I have exactly one Jimmy Buffett story, and be warned… it’s underwhelming.
I moved with my brother’s roommate to Key West in September 1991. My life had become unmoored. My father had died the year before, graduation and circumstances had separated me from all my college friends, and I had no money and four years of college debt to pay.
I needed a change of scenery.
“Let’s go to Key West and wait tables!” Rich had encouraged me. “We’ll clean up during the tourist season! And the girls there are amazing! It’s paradise. Right?”
Say no more, Rich. I packed up my 1990 Ford Festiva and headed south. We arrived in Key West and very quickly found that renting a flat in Key West was way more expensive than we’d thought.
But, we told ourselves, once those fabled tourist season tips started pouring in, we’d be set. So we found a little house we couldn’t afford, put down our first and last month’s rent, and started job hunting.
In 1991 there was no internet that could easily tell us when the tourist season began in Key West. If there had been an internet, it would have told us that September is NOT the tourist season and that restaurants were not staffing and we should stay in Virginia where housing is reasonable and lots of jobs are available.
But, we kept looking. Rich had some waiting experience and was able to find a position at a waterfront hotel restaurant. The best I could do with my Fine Arts degree was a part time job in the same restaurant – bussing tables.
Not exactly big money, even if it had been the tourist season. I needed a second job.
I scoured the want-ads and I saw it: Assistant Manager at Blockbuster Video. That was kind of putting my Fine Arts degree to use, wasn’t it?
I interviewed and got the job. It was a steady paycheck, which was good, but with all my bills it also meant I wasn’t going to be getting rich from generous tourists. And I also wouldn’t have much time to meet amazing girls.
It turned out that paradise was lost. The Key West I thought I was going to experience was a mirage.
Cue Jimmy Buffet.
One of my jobs as assistant manager was tediously going through the late video list every day and calling patrons to remind them of their growing late fees. This day I was working my way down the list when I came to the name “Buffet, James – Weekend at Bernie’s” and a phone number.
I gulped. There couldn’t be two James Buffets in Key West, right? I called over a couple of my co-workers who’d lived there longer and they said that yes, it was indeed the man.
What could I do? How could I call Jimmy Buffet to tell him that he owes a couple of bucks for Weekend at Bernie’s?
But then again, how could I NOT call Jimmy Buffet to tell him that he owes a couple of bucks for Weekend at Bernies?
With my two co-workers looking on, I took a deep breath and dialed the number.
The phone rang, and I reminded myself that Jimmy Buffet had this image of being a laid back guy, and it would be fine. He’d probably answer the phone, listen to my message, laugh, and invite me to have a cheeseburger and a margarita at his house when I got off work.
The phone rang again and another image flashed through my mind. Buffet answers the phone and lets loose. “You snot-nosed punk! I’m Jimmy frigging Buffet and you waste my time with a call like this?!? I’m going to have your legs broken and get you kicked out of the Keys!”
The phone rang a third time and everything suddenly came into focus. A warm wind blew across my face… I could hear the sound of the surf crashing on the beach… a sea gull called overhead… the sun warmed my skin as I lay in the sand… come Monday, it’ll be alright…
The receiver clicked on the other end.
Someone answered the phone.
“You’ve reached the Buffet house. Please leave a message at the sound of the tone. BEEEEEEP.”
I stared at my co-workers.
They stared at me.
I gulped and spoke.
“Hi, this is Nathan from Blockbuster video. Just reminding you that you have a late movie. Please return it as soon as possible to avoid more late fees. Goodbye.”
I hung up the phone. My co-workers shrugged and returned to their job of putting movies back on the shelves. I looked back at the list and saw that I still had twenty two letters to get through. I picked up the receiver and dialed the next number.
My time in Key West was short. After about six months, I realized that I was in over my head with my finances and needed to get back north to lower rents and a better job. I went out on exactly one date the entire time I was in Key West, with an amazing girl that had been a dancer in a Marky Mark music video, and I learned an important life lesson: JFK is not a good date movie.
But the highlight of my time in Key West was the time I called Jimmy Buffet’s house to tell him his copy of Weekend at Bernie’s was overdue and spoke to his answering machine.
I told you it was underwhelming.
Rest in peace, Jimmy Buffett.