, I sold my control of it to a friend of mine, a recent graduate of Johnson and Wales. Within a month, it was clear that he, though a far better chef than me, could not handle the financial and PR facets of the company. It was near bankrupt.
So I bought back Quince with what little money I had left, and despite being busy with schoolwork and a mounting series of family problems, I took control from 1000 miles away.
Despite my best efforts, it was not to work. And so, today, I fired my friend and shut down the company indefinitely.
This brought back a sense of shame and failure I had not felt since that drive down to Florida. That's when I realized that, however proud we may be, however hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise, we do crave the acceptance of others. And I had once again provided fodder for the chorus of people ready to label me a failure. You can take this moment or an earlier moment to say no such chorus exists. That I am being paranoid. If you are saying this, you are one of my friends from college. If that is the case, you know god damn well that people have gone behind my back and said shit behind my back in the past. I have no reason not to believe that those people, and others, less judgemental though they may be, still consider my exodus from Kenyon as a failure, and myself as one as well.
It's hard to not take this the wrong way. For a good six months, this was the one thing in my life I had some pride in. It vindicated me. Sure, some of my friends were at school, and successful academically, and happy, but I had proven my worth in the real world. I had built a testament to my resiliency, and I felt that for the first time in over a year I was worthy of, and deserved, some respect.
With it gone, so has that feeling. I feel like November 2006 all over again. I am alone, I am isolated, and I am a failure.
Quince was a security blanket when I had nothing to hang my hat on, nothing to be proud of, no sense of self or of pride. It was a savior for me, and it is gone.
- That God, which ever lives and loves,
- One God, one law, one element,
- And one far-off divine event,
- To which the whole creation moves.
- ~Tennyson, In Memoriam
Me? I'm gonna go drink a bottle of Hennessey and wait until all this blows over.
Insert pithy pop-culture reference to make this less pathetic here,
RM
