In the summer of 1976 after graduating from Jesuit High School, I continued my work in the Bakery. The bakery manager decided to promote me yet again and I began to learn how to make breads and rolls. Hot French Bread was a favorite of mine, along with every other person from New Orleans. It was always told to me, when growing up in “Nawlins”, oh that’s Cajun for New Orleans. We learn to eat anything between two slices of bread or on a French Bread Loaf – Either Zip Leidenheimer Bakery or Reising’s Bakery, two well known New Orleans French Breads. In case most of you did not know, the original Po-Boy or true spelling Poor Boy Sandwich was made with French Fried Potatoes. Yes, that’s right. A POOR-BOY was a loaf of French Bread, French Fried Steak Potatoes, Roast Beef Gravy with Ketchup and Mayonnaise. It was called a Poor-Boy sandwich, due to the fact that people in the olden days could not afford Roast Beef.
As summer progressed, I enrolled in college at LSUNO, a division of LSU but in New Orleans. I was not too excited about going to College. I liked school, but I also missed working in the bakery. After school got started, I came down with a very bad cold. I had to miss a few days of college. On the Friday that I was out, a Math Professor had given one of our very first tests. When I came back to school on Monday, I asked him when I could make up the test I missed last Friday. He said and I quote, ” Patrick, when you miss one of my tests, you get a Zero “0”. You should have plenty of time to make it up. Welcome to college – 101!! What a Smart Ass?? I proceeded to take my argument to the Dean of Mathematics. Well, the Dean sided with the Professor and I said no worries. I looked the Dean straight in the face and said, the last thing you will see is my big Fat Ass leaving this room and college. So my big college career lasted all but 8-10 weeks. I quit school and never looked back.
Well, if any of my mom’s friends are reading this post, that did not sit well with Mom. If you remember, my mother was a 5th Grade School teacher and education meant everything to her. She was madder than a hornets nest on a windy day. I was too big to have my ass beat, but if she could, The Board of Education would have tagged my ass till I couldn’t sit. All I heard was you and that damn bakery. You never gonna amount to a damn thing flipping Donuts and Baking Bread. You need to go to college. You need an education. I did not spend all that money on Military and Jesuit High School for you to throw everything away on becoming a baker. You have lost your F&$King mind. Unfortunately, my mom had no filter when it came to expressing herself. You knew exactly were you stood at all times. She kept screaming, “we discussed you becoming a Doctor, Lawyer, Mechanical Engineer or something more than a just a damn Baker”. I can still hear her hollering at me. So I finally left the house after feeling so rejected and humiliated by her hurtful words. I drove around for a brief while until my Compulsiveness kicked in yet again. That’s right, I had a friend. My friend was food. I loved food and it loved me back. I can remember going to the Swamp Room across the street from the Bakery that very afternoon and eating a Double Cheese Swamp Burger on Po-Boy Bread, double order of Steak Fries and a couple of Cokes to wash it all down. The hunger went away. I was content, but still not full. It didn’t stop me. Soon after having dinner, I decided to walk next store and began drinking New Orleans Daquiris. My favorite was a White Russian. This was a frozen Daquiri much like a snowball, but with alcohol. I loved them. The White Russian was similar to Frozen Chocolate Milk with Vodka. I was in pure Heaven. Needless to say, if you drank enough of them, your ass began to have a huge buzz. After all, it was Alcohol. My problems had been masked by food and drink. Unfortunately, my Mom kept nagging me about working in the bakery until I finally moved out of the house and lived on my own with a friend. I just couldn’t handle the verbal abuse. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my Mom. I was a Momma’s boy, but if anyone knew Lorraine, you would understand exactly what I am talking about. She never settled for No and always had the last word!!!!
Will to Live – Gluttony – Part 11