Years ago, I had a friend who had a Blue Tick Hound dog. Max was a worker dog. My friend lived on a busy street, and when he heard something in the yard, he was "on the job." He would frantically run to the window, eyes ablaze with duty to guard his home. Annie would announce with great glee what was going through Max's mind as he executed this diligent behavior: "I'm workin' here!!"
Life on the avenue is pretty lively. Keeping up with all the shenanigans of the daily grind is difficult. Snippets seem to be the most I can muster. A little laughter goes a long way when you are in the weeds as a server.
Last night, my friend "Shawn" was in the section next to me. I saw him at the peak of the crunch time balancing an ungodly amount of sundries on his arm and hands. Why everyone I work with is so against using a tray is beyond me. I use a tray all the time because my hands are small and I cannot balance even two water glasses in my palm, much less the three or four glasses I see others balancing in one palm while carrying bread plates in the other. Nope, I'll use a cocktail tray, thank you. I raise an eyebrow at Shawn as he scurries on his way with his carnival collection on his person. As I'm doing my own dance of appeasement to my diners, I hear his large table being positively gleeful. I think to myself that it's weird that they are acting so surprised about a birthday cake that they clearly ordered. Did they forget that they ordered the surprise for the birthday girl?
I continue on my mission. A few minutes later, I have to go over by our coffee station for something. That's when I see it. The small birthday cake that was thawed during the course of the diners' meal for its debut is laying upside down on the floor, smooshed out from underneath its plastic plate. I suddenly understand the shouts of delight I heard a few minutes ago. Shawn is in the back of the house, performing the tedious job of unfreezing another birthday cake with short, half power spurts in the microwave. Too long or too high of heat and he will have a melty mess. Still, those other tables he has are waiting for something while he fixes this mistake that is surely costing him in dollars. I had to laugh. In fact, it was just what I needed in the midst of the crazy night we were having. Good stuff, that.
Last week was bizarre. My best friend from the northwoods--the one who died unexpectedly--is always on my mind. I think about her daughter who I have not seen since I left the northwoods shortly after Alissa's death. I think about how my life would be different, if not for her early departure from this world. I struggle with the fact that her husband and I do not get along, and that is what prevents me from seeing her beautiful daughter. Last week, coming from the back room to the hostess station, looking to the booths that run along the front of the restaurant, I see a man who looks like Alissa's husband. I'm thinking that's pretty weird, when I hear him say my name. I go over to a lukewarm hello. The surprise of it all made him call my name, but the reality of chatting is a little tense. Add to the mix that he's on a date. Of course, I'm looking at the woman to see how many Alissa-like features she has. There are many. Todd recently moved back to the area to be near his ailing father. I knew that, but never thought I'd see him where I work.
The crazy part of the whole encounter is that I was utterly lost in trying to remember his first marriage daughters' names to ask about them! Ugh. And I was so uncomfortable at interrupting a date that I could not piece together any of the questions I really wanted to ask. Bleh. He asked about a girl who worked there. Yes, she still works here. Talking to her a few days later was wild. She knew him, knew about his wife dying, talked about their common friends. It was strange to answer her question about what happened to his wife. This is a different world, not that world. The two finding a connection felt surreal and took me back to all those empty feelings I felt when she died.
Several weeks ago, another blast from the past collided with my new life at the place on the avenue. Two women, one man, and an older couple sat in my section on a busy Friday night. They ate, drank, and were merry. When they were finished, the patriarch took the check. Coming back with his credit card and receipt, I glanced at the name. It's good customer service to address the patron by his or her name when they pay with a credit card, and I do it as often as I can. My eyes can't always pick up the name in the dim light of the restaurant, but it was serendipitous that I looked this time. The name on the card instantly clicked with the face of the man I took the card from moments before.
Arriving at the table with his card, I held it before me, looked him square in the eye, and said, "I know you. [pause] You worked with my dad. [pause] And my grandpa."
He looked astonished for only a moment before asking me, "Are you a (insert maiden name here)??" I smiled and said I was. Instant smiles all the way around. This was a family whose house I remember being at the day my father died. We caught up as much as we could in the hurried time I had to give them. Justin said something that made me sad, but somehow comforted too. He got a wistful look for a moment, then said, "I think about your dad sometimes. It's a shame what he did." For those who don't know, my dad's death certificate claims suicide. It is sad that he's not here. It's also comforting to know that Justin, a man my dad saw every work day has given thought to my dad and the family he left behind. They do keep up with my mom with Christmas letters and occasional phone calls, but I have not seen these people since I was very small.
I could not wait to tell my mom about the chance encounter. When I did relay the story, she assured me that they had to have been delighted to see me, and was sure that they would be back to see me again. When I told her what Justin said, she told me that he really thought of my dad like another son. Even though Justin is not that much older than my parents, he was the more mature type and took my dad under his wing. My mom said he took my dad's death very hard. I would love to sit down one on one with Justin to ask some hard questions that have never been answered. How amazing to see him again so by chance! It made me tingle to know that he spent so much time with the dad I have missed so much.
Yes, worlds do collide.
Two weeks ago, on a football Sunday, I wore my #4 Jets jersey under specific approval from the boss. I got a disapproving look from the manager on duty when I came through the door. I told him to lay off because this was owner-approved and if he had a problem he needed to go talk to said owner of the restaurant. I got a few snide remarks that were masked as questions of interest about my jersey. I wore it proudly. Then a drunk woman crammed into an overpopulated booth of friends stepped over my personal boundary. As I stood at the end of the table to take the order, she felt it was okay to 1) grab my shirt above my hip 2) shake it back and forth 3) give me a pathetic look, and 4) condescendingly tell me, "Oh honey, let it go." First of all, do NOT touch me. Secondly, take the attitude elsewhere--and do not tell me how to feel about Brett Favre.
I will just say that she is lucky that I am a professional, and her food was not tampered with. Others would not have been so polite. That's all on that.
Oh yeah. I'm workin' here.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The House Blew Up
I want to text my landlord and tell him, "Your house blew up. Call me." Or maybe I should tell him it blew away, or burned down. He won't respond to phone calls. He won't reply to emails that ask for his confirmation that he's gotten them. He doesn't answer notes left with the rent check.
Ever since I made the complaint about the maintenance man's inappropriate behavior, not only on the professional (professional-ha!) level, but personal level, my landlord has evaporated into thin air. He used to be an awesome guy who took care of every little thing. Now I can't get an affirmative that the furnace repairs from the flood have, indeed, been completed. I don't know if he cares that the kitchen sink and bathtub drains are slow. He hasn't replaced the filter on the sink for my drinking water. I fear the water spots on the ceilings from the roof leaking will be there until I move.
I don't know what else to do. There is absolutely NO response to any question, big or small. My lease is up. I'm wondering if I'm going to be getting the equivalent of a pink slip in my mailbox this week when he picks up the rent check. I'm peeved by the behavior. My last landlord threw me out in a fit of craziness that had no explanation, except some imbalance that turned her into the Jekyll and Hyde. My fear of the same happening again is understandable. However, I am a phenomenal renter. My rent is always on time, and I take care of my rental property as though it's my own. Wisconsin has "at-will" employment, and tenancy when there is no lease. This means a landlord can give a renter 30 days to vacate. If this happens, I will be devastated.
Meanwhile, I'm forced to deal with the infidel for repairs to my home. I think DSMM (DipShit Maintenance Man) knows not to pick up the phone when I call him, for I've been lucky in getting his voicemail. In return, I don't pick up my phone when it reads "Idiot" calling. Actually, it reads "idiot" since I didn't think he was worthy of a capital "I."
When DPMM hooked up my new (used) dryer after the flood, he must have done a half-assed job. The dryer was letting a lot of moisture into the basement. I didn't understand this. Until last week. Last week, I noticed the air vent hose flapping away at the back of the dryer. It was probably loose, and took a few months to come off completely. I had asked for notice when the DSMM would be entering the premises. I got none when he came in to fix the dryer. And yes, I am angry about this. At least he left the premises locked. Does this mean he got at least part of the memo?
Still, enduring his lame ethics and shoddy workmanship is annoying. It took three visits for him to hook up the washer correctly after he used my faucet to power wash the basement. (Yeah, I'll pay that water bill. Don't give me a credit on my rent for the water that went through my drain or got used to clean the entire basement).
I know in the scheme of big world problems, these are peanuts. Even so, this is my "Gool" and he's wrecking it. Hell, they are both wrecking it. I am loathe to call the Landlord-Tenant Agency, but I may have to if things don't change. I am looking for input on this matter. My work friends were quick to jump on the litigation path. As offended as I am by the behaviors of both the maintenance man and the landlord, I do not want to travel that route. I'm not sure if I should be scanning the rentals, or if my tenancy is safe here. The unknown is not fun. I have friends that admire the amount of moving I've done. "You little wanderer, you." I don't relish moving. And I truly love this place. If I have to move, I don't know where I'll land.
Maybe I'll try that text message to see if there's a response. "House gone. Plz call."
I did my laundry after I wrote this blog. Now that the hose is hooked up properly to the dryer, it's loose (off) at the top where it hooks into the metal shoot that takes the humid air outside. I left idiot a message. [sigh]
Ever since I made the complaint about the maintenance man's inappropriate behavior, not only on the professional (professional-ha!) level, but personal level, my landlord has evaporated into thin air. He used to be an awesome guy who took care of every little thing. Now I can't get an affirmative that the furnace repairs from the flood have, indeed, been completed. I don't know if he cares that the kitchen sink and bathtub drains are slow. He hasn't replaced the filter on the sink for my drinking water. I fear the water spots on the ceilings from the roof leaking will be there until I move.
I don't know what else to do. There is absolutely NO response to any question, big or small. My lease is up. I'm wondering if I'm going to be getting the equivalent of a pink slip in my mailbox this week when he picks up the rent check. I'm peeved by the behavior. My last landlord threw me out in a fit of craziness that had no explanation, except some imbalance that turned her into the Jekyll and Hyde. My fear of the same happening again is understandable. However, I am a phenomenal renter. My rent is always on time, and I take care of my rental property as though it's my own. Wisconsin has "at-will" employment, and tenancy when there is no lease. This means a landlord can give a renter 30 days to vacate. If this happens, I will be devastated.
Meanwhile, I'm forced to deal with the infidel for repairs to my home. I think DSMM (DipShit Maintenance Man) knows not to pick up the phone when I call him, for I've been lucky in getting his voicemail. In return, I don't pick up my phone when it reads "Idiot" calling. Actually, it reads "idiot" since I didn't think he was worthy of a capital "I."
When DPMM hooked up my new (used) dryer after the flood, he must have done a half-assed job. The dryer was letting a lot of moisture into the basement. I didn't understand this. Until last week. Last week, I noticed the air vent hose flapping away at the back of the dryer. It was probably loose, and took a few months to come off completely. I had asked for notice when the DSMM would be entering the premises. I got none when he came in to fix the dryer. And yes, I am angry about this. At least he left the premises locked. Does this mean he got at least part of the memo?
Still, enduring his lame ethics and shoddy workmanship is annoying. It took three visits for him to hook up the washer correctly after he used my faucet to power wash the basement. (Yeah, I'll pay that water bill. Don't give me a credit on my rent for the water that went through my drain or got used to clean the entire basement).
I know in the scheme of big world problems, these are peanuts. Even so, this is my "Gool" and he's wrecking it. Hell, they are both wrecking it. I am loathe to call the Landlord-Tenant Agency, but I may have to if things don't change. I am looking for input on this matter. My work friends were quick to jump on the litigation path. As offended as I am by the behaviors of both the maintenance man and the landlord, I do not want to travel that route. I'm not sure if I should be scanning the rentals, or if my tenancy is safe here. The unknown is not fun. I have friends that admire the amount of moving I've done. "You little wanderer, you." I don't relish moving. And I truly love this place. If I have to move, I don't know where I'll land.
Maybe I'll try that text message to see if there's a response. "House gone. Plz call."
I did my laundry after I wrote this blog. Now that the hose is hooked up properly to the dryer, it's loose (off) at the top where it hooks into the metal shoot that takes the humid air outside. I left idiot a message. [sigh]
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Grammar Lesson for Friday, September 12
I know. I know. It's mostly me. And it's mostly because I have always been a complete nerd about grammar, and spelling, and all things neat and organized. I'm a detail person, and yes, it is a curse. And no, I don't want you to pick apart all those commas and try to decide if that last sentence was a run-on, or if this one is, for that matter.
Okay. All kidding aside, I was aghast at a sign I read at a corporate chain restaurant in its drive-thru. ITS drive-thru. Do you see the proper form there? Apparently, Culver's does not have this information within its corporate offices. (Yes, I used the correct form AGAIN). I wish I'd had my camera. Their drive-thru has a sign that tells you that their food is: "worth it's wait for the freshness."
Herein lies the lesson. It's equals "it is." The apostrophe tells us that it is two words. It's two words. It is.
Its equals possession. "Worth its wait." Who owns the wait? The food and its freshness. The food is fresh. Thus we wait. It's worth its wait because it's (it is) fresh. Get it? The way the sign reads now means: Worth it is wait for the freshness. Does that make any sense? No. No, it does not.
I know I should get a life, but that hasn't been working out for me. It's my lot in life to be its own worst enemy.
Join me next time when we discuss the difference between then and than.
Okay. All kidding aside, I was aghast at a sign I read at a corporate chain restaurant in its drive-thru. ITS drive-thru. Do you see the proper form there? Apparently, Culver's does not have this information within its corporate offices. (Yes, I used the correct form AGAIN). I wish I'd had my camera. Their drive-thru has a sign that tells you that their food is: "worth it's wait for the freshness."
Herein lies the lesson. It's equals "it is." The apostrophe tells us that it is two words. It's two words. It is.
Its equals possession. "Worth its wait." Who owns the wait? The food and its freshness. The food is fresh. Thus we wait. It's worth its wait because it's (it is) fresh. Get it? The way the sign reads now means: Worth it is wait for the freshness. Does that make any sense? No. No, it does not.
I know I should get a life, but that hasn't been working out for me. It's my lot in life to be its own worst enemy.
Join me next time when we discuss the difference between then and than.
Friday, September 05, 2008
The Bandit
Sometimes, all you have is the visual evidence of a misdeed to try to piece together what happened. Figuring out who (or what!) did it can be downright taxing. The story that follows is just one of those incidents.
I do some work for a woman who has several health issues that keep her from rigorous physical activity. We have been cleaning out her old farmhouse where she still has belongings. When we go over, she is the SWAT team who forges ahead to get rid of spider webs and peruse for any ugly bugs before I start packing. I'm still twitchy the whole time we are in this year-long unoccupied house. It's been bug-bombed once, and her uncle checks in weekly there, but you have to believe that the bugs have had free reign to do what they want and to make themselves at home.
We tackled her library the other day. I stood on a small footstool and reached for several books at a time from a top shelf that I couldn't see completely. I dusted them off and stacked them while she sorted and put them in boxes I provided. When one box would fill, I would take it away and bring another. This went on for about an hour and a half until we ran out of appropriate-sized boxes. Every time I went to the back room to get another one, she would tell me that there were more upstairs. I continued to ignore this information because I did not want to travel up to the dreaded second level where the bugs really had the place to themselves! But, because of her great wealth of books, I was finally forced to admit that we needed those boxes that loomed upstairs.
I opened the door to the steep, narrow steps and sucked in a deep breath while I stared it down. "I can do this," I mentally pumped myself. I stepped through the doorway with a duster waving wildly in front of me to knock down any cobwebs I might discover on my upward journey. My eyes were alert and moving quickly to every area I was passing and coming up to, while I made bold strides to get to the boxes in the spare room.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I stopped, stunned. I called down to her, "Did you have your son over here when he was visiting?" She assured me she had not. I took in the scene in the hallway, aghast at what might have happened.
"Why?" she called up to me.
"Well, there's stuffed animals all over the place. It looks like a massacre, and there's one ripped in half over by the bedroom."
"WHAT? There must have been a mouse!" she cried. I assured her I did not think a mouse did this. She got her oxygen tubing and came up. We stared at the scene before us in confusion.
"What if it was a raccoon?" I gulped.
"Well, let's pack these stuffed animals back into that hamper and take them with us." she decided. So we began to pick up the animals and put them in the mesh basket that housed them before the invasion. As we did so, I started finding the eye buttons on the floor. What the hell? It suddenly came to me! A squirrel must have thought he'd found a mother lode of nuts tucked safely up in this attic. We started laughing, envisioning the entrepreneurial squirrel plucking eyeballs and trying to munch on them, only to find that they did not taste good! We could see him discarding the eyeball, grabbing another stuffed animal, plucking the eye out, finding more disappointment, and repeating the scenario. Perhaps this frustration at so many great-looking foodstuffs that really weren't was what brought him to the eventual ripping in half of the poor little brown teddy bear we saw by the bedroom. So sad.
We covered up the chewed hole in the wall with a heavy box of books, but you know those crafty squirrels always find a way to get what they want. In the end, we got the boxes we needed to finish the library. I only had one (wispy) spider crawl across my hand. And it's one more step in my therapy to lose some of this fear of the creepy crawly things that should not scare me like they do. And who knows? Maybe cleaning out the upstairs will bring a whole new fear while I tread lightly around Skippy the Squirrel who loves to steal the eyes from unsuspecting stuffed animals.
I do some work for a woman who has several health issues that keep her from rigorous physical activity. We have been cleaning out her old farmhouse where she still has belongings. When we go over, she is the SWAT team who forges ahead to get rid of spider webs and peruse for any ugly bugs before I start packing. I'm still twitchy the whole time we are in this year-long unoccupied house. It's been bug-bombed once, and her uncle checks in weekly there, but you have to believe that the bugs have had free reign to do what they want and to make themselves at home.
We tackled her library the other day. I stood on a small footstool and reached for several books at a time from a top shelf that I couldn't see completely. I dusted them off and stacked them while she sorted and put them in boxes I provided. When one box would fill, I would take it away and bring another. This went on for about an hour and a half until we ran out of appropriate-sized boxes. Every time I went to the back room to get another one, she would tell me that there were more upstairs. I continued to ignore this information because I did not want to travel up to the dreaded second level where the bugs really had the place to themselves! But, because of her great wealth of books, I was finally forced to admit that we needed those boxes that loomed upstairs.
I opened the door to the steep, narrow steps and sucked in a deep breath while I stared it down. "I can do this," I mentally pumped myself. I stepped through the doorway with a duster waving wildly in front of me to knock down any cobwebs I might discover on my upward journey. My eyes were alert and moving quickly to every area I was passing and coming up to, while I made bold strides to get to the boxes in the spare room.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I stopped, stunned. I called down to her, "Did you have your son over here when he was visiting?" She assured me she had not. I took in the scene in the hallway, aghast at what might have happened.
"Why?" she called up to me.
"Well, there's stuffed animals all over the place. It looks like a massacre, and there's one ripped in half over by the bedroom."
"WHAT? There must have been a mouse!" she cried. I assured her I did not think a mouse did this. She got her oxygen tubing and came up. We stared at the scene before us in confusion.
"What if it was a raccoon?" I gulped.
"Well, let's pack these stuffed animals back into that hamper and take them with us." she decided. So we began to pick up the animals and put them in the mesh basket that housed them before the invasion. As we did so, I started finding the eye buttons on the floor. What the hell? It suddenly came to me! A squirrel must have thought he'd found a mother lode of nuts tucked safely up in this attic. We started laughing, envisioning the entrepreneurial squirrel plucking eyeballs and trying to munch on them, only to find that they did not taste good! We could see him discarding the eyeball, grabbing another stuffed animal, plucking the eye out, finding more disappointment, and repeating the scenario. Perhaps this frustration at so many great-looking foodstuffs that really weren't was what brought him to the eventual ripping in half of the poor little brown teddy bear we saw by the bedroom. So sad.
We covered up the chewed hole in the wall with a heavy box of books, but you know those crafty squirrels always find a way to get what they want. In the end, we got the boxes we needed to finish the library. I only had one (wispy) spider crawl across my hand. And it's one more step in my therapy to lose some of this fear of the creepy crawly things that should not scare me like they do. And who knows? Maybe cleaning out the upstairs will bring a whole new fear while I tread lightly around Skippy the Squirrel who loves to steal the eyes from unsuspecting stuffed animals.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Spiderpalooza
It's well-documented that I am deathly afraid of creepy crawly things. I have no less than four sprays in my house to combat these abominations of nature. This is not a creepy crawly story though. It is a pretty funny foray into my last few days.
Last week, I killed a spider in the bathroom. Several days ago, I killed two spiders in the kitchen--one in the morning (the mommy), and one in the evening (the daddy). Little itty bitty babies began appearing in the areas where I killed these parent spiders. Huh. Fortunately, I'm not afraid of the teeny ones that you can squish with your finger.
So the squishing commenced. They wispily crawled across my stove and I mushed them instantly. In the bathroom, they littered the angled ceiling. When they were within reach, I crushed them. The other night, I noticed one coming down a tiny strand of webbing he created, so I got him too. Squish-Squash-Mush-Crush. Gone, gone, gone.
Thank goodness, once again, that these babies are not scary. Coming from the bathroom to resume my reading on the internet, I sat in my desk chair and got comfortable. A minute later, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A teeny spider baby is rappelling his way down my hair and onto my keyboard. Ew. I squish him. When will it end? How many frigging babies do spiders have? I would look it up, but I can't see scary eight-legged pictures coming up in lightning fast speed on my screen. I'll just keep squashing them as fast as they keep appearing, I guess.
This festival of babies and mamas and papas comes in on the heels of a very traumatizing day last week when I had to call my neighbor (who is as afraid of them as I am) over to kill a centipede that was on the wall above my bed. The possibility of losing that monster in my BEDROOM was more than I could handle. She is my hero now. And I am scanning every wall, floor, and ceiling in every room before my foot takes the next step forward more than ever. Fall is here. They want in. I'm afraid the spiderpalooza has just begun. I better keep those sprays handy.
Last week, I killed a spider in the bathroom. Several days ago, I killed two spiders in the kitchen--one in the morning (the mommy), and one in the evening (the daddy). Little itty bitty babies began appearing in the areas where I killed these parent spiders. Huh. Fortunately, I'm not afraid of the teeny ones that you can squish with your finger.
So the squishing commenced. They wispily crawled across my stove and I mushed them instantly. In the bathroom, they littered the angled ceiling. When they were within reach, I crushed them. The other night, I noticed one coming down a tiny strand of webbing he created, so I got him too. Squish-Squash-Mush-Crush. Gone, gone, gone.
Thank goodness, once again, that these babies are not scary. Coming from the bathroom to resume my reading on the internet, I sat in my desk chair and got comfortable. A minute later, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A teeny spider baby is rappelling his way down my hair and onto my keyboard. Ew. I squish him. When will it end? How many frigging babies do spiders have? I would look it up, but I can't see scary eight-legged pictures coming up in lightning fast speed on my screen. I'll just keep squashing them as fast as they keep appearing, I guess.
This festival of babies and mamas and papas comes in on the heels of a very traumatizing day last week when I had to call my neighbor (who is as afraid of them as I am) over to kill a centipede that was on the wall above my bed. The possibility of losing that monster in my BEDROOM was more than I could handle. She is my hero now. And I am scanning every wall, floor, and ceiling in every room before my foot takes the next step forward more than ever. Fall is here. They want in. I'm afraid the spiderpalooza has just begun. I better keep those sprays handy.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
On The Record
I am sitting at my computer with this really cool "vinyl to cd" record player that you hook up to your computer. It's DN's. She bought it to convert her own vinyl, but kept others in mind when purchasing it. It will surely make the rounds of her family and friends. But for now, it's mine to play with, learn about, work the bugs out of....
I'm enjoying this blast into the past. I finally set this thing up after hearing "Blister in the Sun" by the Violent Femmes (no, they are not violent, nor are they femmes) on Charlie FM, not once, but twice in the last week. . I specifically got determined to learn this machine after remembering how much I love, love, love this album. I'm listening to it now, and ohhhhh, the college days memories this is bringing back. I used to have a cassette walkman blasting while I traipsed the campus. This music was often the beat to which I climbed the hill at UW-Eau Claire.
I so love this album. It is spectacular. It is extraordinary. It reminds me of Erik, who introduced me to this off the wall, beautiful music. I saw them live on my campus (for cheap!) in their hey day. I would not have thought then, nor now, that this music would be something I love so much, but it truly is! Here is a sample song, which is not, by the way, safe at work--or for children.
I'm enjoying this blast into the past. I finally set this thing up after hearing "Blister in the Sun" by the Violent Femmes (no, they are not violent, nor are they femmes) on Charlie FM, not once, but twice in the last week. . I specifically got determined to learn this machine after remembering how much I love, love, love this album. I'm listening to it now, and ohhhhh, the college days memories this is bringing back. I used to have a cassette walkman blasting while I traipsed the campus. This music was often the beat to which I climbed the hill at UW-Eau Claire.
I so love this album. It is spectacular. It is extraordinary. It reminds me of Erik, who introduced me to this off the wall, beautiful music. I saw them live on my campus (for cheap!) in their hey day. I would not have thought then, nor now, that this music would be something I love so much, but it truly is! Here is a sample song, which is not, by the way, safe at work--or for children.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Several Updates
Rather than editing each blog individually, here is some new information to keep all apprised of breaking developments in the previous several blog entries.
It has been pointed out to me by a "reliable source" that Eve, Eve the Apple Thieve could not be the elderly neighbor, as she is not well enough to toddle over and steal the fruit of her neighbor's lawns. I have also been told that if she did, a pie would, indeed, appear. This means I have to to watch the walkers. I am also willing to bet that the apples she found on the ground were earwig-infested and unedible. The joke is on her, eh?
(Yes, Osh, you can freeze apples, but they are only good for baking).
We had another bug incident with Mrs. Kisses. It was almost the exact scenario as last time except I arrived at the scene of the crime as she was licking her lips this time. I hope that she passes this phase quickly. Momma doesn't like bugs.
Sunday morning at work brought my first blowout with Pam (formerly known as The Skank). Let me preface the story with the news that we are still speaking to one another, and it's really no big deal. Breakfast was abnormal this week. You could have shot a cannon through the place at 9:00am, which is not typical at all. By 10:30am, all hell had broken loose, so much so that the kitchen was taking 45 minutes to get breakfast out. This is a restaurant nightmare!
Fast forward to a synchronized pick up of orders between me and Pam. I was taking my last plate when she announced, "That's mine!" The usual "no, it's not, yes it is" ensued. In the end, she won. I was hot about it because I knew it went with my gentleman's prime rib breakfast, but what could I do? The kitchen hopped on getting me the food I needed, but I still had to deliver his wife's breakfast and his prime without its sides. I assured him it would be out shortly. I also apologized profusely. Several minutes later, I saw Pam coming back to the kitchen with her large tray of food empty, except for one plate. One very familiar looking plate.
When we reached the kitchen, safely behind the scenes of the angry breakfasters, she tried to give me the plate, saying, "This isn't mine." YA THINK?? I informed her, at that point, that I did not want that plate of food now that she had paraded it through the dining room and it was cold. She kept shoving the plate at me saying, "It's not mine though." I was as frustrated as everyone trying to get the food out and I lost it.
"You were so hell-bent on taking that fucking plate when I told you it was mine!!"
She didn't have anything to say. The boss was walking by as this exchange was taking place. I saw a smile spread across his face as I went to bat for my tables.
The new breakfast was getting done about then, so I took the fresh plate to my patron. A few minutes later when I checked on them, his wife told me she wanted his breakfast comped. I agreed, and went to print the ticket to take it to a manager to void off of it. You can only imagine my surprise when his prime rib breakfast wasn't on the ticket!!
Whoops!
However, I had a lot of screwy things going on with my tickets. I would punch things in that would not print out at the bar. And how could my plate be right from the kitchen if I had not punched it in? Murphy was having some fun on the avenue Sunday morning. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!
And those are your updates for today!!
It has been pointed out to me by a "reliable source" that Eve, Eve the Apple Thieve could not be the elderly neighbor, as she is not well enough to toddle over and steal the fruit of her neighbor's lawns. I have also been told that if she did, a pie would, indeed, appear. This means I have to to watch the walkers. I am also willing to bet that the apples she found on the ground were earwig-infested and unedible. The joke is on her, eh?
(Yes, Osh, you can freeze apples, but they are only good for baking).
We had another bug incident with Mrs. Kisses. It was almost the exact scenario as last time except I arrived at the scene of the crime as she was licking her lips this time. I hope that she passes this phase quickly. Momma doesn't like bugs.
Sunday morning at work brought my first blowout with Pam (formerly known as The Skank). Let me preface the story with the news that we are still speaking to one another, and it's really no big deal. Breakfast was abnormal this week. You could have shot a cannon through the place at 9:00am, which is not typical at all. By 10:30am, all hell had broken loose, so much so that the kitchen was taking 45 minutes to get breakfast out. This is a restaurant nightmare!
Fast forward to a synchronized pick up of orders between me and Pam. I was taking my last plate when she announced, "That's mine!" The usual "no, it's not, yes it is" ensued. In the end, she won. I was hot about it because I knew it went with my gentleman's prime rib breakfast, but what could I do? The kitchen hopped on getting me the food I needed, but I still had to deliver his wife's breakfast and his prime without its sides. I assured him it would be out shortly. I also apologized profusely. Several minutes later, I saw Pam coming back to the kitchen with her large tray of food empty, except for one plate. One very familiar looking plate.
When we reached the kitchen, safely behind the scenes of the angry breakfasters, she tried to give me the plate, saying, "This isn't mine." YA THINK?? I informed her, at that point, that I did not want that plate of food now that she had paraded it through the dining room and it was cold. She kept shoving the plate at me saying, "It's not mine though." I was as frustrated as everyone trying to get the food out and I lost it.
"You were so hell-bent on taking that fucking plate when I told you it was mine!!"
She didn't have anything to say. The boss was walking by as this exchange was taking place. I saw a smile spread across his face as I went to bat for my tables.
The new breakfast was getting done about then, so I took the fresh plate to my patron. A few minutes later when I checked on them, his wife told me she wanted his breakfast comped. I agreed, and went to print the ticket to take it to a manager to void off of it. You can only imagine my surprise when his prime rib breakfast wasn't on the ticket!!
Whoops!
However, I had a lot of screwy things going on with my tickets. I would punch things in that would not print out at the bar. And how could my plate be right from the kitchen if I had not punched it in? Murphy was having some fun on the avenue Sunday morning. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!
And those are your updates for today!!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
I'll Take a Twist with That
The new job is going well. Business is picking up as the heartbeat of the city begins to beat steadily to the drum of the UW marching band back in town. I'm not used to the upside down "busy time" that is the norm here in a college town, and starts as the weather cools off but cools off when the mercury goes up. Nope, I'm used to the resort swell in the summer and the staples that get us through the rest of the year. While it's refreshing to be making better money as the summer ends, it's downright annoying dealing with some of the people who have such power over how my evening plays out. I'm talking about the co-worker pool. Some of my first impressions were right on, but a few of them have done a loopty loop of the 180 degree variety.
For starters, remember The Skank? Guess what? She likes me. She really, really likes me. I'm guessing she's one of those Banshee types that feels the need to puff up her feathers so the new person understands that this is her territory, and you can't have any. What I've found in most cases at the place on the avenue is that everyone pretty much likes me. I have heard from almost every single person there, "You are a good worker." The veterans, the servers I work with in the back dining room, the boss, the new girls. "You are a good worker." I don't fill the ice and stay until all of the cleaning is done to make friends though. This is how I approach my job. If everyone just did his job, the whole process would be smooth as old scotch. As the new girl, I do bite my tongue to avoid the lecture about how they could all be doing their work like I do mine and we'd all benefit. Nope. I'm responsible for me and how I perform. I'm not changing the world serving food, but at least I can sleep well at night knowing I did my work to the best of my ability. I guess that impressed "The Skank" (who we shouldn't call that anymore)! The funniest part of the becoming friends with her is that we have a lot of common threads that tie us to one another. Who knew? Maybe the most hysterical part of our similarities is the constant confusion among our tables. Her tables stop me when I am going by to request drinks or more rolls. "I'm not your waitress," I said the first few times it happened. It happened again on Friday night. I knew exactly who their waitress was this time, and assured the gentleman that I would get "Pam" (her new 'not real' name).
That's funny stuff if you ask me. I was so prepared to just hate her and avoid her. She actually seemed to seek me out as the weeks passed. This is one gal I'm glad I was wrong about. It's a lot easier working with people you actually enjoy talking to during the side work portion of your evening.
And then there's the bane of my existence at the place on the avenue. Picture Norm's (from Cheers) head, Chris Farley's body, and Dan Dierdorf's personality all rolled up into one fat, stupid, annoying man. Think of the laziest person you ever worked with who grated on your last nerve because they were so inept at doing what needed to be done. That guy who just chats with people with no regard to a timely completion of the task at hand. This is the man from whom I have to wait impatiently for drinks, the return of my change on the check, or the credit card receipt. At the end of the night, when I'm weary and want to clear my paperwork (something that would take me three minutes if I could do it myself), and get out the door for the commute home I spend 20 minutes begging him to run a report, give me my credit card slips, pay me out on my tips.
Last night, HE messed up one of my tickets but couldn't even figure out that he had reopened it and rung it up wrong. He made like it was my fault because he couldn't understand that separate tickets at the same table might actually be almost exact to one another. That added 10 minutes to my already 20 minute checkout time.
Tonight, he was busy chatting it up about fantasy football with a bud at the bar and couldn't get his fat ass working on drinks or the accumulating checks he needed to ring up. When I got impatient with him, he lashed out at me telling me he could only do one thing at a time. (Too bad he couldn't put selling drinks at the top of that list while he was punched in, huh?) When I pointed out that I'd been waiting 10 minutes for two glasses of wine, he said, "Contrary to what you might believe, you are not the only waitress here." Not being one to back down, I pointed out that he seemed to have plenty of time to talk fantasy football while I waited.
It wasn't pretty. Still, I heard him telling MY joke that I told the boss to his customers as I was heading out tonight.
The sunny, perky blond who bartends is a girl I used to have on my banquet team when I supervised at a country club. She cried when I left, telling me I was the best boss she ever had. She pulled me aside after the spat and told me if I needed something and Beast Boy (that's a good name for him, and one I won't have to change) was giving me problems to just come down to her end for it. HA! She guards me like a labrador. Smile.
If you take away the headbutting issues as a funny tale to tell, there's really a simple explanation. Oddly, it parallels the Brett Favre/Ted Thompson debaucle. You see, the boss likes me a lot. This Beast Boy knows this because the boss is pretty vocal about employees he thinks are great. Mr. Inept must feel threatened by my efficiency. I know one of the things the big boss noticed about me is that I am speedy about picking up my drinks. Lazy Ass can't keep up with my pace because he is too busy being, well, lazy. This is a real threat to that male ego crap that goes on. Much like Ted Thompson, Beast Boy can't stand that there is a star in his midst who is taking away any of his [perceived] glory. He can kiss my ass because my expectations aren't going down anytime soon. I'll be the one running backwards up the hill while he huffs and puffs, telling him that he can make it. You can do it, Beast Boy. Mix up that martini. I've got the olive.
He's so lame. He actually comes through the open end of the bar with food for his customers, yelling at those of us standing there waiting for drinks, etc, "MOVE!" Nice tact there, pal. There's not a couth bone in his body. The man couldn't spell the word polite, much less exercise its meaning. He costs that place so much in lost revenue, I don't know why the boss wants him to stay so badly. Between the lag time in getting drinks out, and the extra time we are punched in waiting for him to wield his power over us, it's a ridiculous amount of monetary loss. Perhaps in time, me and the Favre-lovin' boss will have a conversation about beasts and budgets.
Meanwhile, things are good. It's the natural evolution to understand and adapt to your surroundings. I got a call from a resume I flung out about six months ago. I went in to talk to the lady, and even did a 3-hour orientation last week. She went on vacation after that. I regret to be informing her, upon her return, that I was being stupid about taking a part-time job that had no guarantee of being better, for a job that is becoming pretty darn reliable. And reliable is something that has been sorely amiss in my life here in the last year. I'm staying put to make sure the Beast doesn't rest on his laurels. Besides, my boss said we can wear #4 Jets jerseys on game day if we want to. Why would I leave an idyllic job like that?
For starters, remember The Skank? Guess what? She likes me. She really, really likes me. I'm guessing she's one of those Banshee types that feels the need to puff up her feathers so the new person understands that this is her territory, and you can't have any. What I've found in most cases at the place on the avenue is that everyone pretty much likes me. I have heard from almost every single person there, "You are a good worker." The veterans, the servers I work with in the back dining room, the boss, the new girls. "You are a good worker." I don't fill the ice and stay until all of the cleaning is done to make friends though. This is how I approach my job. If everyone just did his job, the whole process would be smooth as old scotch. As the new girl, I do bite my tongue to avoid the lecture about how they could all be doing their work like I do mine and we'd all benefit. Nope. I'm responsible for me and how I perform. I'm not changing the world serving food, but at least I can sleep well at night knowing I did my work to the best of my ability. I guess that impressed "The Skank" (who we shouldn't call that anymore)! The funniest part of the becoming friends with her is that we have a lot of common threads that tie us to one another. Who knew? Maybe the most hysterical part of our similarities is the constant confusion among our tables. Her tables stop me when I am going by to request drinks or more rolls. "I'm not your waitress," I said the first few times it happened. It happened again on Friday night. I knew exactly who their waitress was this time, and assured the gentleman that I would get "Pam" (her new 'not real' name).
That's funny stuff if you ask me. I was so prepared to just hate her and avoid her. She actually seemed to seek me out as the weeks passed. This is one gal I'm glad I was wrong about. It's a lot easier working with people you actually enjoy talking to during the side work portion of your evening.
And then there's the bane of my existence at the place on the avenue. Picture Norm's (from Cheers) head, Chris Farley's body, and Dan Dierdorf's personality all rolled up into one fat, stupid, annoying man. Think of the laziest person you ever worked with who grated on your last nerve because they were so inept at doing what needed to be done. That guy who just chats with people with no regard to a timely completion of the task at hand. This is the man from whom I have to wait impatiently for drinks, the return of my change on the check, or the credit card receipt. At the end of the night, when I'm weary and want to clear my paperwork (something that would take me three minutes if I could do it myself), and get out the door for the commute home I spend 20 minutes begging him to run a report, give me my credit card slips, pay me out on my tips.
Last night, HE messed up one of my tickets but couldn't even figure out that he had reopened it and rung it up wrong. He made like it was my fault because he couldn't understand that separate tickets at the same table might actually be almost exact to one another. That added 10 minutes to my already 20 minute checkout time.
Tonight, he was busy chatting it up about fantasy football with a bud at the bar and couldn't get his fat ass working on drinks or the accumulating checks he needed to ring up. When I got impatient with him, he lashed out at me telling me he could only do one thing at a time. (Too bad he couldn't put selling drinks at the top of that list while he was punched in, huh?) When I pointed out that I'd been waiting 10 minutes for two glasses of wine, he said, "Contrary to what you might believe, you are not the only waitress here." Not being one to back down, I pointed out that he seemed to have plenty of time to talk fantasy football while I waited.
It wasn't pretty. Still, I heard him telling MY joke that I told the boss to his customers as I was heading out tonight.
The sunny, perky blond who bartends is a girl I used to have on my banquet team when I supervised at a country club. She cried when I left, telling me I was the best boss she ever had. She pulled me aside after the spat and told me if I needed something and Beast Boy (that's a good name for him, and one I won't have to change) was giving me problems to just come down to her end for it. HA! She guards me like a labrador. Smile.
If you take away the headbutting issues as a funny tale to tell, there's really a simple explanation. Oddly, it parallels the Brett Favre/Ted Thompson debaucle. You see, the boss likes me a lot. This Beast Boy knows this because the boss is pretty vocal about employees he thinks are great. Mr. Inept must feel threatened by my efficiency. I know one of the things the big boss noticed about me is that I am speedy about picking up my drinks. Lazy Ass can't keep up with my pace because he is too busy being, well, lazy. This is a real threat to that male ego crap that goes on. Much like Ted Thompson, Beast Boy can't stand that there is a star in his midst who is taking away any of his [perceived] glory. He can kiss my ass because my expectations aren't going down anytime soon. I'll be the one running backwards up the hill while he huffs and puffs, telling him that he can make it. You can do it, Beast Boy. Mix up that martini. I've got the olive.
He's so lame. He actually comes through the open end of the bar with food for his customers, yelling at those of us standing there waiting for drinks, etc, "MOVE!" Nice tact there, pal. There's not a couth bone in his body. The man couldn't spell the word polite, much less exercise its meaning. He costs that place so much in lost revenue, I don't know why the boss wants him to stay so badly. Between the lag time in getting drinks out, and the extra time we are punched in waiting for him to wield his power over us, it's a ridiculous amount of monetary loss. Perhaps in time, me and the Favre-lovin' boss will have a conversation about beasts and budgets.
Meanwhile, things are good. It's the natural evolution to understand and adapt to your surroundings. I got a call from a resume I flung out about six months ago. I went in to talk to the lady, and even did a 3-hour orientation last week. She went on vacation after that. I regret to be informing her, upon her return, that I was being stupid about taking a part-time job that had no guarantee of being better, for a job that is becoming pretty darn reliable. And reliable is something that has been sorely amiss in my life here in the last year. I'm staying put to make sure the Beast doesn't rest on his laurels. Besides, my boss said we can wear #4 Jets jerseys on game day if we want to. Why would I leave an idyllic job like that?
Friday, August 22, 2008
Eve Takes a Bite
So I get up this morning and feed the kittehs, make my coffee, and head to the living room to fire up the computer and stereo. I never close my windows or my shades at night because the cool air makes it nice in here. Can you imagine my surprise when I get over to my double windows and see somebody in my yard?
We have an apple tree that ripens early. Last year I kind of missed the peak of apple season because they were almost done when I arrived. Mind you, this is my apple tree. I specifically asked the landlord when I came to look at the place if the apple tree was "ours" or the neighbor's. It's really the mark of where "our" property ends and theirs begins. I went out there earlier in the week and grabbed a whole bunch of them. They attract those earwigs, who burrow into them, making them unfit to eat so I wanted to get them before they infested the crop. I froze about four bags of apples for pies or crisps later in the fall.
There's still more on the tree. They drop almost daily. My neighbor downstairs who shares "our" tree may want some so I am being considerate not to take them all. And I've offered some to my neighbor on the other side of me if she wants some for herself or family. They are great to eat as is. And I really am determined not to let the earwigs have them this year like they did last year.
When I saw the sweet old lady who lives on that side of the yard coming from the garage side of my property, I had to do a double take before I hit the stereo "on" button. "What is she doing in my yard??" I watched from my upstairs perch with her oblivious to my keen eye. She proceeded to pick up apples that had fallen overnight, and take her booty back to her house. She had a small brown square thing in one hand too, which I could not identify, but whatever it was, she got from near my garage. Maybe it was a bird's nest? I don't know, but this is pretty brash behavior for a woman I've never even seen.
I don't really mind sharing "our" apples, and I'll give her the fact that her husband has to mow under some of the tree branches from their side of the lawn. But, wouldn't you pop over and say, "Hey, I'm gonna take a few apples for a pie. Is that cool?" She wasn't even taking them from her side of the lawn; she was squarely in my yard! I used to like these people. They are quite elderly, but still together, apparently healthy (healthy enough to take a morning walk in their neighbor's yard to steal apples!), and continue to take care of their sizable home independently.
She disappeared under the considerable branches of the tree and the hedges in her own yard, so I wasn't able to confirm that it was the woman next door. Was a morning walker so tempted by the apple that she had to have a bite? This is Eve all over again. What kind of curses will we be forced to endure by this forbidden fruit thief? Whoever it was may have started a whole new set of sins, that I, at the very least, will have to deal with.
Damn the luck!
We have an apple tree that ripens early. Last year I kind of missed the peak of apple season because they were almost done when I arrived. Mind you, this is my apple tree. I specifically asked the landlord when I came to look at the place if the apple tree was "ours" or the neighbor's. It's really the mark of where "our" property ends and theirs begins. I went out there earlier in the week and grabbed a whole bunch of them. They attract those earwigs, who burrow into them, making them unfit to eat so I wanted to get them before they infested the crop. I froze about four bags of apples for pies or crisps later in the fall.
There's still more on the tree. They drop almost daily. My neighbor downstairs who shares "our" tree may want some so I am being considerate not to take them all. And I've offered some to my neighbor on the other side of me if she wants some for herself or family. They are great to eat as is. And I really am determined not to let the earwigs have them this year like they did last year.
When I saw the sweet old lady who lives on that side of the yard coming from the garage side of my property, I had to do a double take before I hit the stereo "on" button. "What is she doing in my yard??" I watched from my upstairs perch with her oblivious to my keen eye. She proceeded to pick up apples that had fallen overnight, and take her booty back to her house. She had a small brown square thing in one hand too, which I could not identify, but whatever it was, she got from near my garage. Maybe it was a bird's nest? I don't know, but this is pretty brash behavior for a woman I've never even seen.
I don't really mind sharing "our" apples, and I'll give her the fact that her husband has to mow under some of the tree branches from their side of the lawn. But, wouldn't you pop over and say, "Hey, I'm gonna take a few apples for a pie. Is that cool?" She wasn't even taking them from her side of the lawn; she was squarely in my yard! I used to like these people. They are quite elderly, but still together, apparently healthy (healthy enough to take a morning walk in their neighbor's yard to steal apples!), and continue to take care of their sizable home independently.
She disappeared under the considerable branches of the tree and the hedges in her own yard, so I wasn't able to confirm that it was the woman next door. Was a morning walker so tempted by the apple that she had to have a bite? This is Eve all over again. What kind of curses will we be forced to endure by this forbidden fruit thief? Whoever it was may have started a whole new set of sins, that I, at the very least, will have to deal with.
Damn the luck!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
At Least She Ate It
I thought I was ready to talk about the Packers, but it turns out I'm still feeling pretty pissed off and betrayed. So, to get back into the blog swing, I present you with a cute, cuddly kitty story. Or not.
Mrs. Kisses has developed a diva syndrome. She is mad. She's the youngest. The only girl. The only fat one in the family. I think she's developed some issues because of some perceived injustices to her fragile ego. She doesn't eat wet food, so when I feed the old guys I don't even do a dish for her anymore. If she does happen to wander into the kitchen at breakfast time, I sometimes give her a few bites in a bowl of her own. She licks it, and walks away. Not interested in the food, but there's always the test of how much the momma loves her. She vies for the spot that Punkin has occupied for 15 years next to me in the bed. Yes, I shoo her away and pat my hand to a more appropriate place for her to lay her fat ass when we sleep. She usually concedes, but there are problems if Punkie is late to bed.
Are these valid gripes for the chubby one? I don't know, but she has certainly come up with plenty of tactics to combat these horrible actions. She uses some mean intimidation on the boys. They "play" but she bites--hard. She chases them. She kind of stalks them. Last night Punkie was doing that cat walk where they walk real slow and look straight ahead, hoping that the offending creature doesn't see them sidling away. It was kind of funny, but really pretty sad seeing him trying to get away from her. It made me wonder what she pulls when I'm not here. Mister Moo had a little knot of fur in the middle of his back. I was brushing it out when Mrs. Kisses noticed that Mister Moo was getting some attention with the brush. I alternated my efforts, but Mister Moo just ran away because he (apparently) didn't want to face the wrath of Misses Pisses in the aftermath of the attention he was receiving.
She's a bitch! Who knew?
So, today she must have thought she found the perfect way to leap into first place with the Momma. Mind you, she has NEVER brought me anything as the leader of the den. Punkie brings me toy mouses all the time. Mister Moo treads lightly around the outskirts of being part of the family, choosing to sleep on the floor in front of the couch instead of actually making the leap of faith to vie for a cozy spot on the couch. Mrs. Kisses chooses the best place and makes it her own. She generally acts like the Garfield cat around here. But, today! The door was propped open for the kitties to enjoy some inside-outside freedom on my day off, as usual. Sitting at the computer on the other side of the house, I heard a strange mewing. Punkie was in his favorite spot, Mister Moo was sprawled out in front of the stereo speakers like he usually is...Mrs. Kisses is making those noises??
I walked back to the hallway to see if a strange cat had entered through the open door. Mrs. Kisses was sitting in the middle of the hallway, standing proudly over something I couldn't see at the bottom of the stairs by the bathroom door. "Oh God, what do you have?" I asked her fearfully. She looked at me proudly. I carefully leaned over the steps to see what kind of horror she had brought in. It was a substantial little thing. I couldn't really see what it was, except I saw that it had wings and a heaving little blackish body. My first guess was a hummingbird, though I had no idea how she might have caught one! I went back to turn the hall light on for a better look. When I came back and looked, I could see it was something weird. Fatter than a dragonfly with shorter wings, but definitely not a hummingbird. (Whew)!!
I went to get my camera, which was plugged into the computer for some picture transfers. Of course it wouldn't turn on! I tried to get a picture of the weird bug that beast of a feline brought in to present to me, but the camera would not turn on! I stood there fighting with the camera, pleading it to turn on so I could capture Mrs. Kisses moment of glory--to no avail. Meanwhile, she ate the bug.
At least I didn't have to try to flick it out the door.
Mrs. Kisses has developed a diva syndrome. She is mad. She's the youngest. The only girl. The only fat one in the family. I think she's developed some issues because of some perceived injustices to her fragile ego. She doesn't eat wet food, so when I feed the old guys I don't even do a dish for her anymore. If she does happen to wander into the kitchen at breakfast time, I sometimes give her a few bites in a bowl of her own. She licks it, and walks away. Not interested in the food, but there's always the test of how much the momma loves her. She vies for the spot that Punkin has occupied for 15 years next to me in the bed. Yes, I shoo her away and pat my hand to a more appropriate place for her to lay her fat ass when we sleep. She usually concedes, but there are problems if Punkie is late to bed.
Are these valid gripes for the chubby one? I don't know, but she has certainly come up with plenty of tactics to combat these horrible actions. She uses some mean intimidation on the boys. They "play" but she bites--hard. She chases them. She kind of stalks them. Last night Punkie was doing that cat walk where they walk real slow and look straight ahead, hoping that the offending creature doesn't see them sidling away. It was kind of funny, but really pretty sad seeing him trying to get away from her. It made me wonder what she pulls when I'm not here. Mister Moo had a little knot of fur in the middle of his back. I was brushing it out when Mrs. Kisses noticed that Mister Moo was getting some attention with the brush. I alternated my efforts, but Mister Moo just ran away because he (apparently) didn't want to face the wrath of Misses Pisses in the aftermath of the attention he was receiving.
She's a bitch! Who knew?
So, today she must have thought she found the perfect way to leap into first place with the Momma. Mind you, she has NEVER brought me anything as the leader of the den. Punkie brings me toy mouses all the time. Mister Moo treads lightly around the outskirts of being part of the family, choosing to sleep on the floor in front of the couch instead of actually making the leap of faith to vie for a cozy spot on the couch. Mrs. Kisses chooses the best place and makes it her own. She generally acts like the Garfield cat around here. But, today! The door was propped open for the kitties to enjoy some inside-outside freedom on my day off, as usual. Sitting at the computer on the other side of the house, I heard a strange mewing. Punkie was in his favorite spot, Mister Moo was sprawled out in front of the stereo speakers like he usually is...Mrs. Kisses is making those noises??
I walked back to the hallway to see if a strange cat had entered through the open door. Mrs. Kisses was sitting in the middle of the hallway, standing proudly over something I couldn't see at the bottom of the stairs by the bathroom door. "Oh God, what do you have?" I asked her fearfully. She looked at me proudly. I carefully leaned over the steps to see what kind of horror she had brought in. It was a substantial little thing. I couldn't really see what it was, except I saw that it had wings and a heaving little blackish body. My first guess was a hummingbird, though I had no idea how she might have caught one! I went back to turn the hall light on for a better look. When I came back and looked, I could see it was something weird. Fatter than a dragonfly with shorter wings, but definitely not a hummingbird. (Whew)!!
I went to get my camera, which was plugged into the computer for some picture transfers. Of course it wouldn't turn on! I tried to get a picture of the weird bug that beast of a feline brought in to present to me, but the camera would not turn on! I stood there fighting with the camera, pleading it to turn on so I could capture Mrs. Kisses moment of glory--to no avail. Meanwhile, she ate the bug.
At least I didn't have to try to flick it out the door.
Friday, August 01, 2008
The Dad Day
I'm having kind of an unproductive week with the circus around Lambeau bringing me down. I'm infuriated over the front office of the Green Bay Packers. I'm bewildered by the amount of what is apparently ego and pride that is preventing the return of Brett Favre to the Packers. It's all very consuming if you let it be. And I let it be. In the midst of that all-consuming frustration and anger, I forgot a very important date yesterday.
It's not like five years ago when a big shooting star marked this day for me after an evening with my girlfriends who happily toasted with me. Nope, yesterday was all about listening to sports radio, ranting via this blog, and getting to work on time. After work, I got a call from my ex-husband. He didn't waste any time telling me his bad news. His dad, who he had a strained relationship with, died last night. We knew it would happen soon, so it wasn't really a big shock, but it is still a stark reality when it does happen.
Pa, as we called him, was always pretty good to me, even if he wasn't stellar with his son. We kept in touch after the divorce, just as I keep in touch with my ex-husband. I seldom burn any bridges, so it's not uncommon for me to remain part of that family. I still have their last name, and I still consider them to be part of my family. I'm sad to hear of the news of Milton's passing, but I realize that Pa had a very long life. We even chuckled a little during the short conversation since we both know that Pa escaped death several times. He battled colon cancer, and won. He survived a car crash that killed his wife. He had two hip replacements as a result of that crash, and has walked with a rod in his leg since then. I'm sure he used up a few other lives in the years before I knew him. There's the stories of him driving home (moons ago, of course) after being at the bar when a cop would pull him over and tell him that he shouldn't be driving. The cop would give him a ride home to make sure he made it safely. LOL, it's not that way anymore, is it?
So next week, I will assume the role of the wife of Dean once more, and be part of the family who will honor the patriarch. I'll survive the pseudo pleasantries with the sister I loathe. I'll banter with the youngest brother of my ex-husband with whom we always spent so much time. Perhaps his ex-wife will attend too--it's just that kind of family.
It was several hours after this phone call bearing the news of my father-in-law's death that I realized what July 31st also means to me! It was my dad's birthday yesterday. I can't believe it slipped from my memory. There are so many dates around this time of the year. Next Thursday is the anniversary of his death. Monday is the anniversary of my parents' wedding.
It occurred to me how odd it is that one dad died on another dad's birthday. Life is like that, I guess. And it happens in the midst of the other perceived dramas that play out in our mundane lives. Next week will bring a focus on dads again. It's good to remember where we came from and where we've been. For that, I thank those dads who have been in my life. I honor you today, tomorrow, next week, and forever.
Rest in peace, Pa. Rest in peace, Daddy.
It's not like five years ago when a big shooting star marked this day for me after an evening with my girlfriends who happily toasted with me. Nope, yesterday was all about listening to sports radio, ranting via this blog, and getting to work on time. After work, I got a call from my ex-husband. He didn't waste any time telling me his bad news. His dad, who he had a strained relationship with, died last night. We knew it would happen soon, so it wasn't really a big shock, but it is still a stark reality when it does happen.
Pa, as we called him, was always pretty good to me, even if he wasn't stellar with his son. We kept in touch after the divorce, just as I keep in touch with my ex-husband. I seldom burn any bridges, so it's not uncommon for me to remain part of that family. I still have their last name, and I still consider them to be part of my family. I'm sad to hear of the news of Milton's passing, but I realize that Pa had a very long life. We even chuckled a little during the short conversation since we both know that Pa escaped death several times. He battled colon cancer, and won. He survived a car crash that killed his wife. He had two hip replacements as a result of that crash, and has walked with a rod in his leg since then. I'm sure he used up a few other lives in the years before I knew him. There's the stories of him driving home (moons ago, of course) after being at the bar when a cop would pull him over and tell him that he shouldn't be driving. The cop would give him a ride home to make sure he made it safely. LOL, it's not that way anymore, is it?
So next week, I will assume the role of the wife of Dean once more, and be part of the family who will honor the patriarch. I'll survive the pseudo pleasantries with the sister I loathe. I'll banter with the youngest brother of my ex-husband with whom we always spent so much time. Perhaps his ex-wife will attend too--it's just that kind of family.
It was several hours after this phone call bearing the news of my father-in-law's death that I realized what July 31st also means to me! It was my dad's birthday yesterday. I can't believe it slipped from my memory. There are so many dates around this time of the year. Next Thursday is the anniversary of his death. Monday is the anniversary of my parents' wedding.
It occurred to me how odd it is that one dad died on another dad's birthday. Life is like that, I guess. And it happens in the midst of the other perceived dramas that play out in our mundane lives. Next week will bring a focus on dads again. It's good to remember where we came from and where we've been. For that, I thank those dads who have been in my life. I honor you today, tomorrow, next week, and forever.
Rest in peace, Pa. Rest in peace, Daddy.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Packer Management: My Rant
There's a hostage situation going on inside the walls of Lambeau Field that needs to be addressed. Facts from the last few days are emerging that must be presented to the Packer faithful. The thin (very thin) veil of cheerleading that the Packer brass has been showing the public has been revealed as complete fraud. I am outraged, to put it mildly, by the actions of those in charge of my team.
Let's recap how this situation has evolved. Brett Favre retired. He changed his mind. They welcomed him back, but he rescinded his un-retirement. Packers moved on with Aaron Rodgers. Fast forward several months, Brett changes his mind again. Okay--I get it. Brett waffled a bit. It happens. I wish it didn't, but it did. On the table now, we have Brett Favre wanting to return to his team. Packers tell its fans that Brett would be welcomed back into training camp. Here's the catch! Favre can come back to Green Bay, join the training camp, but he's told he will NOT be a starter and he will not be allowed to have an impact by actually playing. Management figures this will shut up the quarterback, make him stay home. When this doesn't deter the QB, Thompson makes a call and asks Favre to stay home a few days until they can get this figured out. [This means "give us a few days to get a trade in place so you don't actually show up, even though we are saying you are welcome here]. When a trade isn't working out to Thompson's liking, the Packers send the new CEO, Mark Murphy down to talk to Favre and his agent. This puts a very bright spotlight on the true intention of the Packers. Oh yes it does.
Let's look closely at this latest development. No matter what newspapers or sports shows are reporting about this trip to Hattiesburg by Murphy, any fool knows why the Packer president would go there. The Packers clearly do not want to see Brett Favre in Green Bay. It doesn't matter if they offered Favre 20 million to stay home, or if they are sucking it up to try a trade within the NFC North division, or if they are still saying they will not release him. No, none of those details really matter. What does count is the continued bullshit hard line the management keeps spouting about Brett Favre being welcome to come back, then doing every single thing it can to ensure that does not happen.
Fans should be outraged by their Green Bay Packers! What planets aligned to make the fans in Wisconsin so complacent about this? For myself, I am still bewildered and a little dizzy by the facts that are being brought to light on this fiasco. I feel small. What can one person do, right? Maybe there are some things we can do as fans. Let's think about this. Where can we make management hurt? We can boycott merchandise. We can choose not to go to games. If we do go to games, we can abstain from buying anything while we are at Lambeau. We can call the Packers!
920-569-7500
We can fax the Packers!
Administration: 920.569.7301
Public Relations: 920.569.7201
We can even write to them!
P.O. Box 10628
Green Bay, WI 54307-0628
Go to http://savebrett.net and sign the petition. Read the articles. Do the things they suggest to make our voices heard.
DO IT! Let's inundate them and let our voices be heard. What they are doing is absurd. This is positively wrong in every way. Brett Favre is the face of the Packers. He has been their bread and butter for a long, long time, and this is how they are repaying him? Why are they taking this stand against him??? I do not understand this. While Brett made some poor decisions about his retirement, we know that at least Brett makes his decisions from the heart. Why is there "Favre Watch" every year? Why does the media create a circus every year about his retirement? If he doesn't announce his retirement, why can't we assume he is going to play? Who in the hell decided that every year we have to wait and watch to see if Favre is going to retire? And why do we need to pressure him? If the Packers and the media would let him take his time off, I bet Brett Favre would recoup and come back without fanfare. GEEZ! Conversely, the Packer management team has consistently said one thing, but behind the scenes has fervently tried to ensure that the crap they are spouting publicly does NOT happen. What kind of bizzarro world are they living in? What kind of twilight zone have they dragged us into? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING??
This is not right. I am queasy over my beloved team. I told a friend of mine a couple of days ago that these outsiders who do not understand Wisconsin football are making decisions that are embarrassing and infuriating. I may boycott the Packers. I may be forced to become a NY Jets, or Minnesota Vikings, or Kiln, Mississippi fan if the Packers can't take their foot out of their mouth and get this thing right. Believe me, I have no expectation that the maestro of this mess, Ted Thompson, is going to back down any time soon. However, I can wish him all the bad luck in the world so that down the road, we can run him out of town on the high horse he came in on. He deserves nothing less than impeachment. Shame on Ted for his inability to understand. Shame on Mark Murphy for climbing on for the ride. And shame on Mike McCarthy for forgetting that the NFL is about competition, and getting the best athlete for the job in the starting position. And while I'm at it, shame on Goodell for accommodating the Packer's shoddy behavior by holding off on reinstatement.
This behavior is unforgivable. My faith is shattered. It's a sad, sad day that could forever change the Packer organization's place in its fans lives. The corporate bullshit and playground bullies that have emerged are going to ruin this team. Good for them. They've earned every slander and bad thing that comes their way. We will not forget how they have handled this. I call bullshit. Loudly.
Let's recap how this situation has evolved. Brett Favre retired. He changed his mind. They welcomed him back, but he rescinded his un-retirement. Packers moved on with Aaron Rodgers. Fast forward several months, Brett changes his mind again. Okay--I get it. Brett waffled a bit. It happens. I wish it didn't, but it did. On the table now, we have Brett Favre wanting to return to his team. Packers tell its fans that Brett would be welcomed back into training camp. Here's the catch! Favre can come back to Green Bay, join the training camp, but he's told he will NOT be a starter and he will not be allowed to have an impact by actually playing. Management figures this will shut up the quarterback, make him stay home. When this doesn't deter the QB, Thompson makes a call and asks Favre to stay home a few days until they can get this figured out. [This means "give us a few days to get a trade in place so you don't actually show up, even though we are saying you are welcome here]. When a trade isn't working out to Thompson's liking, the Packers send the new CEO, Mark Murphy down to talk to Favre and his agent. This puts a very bright spotlight on the true intention of the Packers. Oh yes it does.
Let's look closely at this latest development. No matter what newspapers or sports shows are reporting about this trip to Hattiesburg by Murphy, any fool knows why the Packer president would go there. The Packers clearly do not want to see Brett Favre in Green Bay. It doesn't matter if they offered Favre 20 million to stay home, or if they are sucking it up to try a trade within the NFC North division, or if they are still saying they will not release him. No, none of those details really matter. What does count is the continued bullshit hard line the management keeps spouting about Brett Favre being welcome to come back, then doing every single thing it can to ensure that does not happen.
Fans should be outraged by their Green Bay Packers! What planets aligned to make the fans in Wisconsin so complacent about this? For myself, I am still bewildered and a little dizzy by the facts that are being brought to light on this fiasco. I feel small. What can one person do, right? Maybe there are some things we can do as fans. Let's think about this. Where can we make management hurt? We can boycott merchandise. We can choose not to go to games. If we do go to games, we can abstain from buying anything while we are at Lambeau. We can call the Packers!
920-569-7500
We can fax the Packers!
Administration: 920.569.7301
Public Relations: 920.569.7201
We can even write to them!
P.O. Box 10628
Green Bay, WI 54307-0628
Go to http://savebrett.net and sign the petition. Read the articles. Do the things they suggest to make our voices heard.
DO IT! Let's inundate them and let our voices be heard. What they are doing is absurd. This is positively wrong in every way. Brett Favre is the face of the Packers. He has been their bread and butter for a long, long time, and this is how they are repaying him? Why are they taking this stand against him??? I do not understand this. While Brett made some poor decisions about his retirement, we know that at least Brett makes his decisions from the heart. Why is there "Favre Watch" every year? Why does the media create a circus every year about his retirement? If he doesn't announce his retirement, why can't we assume he is going to play? Who in the hell decided that every year we have to wait and watch to see if Favre is going to retire? And why do we need to pressure him? If the Packers and the media would let him take his time off, I bet Brett Favre would recoup and come back without fanfare. GEEZ! Conversely, the Packer management team has consistently said one thing, but behind the scenes has fervently tried to ensure that the crap they are spouting publicly does NOT happen. What kind of bizzarro world are they living in? What kind of twilight zone have they dragged us into? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING??
This is not right. I am queasy over my beloved team. I told a friend of mine a couple of days ago that these outsiders who do not understand Wisconsin football are making decisions that are embarrassing and infuriating. I may boycott the Packers. I may be forced to become a NY Jets, or Minnesota Vikings, or Kiln, Mississippi fan if the Packers can't take their foot out of their mouth and get this thing right. Believe me, I have no expectation that the maestro of this mess, Ted Thompson, is going to back down any time soon. However, I can wish him all the bad luck in the world so that down the road, we can run him out of town on the high horse he came in on. He deserves nothing less than impeachment. Shame on Ted for his inability to understand. Shame on Mark Murphy for climbing on for the ride. And shame on Mike McCarthy for forgetting that the NFL is about competition, and getting the best athlete for the job in the starting position. And while I'm at it, shame on Goodell for accommodating the Packer's shoddy behavior by holding off on reinstatement.
This behavior is unforgivable. My faith is shattered. It's a sad, sad day that could forever change the Packer organization's place in its fans lives. The corporate bullshit and playground bullies that have emerged are going to ruin this team. Good for them. They've earned every slander and bad thing that comes their way. We will not forget how they have handled this. I call bullshit. Loudly.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Going to Lambeau
I was privvy to attend the shareholder's meeting last week. I have to say that it's rather fun having this faux importance in the Green Bay Packers organization. Several futile attempts to have a companion attend with me were foiled by powers higher than me, so I traveled the road to Lambeau solo. The good part is that I went about my day at my own pace. The bad part is that I felt a little foolish traipsing among the other shareholders with me, myself, and I. Still...
Arriving at the stadium is always thrilling, game day or no game day. Lambeau is an amazing site. The building is gorgeous, the field is hallowed. The bleachers are stark hard metal. The names on the wall surrounding the bowl are icons in the National Football League and heroes to the Green Bay Packers. Being at Lambeau always brings a somber, joyful, stirring feeling in my soul. Thursday, that feeling was complicated by the latest Brett Favre conundrum. Not knowing how this scenario will play out is excruciating. Not knowing exactly how I feel about all the parties involved (and their crazy behaviors that make NO sense) muddied the usual giddy respect I feel when I approach the grandeur that is my football team's home.
We were given programs upon our entry through the gates. Mostly these programs had the fiscal information that they wanted us to see spread across two glossy 8x11 1/2 pages. There was a schedule for the day and a brief thank you with a lot of color and splash on the front and back covers. It's a festive 'state of the union' meeting. The Packer brass paraded out across Lambeau Field from the tunnel that usually brings us our game day heroes, and walked stoically to a tented stage with a lone podium. New president, Mark Murphy, made some opening remarks beginning by addressing the Favre situation without really saying anything. It sounded like this to me: "We know it's a sensitive blah blah blah and we want to find a compromise that pleases blah blah blah so we hope that you'll remain patient blah blah blah because we don't know wtf we're doing blah blah blah."
Yeah. That was it. Nice try at putting our hearts to rest about it. Let me just briefly say this. No matter what has happened in the last six months, what Brett Favre has given to and done for the Green Bay Packers in the last seventeen years should NOT be passed off as reason for even thinking trade. As shareholders, we were given the mission statement of the team and the goals of the franchise. They strive to re-sign their own players. (Then do it). They promise to make every attempt to win world championships by every move that they make. (WHO gives you the best chance to achieve that again?)!!
I am sickened by the prospect of an announcement this week that tells me Brett Favre has been traded to another NFL team. It's not right. Favre is the face of the Packers. Favre in another uniform is unthinkable; I don't care if it's a team we never play. If Favre is throwing a football, it should be for Green Bay. And yes! I am angry with Brett Favre. I am tired of Ted Thompson. Set it aside. And how about Mike McCarthy? Who does he want quarterbacking his next attempt at a SuperBowl? I don't even want to hear about how Aaron Rodgers is the man. He's not the man. He's not. You can't go to Lambeau and not feel all of this stuff swirling in the air. It was disconcerting, for sure.
The meeting progressed with Thompson (who indeed did get boo's, then a few standers who wanted to ovate him to make it up to him). Pffft. You could see on Thompson's face that he knew he was in trouble with some of the shareholders. He just walked taller and acted tougher. He's not backing down or going away. Damn. I saw a guy as the meeting started who wore a t-shirt claiming, "I'd rather have Favre than Thompson." Me too, buddy. Me too.
Mike McCarthy spoke. He was very Mike McCarthy-ish. Did you know the man cannot pronounce "the?" "Da team is working hard to prepare for da season ahead of us." Based on his acquiescence to Ted's demands, I'm beginning to think McCarthy needs a handler.
We then got the parade of directors giving their reports. Jason Wied is a card. Time actually flew. Around 11:30am, the meeting finally ended. Citgo commercials for game days were then filmed. Look for me to be raising my hand, saying, "Aye" when those gas station ads air on gameday.
I spent the next three hours roaming around a closed Lambeau Field. A tailgate party, the Hall of Fame (see that post below), a trip to the Packer Pro Shop for some stockholder-only merchandise (I got 10% off when I used my Packer checking debit card-woot), and general aimless wandering. I was trying to breathe in the wonder that is this great stadium. Still, I have to admit, there is a lonesome feeling being there with no Favre-who-wants-to-play on the horizon there.
When I left, hungry and a little sad, I turned around to take one last look at the stadium. It was my fervent hope that the God that Ted Thompson assured us the Packers' organization prays to in all things, would grant this place the grace to resolve the differences and bring our iconic quarterback to the place he belongs. If He doesn't, there will be hole in the world that shakes my faith in the green and gold. There were so many 'hold back the tears' moments in my day there, and I find that those tearful moments continue as the legend of Favre becomes tarnished by his own misdeeds.
There's a blue day coming. Lambeau as we once knew it is going to be forever changed by these ugly days ahead. I knew it on Thursday, and I feel it more today. Sometimes being a Packer fan isn't easy. Thank goodness for the boys of Summer to take ourselves away.
Arriving at the stadium is always thrilling, game day or no game day. Lambeau is an amazing site. The building is gorgeous, the field is hallowed. The bleachers are stark hard metal. The names on the wall surrounding the bowl are icons in the National Football League and heroes to the Green Bay Packers. Being at Lambeau always brings a somber, joyful, stirring feeling in my soul. Thursday, that feeling was complicated by the latest Brett Favre conundrum. Not knowing how this scenario will play out is excruciating. Not knowing exactly how I feel about all the parties involved (and their crazy behaviors that make NO sense) muddied the usual giddy respect I feel when I approach the grandeur that is my football team's home.
We were given programs upon our entry through the gates. Mostly these programs had the fiscal information that they wanted us to see spread across two glossy 8x11 1/2 pages. There was a schedule for the day and a brief thank you with a lot of color and splash on the front and back covers. It's a festive 'state of the union' meeting. The Packer brass paraded out across Lambeau Field from the tunnel that usually brings us our game day heroes, and walked stoically to a tented stage with a lone podium. New president, Mark Murphy, made some opening remarks beginning by addressing the Favre situation without really saying anything. It sounded like this to me: "We know it's a sensitive blah blah blah and we want to find a compromise that pleases blah blah blah so we hope that you'll remain patient blah blah blah because we don't know wtf we're doing blah blah blah."
Yeah. That was it. Nice try at putting our hearts to rest about it. Let me just briefly say this. No matter what has happened in the last six months, what Brett Favre has given to and done for the Green Bay Packers in the last seventeen years should NOT be passed off as reason for even thinking trade. As shareholders, we were given the mission statement of the team and the goals of the franchise. They strive to re-sign their own players. (Then do it). They promise to make every attempt to win world championships by every move that they make. (WHO gives you the best chance to achieve that again?)!!
I am sickened by the prospect of an announcement this week that tells me Brett Favre has been traded to another NFL team. It's not right. Favre is the face of the Packers. Favre in another uniform is unthinkable; I don't care if it's a team we never play. If Favre is throwing a football, it should be for Green Bay. And yes! I am angry with Brett Favre. I am tired of Ted Thompson. Set it aside. And how about Mike McCarthy? Who does he want quarterbacking his next attempt at a SuperBowl? I don't even want to hear about how Aaron Rodgers is the man. He's not the man. He's not. You can't go to Lambeau and not feel all of this stuff swirling in the air. It was disconcerting, for sure.
The meeting progressed with Thompson (who indeed did get boo's, then a few standers who wanted to ovate him to make it up to him). Pffft. You could see on Thompson's face that he knew he was in trouble with some of the shareholders. He just walked taller and acted tougher. He's not backing down or going away. Damn. I saw a guy as the meeting started who wore a t-shirt claiming, "I'd rather have Favre than Thompson." Me too, buddy. Me too.
Mike McCarthy spoke. He was very Mike McCarthy-ish. Did you know the man cannot pronounce "the?" "Da team is working hard to prepare for da season ahead of us." Based on his acquiescence to Ted's demands, I'm beginning to think McCarthy needs a handler.
We then got the parade of directors giving their reports. Jason Wied is a card. Time actually flew. Around 11:30am, the meeting finally ended. Citgo commercials for game days were then filmed. Look for me to be raising my hand, saying, "Aye" when those gas station ads air on gameday.
I spent the next three hours roaming around a closed Lambeau Field. A tailgate party, the Hall of Fame (see that post below), a trip to the Packer Pro Shop for some stockholder-only merchandise (I got 10% off when I used my Packer checking debit card-woot), and general aimless wandering. I was trying to breathe in the wonder that is this great stadium. Still, I have to admit, there is a lonesome feeling being there with no Favre-who-wants-to-play on the horizon there.
When I left, hungry and a little sad, I turned around to take one last look at the stadium. It was my fervent hope that the God that Ted Thompson assured us the Packers' organization prays to in all things, would grant this place the grace to resolve the differences and bring our iconic quarterback to the place he belongs. If He doesn't, there will be hole in the world that shakes my faith in the green and gold. There were so many 'hold back the tears' moments in my day there, and I find that those tearful moments continue as the legend of Favre becomes tarnished by his own misdeeds.
There's a blue day coming. Lambeau as we once knew it is going to be forever changed by these ugly days ahead. I knew it on Thursday, and I feel it more today. Sometimes being a Packer fan isn't easy. Thank goodness for the boys of Summer to take ourselves away.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Amazing Hall of Fame
And PLUS THERE'S THIS!!! This is a banner Packer Day!!! Celebrate!!!!
http://www.nfl.com/news/story?id=09000d5d809817f1&template=without-video&confirm=true&campaign=email_NL0725
http://www.nfl.com/news/story?id=09000d5d809817f1&template=without-video&confirm=true&campaign=email_NL0725
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Karma, Baby!
You reap what you sow, right? I'm not into Buddhism or anything, but I do think we all get paybacks for our deeds. I don't know who or what controls these rewards and punishments, but very often, these happen justly. I know it happened Sunday to a cranky woman I am forced to deal with often these days.
The woman who ran the place I work at now with her husband for many years is a widow. Her son runs the place. She still comes in to wield her power and find a purpose to get up, I suppose. I really don't have a problem with this. Except. Except, she feels the need to nitpick good employees who aren't doing anything wrong. Case in point: We are in the dining room and I am preparing water glasses at the wait station for my table of four. I'm going to get a tray to carry these glasses, but she feels the need to tell me how to do my job, just in case the previous 25 years I've been carrying trays of drinks wasn't fresh in my pea brain. "Use a tray. It looks better." No shit, Sherlock. I opt for a tray for the smallest delivery. I know it looks better. I like to look professional when I do my job, so I use a tray just about every time. It's actually easier to clear a four-top of its dinner plates without a tray, but I know how to clear and stack so it looks professional without a tray on that one. But I digress.
She was riding me like a Disney carousel on Sunday. We have two doors to the kitchen. One set is swinging saloon doors so you can see feet and head when you are going through. The other side is a solid swinging door with a window at eye level. I had a tray of five breakfasts going out. I did what I always do-I kicked the door open (not a hard kick, just enough to swing the door open long enough for me to get through it. We all do it this way). Don't you know that old witch was bent down right there below window viewing range. She shot up from her stooped position and gave me an evil look. Okay, what are you doing in front of the door on a busy Sunday morning? And why, in all of your infinite wisdom, do you not have a foot or hand extended to stop the door from hitting you? It is not rocket science to take this precaution. I have never stooped to pick up something dropped in front of a swinging door in a restaurant without taking the necessary precaution from being whacked by a door getting kicked open. Duh.
I apologized (two or three times) as she continued to glare at me. But I served those breakfast plates with a smug little smile. I also laughed on the way home. The powers that be thought she needed a swift kick in the ass, and she got it. Uh huh. Karma baby. You reap what you sow.
The woman who ran the place I work at now with her husband for many years is a widow. Her son runs the place. She still comes in to wield her power and find a purpose to get up, I suppose. I really don't have a problem with this. Except. Except, she feels the need to nitpick good employees who aren't doing anything wrong. Case in point: We are in the dining room and I am preparing water glasses at the wait station for my table of four. I'm going to get a tray to carry these glasses, but she feels the need to tell me how to do my job, just in case the previous 25 years I've been carrying trays of drinks wasn't fresh in my pea brain. "Use a tray. It looks better." No shit, Sherlock. I opt for a tray for the smallest delivery. I know it looks better. I like to look professional when I do my job, so I use a tray just about every time. It's actually easier to clear a four-top of its dinner plates without a tray, but I know how to clear and stack so it looks professional without a tray on that one. But I digress.
She was riding me like a Disney carousel on Sunday. We have two doors to the kitchen. One set is swinging saloon doors so you can see feet and head when you are going through. The other side is a solid swinging door with a window at eye level. I had a tray of five breakfasts going out. I did what I always do-I kicked the door open (not a hard kick, just enough to swing the door open long enough for me to get through it. We all do it this way). Don't you know that old witch was bent down right there below window viewing range. She shot up from her stooped position and gave me an evil look. Okay, what are you doing in front of the door on a busy Sunday morning? And why, in all of your infinite wisdom, do you not have a foot or hand extended to stop the door from hitting you? It is not rocket science to take this precaution. I have never stooped to pick up something dropped in front of a swinging door in a restaurant without taking the necessary precaution from being whacked by a door getting kicked open. Duh.
I apologized (two or three times) as she continued to glare at me. But I served those breakfast plates with a smug little smile. I also laughed on the way home. The powers that be thought she needed a swift kick in the ass, and she got it. Uh huh. Karma baby. You reap what you sow.
Monday, July 07, 2008
They're Doing it Again
I have this knack for choosing products that don't stick around. I wish I had kept a list of the wonderfully fragranced items I've fallen in love with, only to have the manufacturer of said product discontinue it. Let's see, there was a great bubble bath that I loved to soak in that was probably the first time I was disappointed. There was a mascara, and several shampoo/conditioner combos that vanished. I just went on a buying frenzy for my favorite bubble bath (a new favorite one since the first favorite one is long gone!) that is being changed. Lavender chamomile is not lavender! Why are they changing it?? I have enough to take me through the winter bathing season. :)
And now the recent discovery of yet another discontinued product! Arrggghhh! Avon made a fragrance for a brief time called "Clean Cotton." I searched in vain for any bottle of this nectar. Regional representatives, local dealers, clearance catalogs, online website....to no avail. Other dealers would jump to be my hero and make calls because they were "in the loop" and sure they could find me some Clean Cotton. Never happened, folks. My rescue came in the form of a birthday gift from my mom. Yippee! "Cotton Blossoms" from Bath and Body Works was a nice replacement.
And now.
Now they quit making it. They've CHANGED it. Now it's "Sea Island Cotton" which is not the same as the original Cotton Blossoms that I cherished. The new stuff isn't awful. It's just not "my" stuff. Here's the description of the original:
# Fragrance Top Notes: Sun Dried Linen Accord, Grass, Mandarin Blossom
# Fragrance Mid Notes: Jeans Accord, Peony, Cotton
# Fragrance Base Notes: Musk, Baby Powder
Here's the new stuff:
# Fragrance Top Notes: Fresh Bright Floral Accord, Clean Cotton Accord, Drenched Air Accord, Fresh Linen Effect, Wet Green Pear, Blood Orange, Tangerine
# Fragrance Mid Notes: White Muguet, Crisp Orange Flower, Watery Cyclamen, White Freesia, Cotton Blossom Headspace, Dewy Jasmine
# Fragrance Base Notes: Clean Powder, White Musk, Sandalwood, Vanilla Absolute
You see? They added a bunch of crap to change how it smells. It's no longer the simple fragrance I loved to wear in the summer. Pssshhh. Sure, they have a few closeout items, but now I'm back to the drawing board on my long-term wear.
I guess companies could hire me to love their competitor's products to ensure that they won't be long-lasting competitors. But frankly, I'm tired of replacing my favorite blush, mascara, shampoo, fragrance, even candles. I have a real knack for this kind of thing. Sheesh. I wish I was better at something other than choosing loser products.
And now the recent discovery of yet another discontinued product! Arrggghhh! Avon made a fragrance for a brief time called "Clean Cotton." I searched in vain for any bottle of this nectar. Regional representatives, local dealers, clearance catalogs, online website....to no avail. Other dealers would jump to be my hero and make calls because they were "in the loop" and sure they could find me some Clean Cotton. Never happened, folks. My rescue came in the form of a birthday gift from my mom. Yippee! "Cotton Blossoms" from Bath and Body Works was a nice replacement.
And now.
Now they quit making it. They've CHANGED it. Now it's "Sea Island Cotton" which is not the same as the original Cotton Blossoms that I cherished. The new stuff isn't awful. It's just not "my" stuff. Here's the description of the original:
# Fragrance Top Notes: Sun Dried Linen Accord, Grass, Mandarin Blossom
# Fragrance Mid Notes: Jeans Accord, Peony, Cotton
# Fragrance Base Notes: Musk, Baby Powder
Here's the new stuff:
# Fragrance Top Notes: Fresh Bright Floral Accord, Clean Cotton Accord, Drenched Air Accord, Fresh Linen Effect, Wet Green Pear, Blood Orange, Tangerine
# Fragrance Mid Notes: White Muguet, Crisp Orange Flower, Watery Cyclamen, White Freesia, Cotton Blossom Headspace, Dewy Jasmine
# Fragrance Base Notes: Clean Powder, White Musk, Sandalwood, Vanilla Absolute
You see? They added a bunch of crap to change how it smells. It's no longer the simple fragrance I loved to wear in the summer. Pssshhh. Sure, they have a few closeout items, but now I'm back to the drawing board on my long-term wear.
I guess companies could hire me to love their competitor's products to ensure that they won't be long-lasting competitors. But frankly, I'm tired of replacing my favorite blush, mascara, shampoo, fragrance, even candles. I have a real knack for this kind of thing. Sheesh. I wish I was better at something other than choosing loser products.
Friday, July 04, 2008
My Two Cents
The rumor mill is churning. Brett Favre has the itch to come back and play football. No, he doesn't. Yes, he does. No, he doesn't. Scott Favre says his brother's return is a 50-50 prospect. Brett Favre texts a Mississippi newspaper to say it's all rumor. Why has he apparently been throwing a football and working out at a high school near Hattiesburg?
I can't tell you the angst this new prospect brings up in me. I don't want Brett Favre to come back. (I KNOW, right?)!!! I mean, I would love to see Brett Favre play football, but I can't bear what his return would do to my heart. He just broke my heart in March. Now he's going to mend it because he's going to miss the game? No. He's not going to fill the empty place he left when he announced his retirement. If he comes back, he's going to fill me with anger and resentment for letting me believe that he was gone, only to wave his hand and yell, "Psych!" I would question his character a little if he was that willing to push us onto that roller coaster. He can't wipe us out emotionally by retiring, then come back and ask us to click-clack our way up to the peak of the tracks again for another 100 foot drop and loopity-loop. I can't get on that ride again. I'll be so disappointed if he tricked us like that.
It's not just the the issue of how us fans will feel if he comes back. I don't want him to come back and be just okay. I don't want him to be a second string quarterback. I don't want him to get hurt on the field and have to leave the game under those circumstances. I don't want him to become a wannabe. And most of all, I don't want to see Brett Favre in colors that are not Packer's. If Favre plays for another team, that will be the biggest slap in the face I could imagine.
I understand that it is anyone's right to change his/her mind. I could possibly forgive the hurried or unclear decision he made back in March after a grueling season that ended in great disappointment. I understand the dynamics of all that is going on here. I really do. There's such a multi-layered set of circumstances to be picked through and mulled over. I have to tell you though, it's killing me.
Perhaps the most unsettling part of this equation is the team leaders of this great quarterback's glory. I'll go so far as to narrow it down to just Ted Thompson since his thin veil of support for Favre is so sheer that he may as well be naked. Ted Thompson wanted Brett Favre gone years ago. Yes, I believe this. Thompson has been biding the time to see Brett leave. There's reports about Favre "needing to be needed." There's rumors of behind-the-scenes discussions where Ted slaps Brett on the back and chortles with him about both their tenures at Lombardi Avenue. Blah, blah, blah! [Fictional scenario there]! Ted has done a poor job of welcoming the man who brought national attention back on the Packers. Maybe Ted doesn't care about the far-reaching popularity of the Packers because the local fans support them just dandy. What Ted fails to realize is that he is dissing the man that so many fans have come to love like he is part of their families. Brett Favre is everyman. Brett Favre is down-to-earth, lovable, human, tragic, fun, exciting. Brett Favre is the epitome of good football. Shame on Ted for contributing to this mess in such a large way.
If it's true that Favre wants to return to the National Football League, then it's up to Ted Thompson to make one of three decisions: 1) "Welcome" Brett back to the Packers. 2) Trade Brett. 3) Release Brett.
That's not a pretty equation no matter how you add it up! There's a 12 million dollar differential to contend with if Brett comes back. The Packers have spent that salary cap money. They've also been grooming the Big Mouth Rodgers (who is not making any strides on winning fans over to his camp with his cocky comments). Given Rodgers egotistical attitude, I think I'd like Brett Favre at the helm again, thank you. I do hope that if the Packers turn Brett down (which seems to be what has happened), that Brett Favre has the sense (and I do believe he does) to stay retired and let this rumor die.
This whole situation makes my stomach queasy. Leave it to Brett Favre to spice it up! I love the man, but I have some sincere reservations about his return to football. I guess what it comes down to is that I will feel like he was playing with my emotions when he retired. I'm sticking to my gut instinct. Yep, I'm going out on a limb against what every other sports reporter seems to know already, and saying Brett Favre isn't taking any snaps this year. Know why I say that? I say that because Brett Favre is a stand-up guy and he's gonna stick to his guns. (Gunslingers do that). If I'm wrong, Brett Favre isn't the man I thought he was.
I can't tell you the angst this new prospect brings up in me. I don't want Brett Favre to come back. (I KNOW, right?)!!! I mean, I would love to see Brett Favre play football, but I can't bear what his return would do to my heart. He just broke my heart in March. Now he's going to mend it because he's going to miss the game? No. He's not going to fill the empty place he left when he announced his retirement. If he comes back, he's going to fill me with anger and resentment for letting me believe that he was gone, only to wave his hand and yell, "Psych!" I would question his character a little if he was that willing to push us onto that roller coaster. He can't wipe us out emotionally by retiring, then come back and ask us to click-clack our way up to the peak of the tracks again for another 100 foot drop and loopity-loop. I can't get on that ride again. I'll be so disappointed if he tricked us like that.
It's not just the the issue of how us fans will feel if he comes back. I don't want him to come back and be just okay. I don't want him to be a second string quarterback. I don't want him to get hurt on the field and have to leave the game under those circumstances. I don't want him to become a wannabe. And most of all, I don't want to see Brett Favre in colors that are not Packer's. If Favre plays for another team, that will be the biggest slap in the face I could imagine.
I understand that it is anyone's right to change his/her mind. I could possibly forgive the hurried or unclear decision he made back in March after a grueling season that ended in great disappointment. I understand the dynamics of all that is going on here. I really do. There's such a multi-layered set of circumstances to be picked through and mulled over. I have to tell you though, it's killing me.
Perhaps the most unsettling part of this equation is the team leaders of this great quarterback's glory. I'll go so far as to narrow it down to just Ted Thompson since his thin veil of support for Favre is so sheer that he may as well be naked. Ted Thompson wanted Brett Favre gone years ago. Yes, I believe this. Thompson has been biding the time to see Brett leave. There's reports about Favre "needing to be needed." There's rumors of behind-the-scenes discussions where Ted slaps Brett on the back and chortles with him about both their tenures at Lombardi Avenue. Blah, blah, blah! [Fictional scenario there]! Ted has done a poor job of welcoming the man who brought national attention back on the Packers. Maybe Ted doesn't care about the far-reaching popularity of the Packers because the local fans support them just dandy. What Ted fails to realize is that he is dissing the man that so many fans have come to love like he is part of their families. Brett Favre is everyman. Brett Favre is down-to-earth, lovable, human, tragic, fun, exciting. Brett Favre is the epitome of good football. Shame on Ted for contributing to this mess in such a large way.
If it's true that Favre wants to return to the National Football League, then it's up to Ted Thompson to make one of three decisions: 1) "Welcome" Brett back to the Packers. 2) Trade Brett. 3) Release Brett.
That's not a pretty equation no matter how you add it up! There's a 12 million dollar differential to contend with if Brett comes back. The Packers have spent that salary cap money. They've also been grooming the Big Mouth Rodgers (who is not making any strides on winning fans over to his camp with his cocky comments). Given Rodgers egotistical attitude, I think I'd like Brett Favre at the helm again, thank you. I do hope that if the Packers turn Brett down (which seems to be what has happened), that Brett Favre has the sense (and I do believe he does) to stay retired and let this rumor die.
This whole situation makes my stomach queasy. Leave it to Brett Favre to spice it up! I love the man, but I have some sincere reservations about his return to football. I guess what it comes down to is that I will feel like he was playing with my emotions when he retired. I'm sticking to my gut instinct. Yep, I'm going out on a limb against what every other sports reporter seems to know already, and saying Brett Favre isn't taking any snaps this year. Know why I say that? I say that because Brett Favre is a stand-up guy and he's gonna stick to his guns. (Gunslingers do that). If I'm wrong, Brett Favre isn't the man I thought he was.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Did She Really Just Say That?
I ran to the Dollar Store for paper towels today. While I waited five minutes for the new cashier to check out the five items the lady ahead of me had, I was entertained by the lady's unruly children who were sticking their hands up the bubble gum machine, whining about wanting a quarter, and unsticking push pins holding up ads on the cork board. Oh, the joy.
When the slow woman attending the cash register finally started ringing up my three items, I was a little worn by the previous few minutes of waiting and watching such lame behavior. When the rocket scientist announced my total, "$9.76" I handed her my twenty dollar bill, and said, "Oh, just wait, I have a penny."
TO WHICH SHE REPLIED, "Oh, I already rang it up. I don't know how to go backwards on this."
What? It was all I could do to ask her if she knew how to add a penny to twenty-four cents to give me back a quarter with my ten dollar bill in change. She actually paused the transaction to ask me if that was okay. What? If it's not okay she's going to call a manager over to start the transaction over again?!?
Man! I expect this kind of blundering with cash from high school kids who have had computers, calculators, and adding machines do all of their arithmetic, but not from a woman my own age! I get that she is new. I get that she was nervous. I don't get how your brain freezes up so much that you can't realize that a penny added to twenty-four cents would give a customer back a quarter. And I don't believe that giving a customer change other than what is rung up is against the rules. It's a small town dollar store, for crying out loud. Plus, I've had other cashiers there give me quarters when I handed them a penny belatedly in the transaction.
I'm disappointed.
When the slow woman attending the cash register finally started ringing up my three items, I was a little worn by the previous few minutes of waiting and watching such lame behavior. When the rocket scientist announced my total, "$9.76" I handed her my twenty dollar bill, and said, "Oh, just wait, I have a penny."
TO WHICH SHE REPLIED, "Oh, I already rang it up. I don't know how to go backwards on this."
What? It was all I could do to ask her if she knew how to add a penny to twenty-four cents to give me back a quarter with my ten dollar bill in change. She actually paused the transaction to ask me if that was okay. What? If it's not okay she's going to call a manager over to start the transaction over again?!?
Man! I expect this kind of blundering with cash from high school kids who have had computers, calculators, and adding machines do all of their arithmetic, but not from a woman my own age! I get that she is new. I get that she was nervous. I don't get how your brain freezes up so much that you can't realize that a penny added to twenty-four cents would give a customer back a quarter. And I don't believe that giving a customer change other than what is rung up is against the rules. It's a small town dollar store, for crying out loud. Plus, I've had other cashiers there give me quarters when I handed them a penny belatedly in the transaction.
I'm disappointed.
Ten Things to Smile About
1. Last night was a complete bust at work. The saving smile is that the best server ever took us out for pizza. It was rewarding to be invited out. The college kids at corporate half-heartedly invited me out a few times, but they never meant it.
2. I have a date for dinner tonight--with my family. We have become a strong family over the last few years, and I'm glad that we are making time to break bread together. We have had a very difficult '08 with life-changing events. Supporting my mom is important. I'm grateful to have these plans.
3. The music on the radio and in my cd player lifts my mood daily. My stereo is virtually always on. I don't know where I'd be without my music. Thank you to all the great musicians who fill my world with happiness.
4. I got my inheritance! I shopped carefully and am now the owner of a 32" LCD television. Having a tv that works so great is a blessing. I even hooked up my stereo speakers to the new tv. It's not a home theater, but it's nice. It feels like a great luxury has been bestowed upon me. A small gift of cash will be given to my mom tonight, too. The rest of the money is going into a money market to be my safety net for panic time when it looks like I can't make ends meet. How nice to have that cushion.
5. My mechanic finally scheduled the repair for my parking lot bumps from the winter. How cool is it that the gal who hit me left a note and her insurance company is covering this repair? I can't wait to have an unblemished car again!
6. It's summer! The windows are thrown open and a beautiful floral scent wafts through with each breeze. This is something I will never take for granted. Thank you to my landlord and all of my neighbors for planting such wonderful flowers.
7. I am shipping an autographed Packer football to my best friend who is stressing over her new manager position. She just moved there 10 months ago to escape a bad marriage and make a fresh start. Starting over is hard. This gift from home will make her smile. And that makes me smile.
8. My kitties are all happy (and healthy again, thanks to a wallet-zapping visit to the vet). But having them wandering around the house happily is a joy to me. I love my kitteh babies.
9. I got my tickets to the Packer Stockholder's meeting! I've always 'said' I was going to go, but this year I really am going to go. I'll have a free Packer Hall of Fame tour and an opportunity to buy some stockholder-only Packer merchandise. And I get to go to Lambeau Field and fill my heart with all things Packer. YAY!
10. The trains are back!! How I've missed the affirming whistle of a train. I don't think the trains are all running, but I hear train whistles.
Life is good. Life....is....good.
2. I have a date for dinner tonight--with my family. We have become a strong family over the last few years, and I'm glad that we are making time to break bread together. We have had a very difficult '08 with life-changing events. Supporting my mom is important. I'm grateful to have these plans.
3. The music on the radio and in my cd player lifts my mood daily. My stereo is virtually always on. I don't know where I'd be without my music. Thank you to all the great musicians who fill my world with happiness.
4. I got my inheritance! I shopped carefully and am now the owner of a 32" LCD television. Having a tv that works so great is a blessing. I even hooked up my stereo speakers to the new tv. It's not a home theater, but it's nice. It feels like a great luxury has been bestowed upon me. A small gift of cash will be given to my mom tonight, too. The rest of the money is going into a money market to be my safety net for panic time when it looks like I can't make ends meet. How nice to have that cushion.
5. My mechanic finally scheduled the repair for my parking lot bumps from the winter. How cool is it that the gal who hit me left a note and her insurance company is covering this repair? I can't wait to have an unblemished car again!
6. It's summer! The windows are thrown open and a beautiful floral scent wafts through with each breeze. This is something I will never take for granted. Thank you to my landlord and all of my neighbors for planting such wonderful flowers.
7. I am shipping an autographed Packer football to my best friend who is stressing over her new manager position. She just moved there 10 months ago to escape a bad marriage and make a fresh start. Starting over is hard. This gift from home will make her smile. And that makes me smile.
8. My kitties are all happy (and healthy again, thanks to a wallet-zapping visit to the vet). But having them wandering around the house happily is a joy to me. I love my kitteh babies.
9. I got my tickets to the Packer Stockholder's meeting! I've always 'said' I was going to go, but this year I really am going to go. I'll have a free Packer Hall of Fame tour and an opportunity to buy some stockholder-only Packer merchandise. And I get to go to Lambeau Field and fill my heart with all things Packer. YAY!
10. The trains are back!! How I've missed the affirming whistle of a train. I don't think the trains are all running, but I hear train whistles.
Life is good. Life....is....good.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The Change is Back!
I am the consummate frugal one. I buy most of my clothes from 50-85% off racks or the Goodwill/St Vincent De Paul stores. I love shoes and jeans, especially because they are worn in and ready to wear! I buy my groceries according to what's on sale, and don't buy what's too expensive. I routinely keep my eye out on every gas station from here to work to choose the cheapest gas at any given time. (They really change a lot, and no one gas station is really always the lowest). I use coupons when I can. I have saver cards for several grocery stores and other retailers I frequent. And I stock up on items when they are on sale so I'm good to go when I run out so there's no overpaying for those shampoos and hand creams. I also save my change in a big old gallon Carlos Rossi wine jug that I got from an Easter celebration eons ago when my father-in-law brought the wine.
Working for corporate requires that we tow the line in many facets of our business. The one area where they were lax was rounding up or down on dollar amounts. I think this is because at corporate, we are required to provide our own bank. A reading at the end of the night tells us what to remit to the banker. What we have left after that is what we made for our shift. The result of this procedure is that most of my coworkers give their customers a rounded up amount of change, since they carry no change. I was also trained to round up for over fifty cents and down for under fifty cents when turning in my remittance to the banker. Being the detail person I am, this always bothered me, but it's the way we do it there. This left no treat for the wine jug.
The new place has us take our tickets with payment to our bartender to cash out. Sometimes people say, "Keep the change." The change is back! It's such a silly thing, but it makes me happy. Consider this. Filling the Rossi jug netted me and my ex an added $400 for our Bahama vacation. I went para-sailing and we had several outings away from our all-inclusive resort with this extra money. I've turned in my jug of change for extra Christmas cash. I left the ex-boyfriend $225 and had that much myself to put toward my long trip home when leaving California. The change has provided for some much needed cash in low times when I'm barely squeaking by, and has given me extra spending money when I vacationed. The green gallon holds about $500 when full. It takes me about a year to fill. That's a nice little treasure. You can see why I'm so excited that the change is back! Working as a waitress usually means lots of dollar bills and quarters, dimes, nickels. It's funny to me that corporate even took away that little joy. Proof positive that I'm not cut out for that way of serving. Give me the old, give me the traditional.
There was another nice change last night. The boss was finishing his shift as the evening was starting. Waiting at the bar for some drinks, he was standing next to the service station. He looked at me and said these words:
"I watched you last week, and I wanted to tell you that you really do a nice job. Your tableside manner is really great. You're very conscientious about filling waters and taking plates--taking good care of your customers. I really appreciate that." I told him thank you, and that I've been doing this a long time, and I try to treat my tables like I'd like to be treated, blah, blah, blah. He continued with, "Yeah, that shows. You're very good at this." I was feeling pretty good at that point. Before he left he asked me if I worked tomorrow (this morning). As I started to say no, he said, "Oh, no you're not on Sundays. I'll take care of that for you." Sundays are one of the best days at the new place. :) I'm impressed that he noticed I'm not on the schedule and that he thinks enough of me to want me on the "good" days. The change is back!
Working for corporate requires that we tow the line in many facets of our business. The one area where they were lax was rounding up or down on dollar amounts. I think this is because at corporate, we are required to provide our own bank. A reading at the end of the night tells us what to remit to the banker. What we have left after that is what we made for our shift. The result of this procedure is that most of my coworkers give their customers a rounded up amount of change, since they carry no change. I was also trained to round up for over fifty cents and down for under fifty cents when turning in my remittance to the banker. Being the detail person I am, this always bothered me, but it's the way we do it there. This left no treat for the wine jug.
The new place has us take our tickets with payment to our bartender to cash out. Sometimes people say, "Keep the change." The change is back! It's such a silly thing, but it makes me happy. Consider this. Filling the Rossi jug netted me and my ex an added $400 for our Bahama vacation. I went para-sailing and we had several outings away from our all-inclusive resort with this extra money. I've turned in my jug of change for extra Christmas cash. I left the ex-boyfriend $225 and had that much myself to put toward my long trip home when leaving California. The change has provided for some much needed cash in low times when I'm barely squeaking by, and has given me extra spending money when I vacationed. The green gallon holds about $500 when full. It takes me about a year to fill. That's a nice little treasure. You can see why I'm so excited that the change is back! Working as a waitress usually means lots of dollar bills and quarters, dimes, nickels. It's funny to me that corporate even took away that little joy. Proof positive that I'm not cut out for that way of serving. Give me the old, give me the traditional.
There was another nice change last night. The boss was finishing his shift as the evening was starting. Waiting at the bar for some drinks, he was standing next to the service station. He looked at me and said these words:
"I watched you last week, and I wanted to tell you that you really do a nice job. Your tableside manner is really great. You're very conscientious about filling waters and taking plates--taking good care of your customers. I really appreciate that." I told him thank you, and that I've been doing this a long time, and I try to treat my tables like I'd like to be treated, blah, blah, blah. He continued with, "Yeah, that shows. You're very good at this." I was feeling pretty good at that point. Before he left he asked me if I worked tomorrow (this morning). As I started to say no, he said, "Oh, no you're not on Sundays. I'll take care of that for you." Sundays are one of the best days at the new place. :) I'm impressed that he noticed I'm not on the schedule and that he thinks enough of me to want me on the "good" days. The change is back!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Centipede in a House
Yesterday a centipede came zigzagging its way across my wall by my computer. These things freak me out! The only bug worse than a centipede is a hairy spider. But apparently, the wet weather has even the moisture-loving creepies moving upward. It takes everything out of me to remove these things from my home. I'm so scared of them, in fact, that I whined to my landlord about them. He brought me some spray that he thought would take care of the issue.
When this thing appeared, I ran for the new and improved spray from the landlord. I climbed up on my desk chair, got stable, aimed, and sprayed. It ran faster. I sprayed furiously. It finally dropped onto the radiator, but ran off of it into the corner and fell onto the carpet where I couldn't see it since I would have had to crawl under my desk to view it. I stood on the chair, shaking and cussing the bad luck. What was I gonna do now?
Before I could figure out an answer, it came screaming out of the corner toward my chair like a bat out of hell. I sprayed it some more. It finally stopped moving next to my chair. I crept gingerly out of my chair, away from the creature and went to the kitchen to get another spray. I just didn't trust that this thing was dead. After a good dousing with one of my own killer sprays, I went in search of something to scoop up the body. I peered into cupboards with my mind reeling. A cookie sheet? A spatula and a big tall see-through glass? A bowl? A magazine card and an ashtray?
Standing at the kitchen table with a spoon and small plate, still twitching from the fear of it all, I looked over to the spot of the death. The centipede was GONE!!! OMG!! Where did it go?? It was racing toward the couch. I actually had to move the couch so it couldn't get under there and completely keep me off of my luxury sofa for another month. I got the Windex and sprayed it with that. I got the cheapo spray I got from the Dollar Store and sprayed it with that. I sprayed it again with the stuff from the landlord. I stood above the monster and watched to see if it was twitching, or breathing, or plotting its next escape. Holy shit.
Finally, I decided that I wanted to know if it was really dead. I got a deli container with a lid. After about four tries, I got the body shoved into the container with the lid. I secured the lid and carried it away from my body to the garbage area. I gingerly set it on the floor where it couldn't scare me every time I walked into the kitchen. After awhile, I got to thinking that I really wouldn't know if it had moved without marking the spot on the container where it currently resided. Picking it back up carefully, I took a marker and put a line on either side of the giant bug thing. Having done that, I thought it looked pretty plain so I drew it its very own little house, complete with a chimney (but no smoke coming out of it). I think the fumes of the combined sprays along with the heat of the day yesterday had me a little woozy.
I think I'll keep the little house container and use it as a cemetery for the others who think they want to live here. Maybe I should put up a warning sign for them too.
Beware of Owner with Multiple Spray Bottles
Please don't let anymore of those scary things invade my living room. ACK!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Married!
Editorial note: For those who don't know, I went on a few dates with the man who does maintenance for my landlord. It came to light a few weeks ago that he may, in fact, be married. Last night I got my confirmation. Here's the blog where I talked about dating him and dealing with him again.
http://packergurlsez.blogspot.com/2008/06/maintenance-man-and-mermaid.html]
The verdict is in, soap opera fans! I got this email from Downstairs Neighbor last night.
"[Landlord] was here and delivered your new dryer = DPMM rang my doorbell and asked if they could take dryer through my garage.. But the big news is that when I went out to direct DPMM - there was a woman sitting on the steps so I said Hey -DPMM said this is my wife [Head in Ass] _ I said Nice to meet you and that was the end of our conversation. She went to DPMM's car - DPMM and I talked about the basement - [Landlord] arrived with the dryer - They unloaded and everyone left.. So what do you think about that??? OH wronged one..
Oh wow.
This man is a snake. Somehow, I really thought there was going to end up being some separation or other valid reason for him to think he could date somebody and not get found out in a town of less than 5,000. Unbelievable. You know what they say about paybacks? This loser has some real bad karma coming his way. Does he even know?? He is dumber than I gave him credit for--that's all I can say about this right now.
http://packergurlsez.blogspot.com/2008/06/maintenance-man-and-mermaid.html]
The verdict is in, soap opera fans! I got this email from Downstairs Neighbor last night.
"[Landlord] was here and delivered your new dryer = DPMM rang my doorbell and asked if they could take dryer through my garage.. But the big news is that when I went out to direct DPMM - there was a woman sitting on the steps so I said Hey -DPMM said this is my wife [Head in Ass] _ I said Nice to meet you and that was the end of our conversation. She went to DPMM's car - DPMM and I talked about the basement - [Landlord] arrived with the dryer - They unloaded and everyone left.. So what do you think about that??? OH wronged one..
Oh wow.
This man is a snake. Somehow, I really thought there was going to end up being some separation or other valid reason for him to think he could date somebody and not get found out in a town of less than 5,000. Unbelievable. You know what they say about paybacks? This loser has some real bad karma coming his way. Does he even know?? He is dumber than I gave him credit for--that's all I can say about this right now.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Settling
When I started my new job last week, it felt a little like settling, yet again! After a week of serving under my belt, it feels more like I'm settling into a routine that could be pretty good. It's not like it was a fantastic week with tons of money being made, but taking into account that this is the slowest time of the year, this could be a nice gig.
When we last saw our heroine, she was struggling with the low paying nights and figuring out how to approach the scheduling masters she has to appease. An awkward ten minute chat with Fluffers netted an acquiescence by your normally intimidating serving hero. See, Fluffers has the dilemma of being down three servers so there are major gaps in the schedule. She needs the mighty Suz to fill in and kick ass, take names, sling hash to the customers. I have an idea for that schedule. Quit overstaffing and let us make some money!
Saturday night was slow, but it still made for a decent night. I got to meet my nemesis. I thought she was going to be cool. She's not. She's defensive and likes to point out the obvious while not actually doing those things she expects you to do. I have struggled with what to name her. In trying to describe her, I told one friend this: "You know how they say someone looks like 40 miles of bad highway? Well, she looks like 60 miles of bad highway." Then, while telling my friend who got me into this job about her over a cigarette out back, he said this: "She runs into people all the time and then tells them they need to watch where they're going. She's okay though. You'll get used to her."
I don't want to get used to her.
"She comes off bitchy, but she's really not." Pause. "She is skanky though," he said, wrinkling up his nose. That's the word!! She is skanky! For now, I'm going to skip my stories of woe with her. I'll monitor her attitude and record every transgression for a later blog. Let's just say, she had me shaking with anger, and she will not be forgiven easily. My buddy confirmed that she is a bad server. She's been there for years, and still has never been moved over to the front dining room. Girls who started in December are already promoted to the front dining room. Remember this information about Skanky when I talk about her again.
Sunday brought a carnival of fun. I was scheduled for my final training shift to learn the breakfast routine, which, by the way, is HUGE on Sundays. I woke up before my alarm. Amazing. I arrived to work on time, thanks in large part to the joyful surprise of finding most of the stoplights blinking yellow in the early Sunday a.m. I made exactly one stop in over four miles of avenue traffic lights. I was in a good mood about that when I arrived five minutes early.
The boss (the owner) greeted me after I'd punched in. I told him not to take it personally if I wasn't chatty, as I am not much of a morning person. He gave me a hearty, "Get some coffee!" with a cheerful note in his voice. A few minutes later he told me I might have to take a few tables. I thought that was cool, since I can make more money actually waiting on people than I can following someone on a training wage. That 'take a few tables' turned into 'here's your section, I'll try not to slam you.' Whee.
By 9:30 am we were starting to fill up. Before I could blink, it was lunch time. I hit a few snags, but overall the morning went okay. There were some very good things happening yesterday. My last table (which is always so important because it is your lasting impression of your shift) was a pair of friends--older women who had Bloody Mary's, coffee and the 2-egg breakfast combo. Each had a bill of about $10 or $12 bucks. I netted an $8 tip. That is a happy ending to a hectic morning shift. Staying to be an actual server and not a trainee meant I'd just stay through the day for my second shift instead of going home between shifts as I had planned. That saves $8 in gas. Perhaps the best thing that happened yesterday was something that has a bigger better chance at netting me a lasting income. The boss bartends on Sundays. I had some drinking tables yesterday morning so I kept him working. Everyone knows that a happy boss is a boss who sees his employees making him money. Drinks are money-makers in the foodservice industry. And, we were a bit understaffed since I was just a trainee and became a weak link. But the boss didn't think so. And one of the gals who likes me told me just what the boss was saying. Apparently, he was impressed with me. He told people, "She's never even worked a breakfast and she's getting killed--and keeping up!" He likes my pace. He likes my style. Very cool.
And so we go. Change is so difficult. I am adjusting to the place on the avenue so well that I think I could actually get up early every Sunday to live to tell the tale of the $100 breakfast shift. The new schedule comes out Wednesday. I got the distinct feeling from Fluffers last night that I am getting preferential treatment. We'll see if my 10-minute awkward conversation left an impression on her. I'm hoping good work ethic nets good work nights. I have a feeling it will. Especially if the boss looks over her shoulder while she puts the pencil to paper.
When we last saw our heroine, she was struggling with the low paying nights and figuring out how to approach the scheduling masters she has to appease. An awkward ten minute chat with Fluffers netted an acquiescence by your normally intimidating serving hero. See, Fluffers has the dilemma of being down three servers so there are major gaps in the schedule. She needs the mighty Suz to fill in and kick ass, take names, sling hash to the customers. I have an idea for that schedule. Quit overstaffing and let us make some money!
Saturday night was slow, but it still made for a decent night. I got to meet my nemesis. I thought she was going to be cool. She's not. She's defensive and likes to point out the obvious while not actually doing those things she expects you to do. I have struggled with what to name her. In trying to describe her, I told one friend this: "You know how they say someone looks like 40 miles of bad highway? Well, she looks like 60 miles of bad highway." Then, while telling my friend who got me into this job about her over a cigarette out back, he said this: "She runs into people all the time and then tells them they need to watch where they're going. She's okay though. You'll get used to her."
I don't want to get used to her.
"She comes off bitchy, but she's really not." Pause. "She is skanky though," he said, wrinkling up his nose. That's the word!! She is skanky! For now, I'm going to skip my stories of woe with her. I'll monitor her attitude and record every transgression for a later blog. Let's just say, she had me shaking with anger, and she will not be forgiven easily. My buddy confirmed that she is a bad server. She's been there for years, and still has never been moved over to the front dining room. Girls who started in December are already promoted to the front dining room. Remember this information about Skanky when I talk about her again.
Sunday brought a carnival of fun. I was scheduled for my final training shift to learn the breakfast routine, which, by the way, is HUGE on Sundays. I woke up before my alarm. Amazing. I arrived to work on time, thanks in large part to the joyful surprise of finding most of the stoplights blinking yellow in the early Sunday a.m. I made exactly one stop in over four miles of avenue traffic lights. I was in a good mood about that when I arrived five minutes early.
The boss (the owner) greeted me after I'd punched in. I told him not to take it personally if I wasn't chatty, as I am not much of a morning person. He gave me a hearty, "Get some coffee!" with a cheerful note in his voice. A few minutes later he told me I might have to take a few tables. I thought that was cool, since I can make more money actually waiting on people than I can following someone on a training wage. That 'take a few tables' turned into 'here's your section, I'll try not to slam you.' Whee.
By 9:30 am we were starting to fill up. Before I could blink, it was lunch time. I hit a few snags, but overall the morning went okay. There were some very good things happening yesterday. My last table (which is always so important because it is your lasting impression of your shift) was a pair of friends--older women who had Bloody Mary's, coffee and the 2-egg breakfast combo. Each had a bill of about $10 or $12 bucks. I netted an $8 tip. That is a happy ending to a hectic morning shift. Staying to be an actual server and not a trainee meant I'd just stay through the day for my second shift instead of going home between shifts as I had planned. That saves $8 in gas. Perhaps the best thing that happened yesterday was something that has a bigger better chance at netting me a lasting income. The boss bartends on Sundays. I had some drinking tables yesterday morning so I kept him working. Everyone knows that a happy boss is a boss who sees his employees making him money. Drinks are money-makers in the foodservice industry. And, we were a bit understaffed since I was just a trainee and became a weak link. But the boss didn't think so. And one of the gals who likes me told me just what the boss was saying. Apparently, he was impressed with me. He told people, "She's never even worked a breakfast and she's getting killed--and keeping up!" He likes my pace. He likes my style. Very cool.
And so we go. Change is so difficult. I am adjusting to the place on the avenue so well that I think I could actually get up early every Sunday to live to tell the tale of the $100 breakfast shift. The new schedule comes out Wednesday. I got the distinct feeling from Fluffers last night that I am getting preferential treatment. We'll see if my 10-minute awkward conversation left an impression on her. I'm hoping good work ethic nets good work nights. I have a feeling it will. Especially if the boss looks over her shoulder while she puts the pencil to paper.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
A Question For the Masses
Or, the five of you who read my blog! :p
It's acutely obvious that the new job is not panning out as well as I'd hoped. I've given a whole lot of thought to the situation as it stands before me. Meander through my thoughts for a moment, if you will.
The best parts of the new job:
It will most certainly get better.
I've already got the highly sought-after Friday night shift. (Next week)!
Last night was better than Monday and Tuesday, though still not up to my minimum needed green.
The atmosphere jives with what I know and can thrive in.
The worst parts of the new job:
The extra miles on a stoplight laden avenue. (I have to leave early, and withstand the traffic annoyance).
Everyone is in by 4:30 and nobody leaves until at least 9:00, no matter how slow it is.
It's not gonna pay my bills right now, which is not a luxury I can enjoy.
There's certain to be early weekend shifts. (Bah! No 5:30am alarm for me)!!
My dilemma then, is how to create a schedule that nets me the best of corporate with the best of the new place? I need to get specific with both of my schedulers, without alienating either of them. There's always a 'favorite' factor when they sit down to jot out a schedule. I'm treading thin ice here to make sure I don't get shafted on one or both of the schedules.
Fluffers is in need of servers. Her staff is down one for a life-threatening injury, and another one in a week and a half for a move out of town. Theoretically, anything I can help her with is a boon to her. Realistically, she may relegate me to cruddy shifts if I protest the already cruddy shifts I don't want to work. Then there's the corporate scheduling. There's an abundance of servers right now, so he doesn't need to give me anything if he doesn't want to. He did follow my suggestion for this week's schedule, but gave me a cruddy opening shift for my one night request. Are you starting to see the thin line?
What I think I need to do is give each one of them a block of the week that I can work for each of them. The conflict in that is having a day off. If I tell corporate I can work Mon-Wed and Fluffers that I can work Thur-Sun, you know I won't have any nights off. Do I delegate my own day off and give them my availability according to that? Will they both be peeved and give me two nights out of the nights I'm available to them? Is there an easy answer to any of this? Can anybody offer a sage word of advice?
It's acutely obvious that the new job is not panning out as well as I'd hoped. I've given a whole lot of thought to the situation as it stands before me. Meander through my thoughts for a moment, if you will.
The best parts of the new job:
It will most certainly get better.
I've already got the highly sought-after Friday night shift. (Next week)!
Last night was better than Monday and Tuesday, though still not up to my minimum needed green.
The atmosphere jives with what I know and can thrive in.
The worst parts of the new job:
The extra miles on a stoplight laden avenue. (I have to leave early, and withstand the traffic annoyance).
Everyone is in by 4:30 and nobody leaves until at least 9:00, no matter how slow it is.
It's not gonna pay my bills right now, which is not a luxury I can enjoy.
There's certain to be early weekend shifts. (Bah! No 5:30am alarm for me)!!
My dilemma then, is how to create a schedule that nets me the best of corporate with the best of the new place? I need to get specific with both of my schedulers, without alienating either of them. There's always a 'favorite' factor when they sit down to jot out a schedule. I'm treading thin ice here to make sure I don't get shafted on one or both of the schedules.
Fluffers is in need of servers. Her staff is down one for a life-threatening injury, and another one in a week and a half for a move out of town. Theoretically, anything I can help her with is a boon to her. Realistically, she may relegate me to cruddy shifts if I protest the already cruddy shifts I don't want to work. Then there's the corporate scheduling. There's an abundance of servers right now, so he doesn't need to give me anything if he doesn't want to. He did follow my suggestion for this week's schedule, but gave me a cruddy opening shift for my one night request. Are you starting to see the thin line?
What I think I need to do is give each one of them a block of the week that I can work for each of them. The conflict in that is having a day off. If I tell corporate I can work Mon-Wed and Fluffers that I can work Thur-Sun, you know I won't have any nights off. Do I delegate my own day off and give them my availability according to that? Will they both be peeved and give me two nights out of the nights I'm available to them? Is there an easy answer to any of this? Can anybody offer a sage word of advice?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
And the Party Never Ends
Last night at work was another financial train wreck. I'm talking monumental crash here. I can't drive in for what I'm making. Something has to change. Sitting outside at 6:45 last night with one table that was paid up, I contemplated my sad state of financial affairs. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how I've managed to downgrade my job status yet again. By the time I set the cruise for the ride home, I was near tears. I don't want to talk about my tumultuous job carousel right now.
I will tell you that my landlord received two very similar emails regarding one dipshit maintenance man. It should yield a very interesting outcome. I would love to hear what the landlord says to DSMM when he calls him to berate him for his mishandling of the home he owns and two women occupy. I think I'm overly excited about this because it is the one lashing out I can see bearing some satisfaction. [insert evil laugh here]
The basement woes continue. I went down this morning to do a load of laundry in what I thought was my still functional washer. Turns out DSMM used my hot water to do the power washing. Of course he didn't bother to reconnect the hot water hose. When I screwed the hose back on, it leaked. Another try netted the same result. I believe the rubber washer is missing. He probably power washed that puppy right down my drain. Need I say more? I won't. I won't do it.
The window remains wide open for critters to wander into the basement. The incomplete clean up remains. There is no dryer. The washer doesn't function. The road goes on forever....
I will tell you that my landlord received two very similar emails regarding one dipshit maintenance man. It should yield a very interesting outcome. I would love to hear what the landlord says to DSMM when he calls him to berate him for his mishandling of the home he owns and two women occupy. I think I'm overly excited about this because it is the one lashing out I can see bearing some satisfaction. [insert evil laugh here]
The basement woes continue. I went down this morning to do a load of laundry in what I thought was my still functional washer. Turns out DSMM used my hot water to do the power washing. Of course he didn't bother to reconnect the hot water hose. When I screwed the hose back on, it leaked. Another try netted the same result. I believe the rubber washer is missing. He probably power washed that puppy right down my drain. Need I say more? I won't. I won't do it.
The window remains wide open for critters to wander into the basement. The incomplete clean up remains. There is no dryer. The washer doesn't function. The road goes on forever....
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
The Band Played On
Last night was my first solo shift at the place on the avenue. I was so pleased when the tables started coming in early. Not like last week during training when the first two hours were void of any real business. I was thinking, "Wow! Mondays kick-start early!" Then these guys in green vests started getting in our way, coming through the kitchen door, stopping in the office off the kitchen proper. (Does every kitchen in every restaurant have an office off to the side? I swear they do)!
When I figured out, and remembered from last week's training, that Mondays are band nights, I began to see why the customers were all senior citizens. And why the dining room was full by 5:45 pm. I was also feeling pretty lucky to have the front row seats for my tables. Surely they must be 'out and about' kind of people who would understand the protocol of tipping fat for such wonderful entertainment. Err, right?
Here's how it went down for Night Number One. I got four tables before 6:00 pm. They ate salads, burgers, light fare. Then, they sat with their sodas and coffee until 8:00 pm. We cleaned up the kitchen and completed our side work, chatted among ourselves. I made myself busy by expediting for those who actually got new tables during the second set. I cleared and wiped some tables since we didn't have a busboy. I followed protocol and asked Fluffers if I could go have a cigarette when my tables were all paid and there weren't any unbussed tables in the dining room. I enjoyed a cup of soup and roll before the tear-down began. (Soup and a roll is our one freebie. We don't get much of a discount on food otherwise. I've never worked anywhere that staff didn't get a half-price or at least 25% off of food. This is a major disappointment since their food looks positively delicious). Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The clock moved, but slowly. Surprisingly, the night did get over with pretty fast, given the fact that all of my tables were seated before 6:00 and I didn't punch out until 9:30. I attribute that to the newness of the experience.
I had two ho-hum tables; just the usual older couple. I managed to order the wrong half salad for one woman, and hit the wrong booze for one man's martini. I had the single guy in a wheelchair who is a regular. He doesn't tip, so I shouldn't feel bad according to the other waitresses. The ninja on the staff bolstered me with, "You don't get a tip, but you get good kharma from giving him good service!" Ohhhh-kay.
Then there was the star table. An older woman sat down and waited for her two friends. When I asked if there would be three of them, she told me she wasn't sure. It might be two, or it might be three. "It depends on if Delores brings Leona." In the end, it was a four-top. The table saver looked to be about 75-80. She was actually 92. Bright and beautiful, I complimented her on her youthful looks when she revealed her true age. I love these discoveries about the elderly. Even so, she wasn't my favorite at the table. The woman with the freckles and shoulder-length white hair won my affection. When I asked her what she'd like to drink, she pulled me in and told me to put it all on one bill and give it to her. Coolness. She ate as a vegetarian, drank a glass of wine, and was the only one at the table to indulge in pie and ice cream for dessert. She impressed me with her zest for enjoying the moment! She was sweet, complimentary for the great service, and just bubbly. She made me think she was someone I would like to have been friends with in our twenties. When she paid the bill ($59.06), she told me to put $10.00 on for a tip. When I brought the slip back, she handed me $2.00 and told me she realized she didn't tell me to put enough on, "so, here's two more dollars...you were terrific!" I knew I liked her for a reason. For those who are not aware, senior citizens rarely tip 20%, which is the standard if you are very pleased with your service. (Does this mean that senior citizens are rarely very satisfied?)??
The star table enjoyed the band immensely. It seemed the entire dining room did, actually. Toes were tapping, hands were keeping time on the table, and occasionally hands were clapping with the beat. Our Monday night felt like a Sunday afternoon on a patio table in New Orleans. I have to admit that I really liked the old time live music with the brass blasting out those jazzy tunes, the guest woman singer who sang like June Carter Cash in her last years, the aged wise vocals of men who may have fought for our freedoms in their younger days. It made for a better Monday. Everyone left a little happier than when they'd arrived for the efforts of a group of men who enjoy this little gig they scored for every Monday of the summer. I'm not sure if the audience or the band was more grateful for the evening that had just passed when it was all over. It was sweet, and American, and wholesome. And while it did not net me an evening worth my time monetarily, it was still a fascinating first night at the traditional place on the avenue.
Not being busy with tables afforded me the opportunity to scope out the cast of characters in more depth. The queen bee of the hive emerged last night. I had not worked with her in my training. One learns quickly to stay out of her way. 22 years on the job allows her to be bitchy, I guess. Genuine smiles from her probably stopped at least a decade ago. I won't be engaging her in any outside conversation. The gay man who thinks he is the best server ever is really just a bloated ego who tries to avoid work. The rest of the serving gang is pretty fun. They blend into a jovial entourage who will step in and help when necessary, and crack a joke when you need to hear one.
Hopefully, the tantalizing Tuesday specials will bring in a better crowd that makes the eight bucks I spend in gas getting there worth it. I can chalk up last night as more training, but if the money doesn't start coming in, I'm gonna need Fluffers to tell my landlord why I don't have the rent. I have to admit that I was a little stressed thinking that I would have made more at corporate last night. The scheduling nightmare that is occurring because I can't pin down any definite nights with my new hostess is frightening. I had to let six nights go unscheduled at corporate since I don't know what Fluffers has in mind. Does she know that nobody else is paying my bills, except me? I'm out on a limb that I have no business being on. The rest of this week will be very entertaining (in a sarcastic way). I'm going to think GREEN all week and hope for the best. There's always the chance that I can pick up a shift at corporate on my "day off." (I think "day off" is a term that is leaving my vocabulary).
It's tough to be calm in the storm of this job shuffle. The stress is making me tired. I come home, eat a late simple meal, and crash before midnight. I am never asleep before midnight! Until now. Now, I fall asleep on the couch and can't drag myself to bed when I wake up at 3:00 am because I'm too tired to walk that far. So I roll over and fall fast asleep again.
Someday I'm gonna figure out what it all means. Until then, the band plays on....
When I figured out, and remembered from last week's training, that Mondays are band nights, I began to see why the customers were all senior citizens. And why the dining room was full by 5:45 pm. I was also feeling pretty lucky to have the front row seats for my tables. Surely they must be 'out and about' kind of people who would understand the protocol of tipping fat for such wonderful entertainment. Err, right?
Here's how it went down for Night Number One. I got four tables before 6:00 pm. They ate salads, burgers, light fare. Then, they sat with their sodas and coffee until 8:00 pm. We cleaned up the kitchen and completed our side work, chatted among ourselves. I made myself busy by expediting for those who actually got new tables during the second set. I cleared and wiped some tables since we didn't have a busboy. I followed protocol and asked Fluffers if I could go have a cigarette when my tables were all paid and there weren't any unbussed tables in the dining room. I enjoyed a cup of soup and roll before the tear-down began. (Soup and a roll is our one freebie. We don't get much of a discount on food otherwise. I've never worked anywhere that staff didn't get a half-price or at least 25% off of food. This is a major disappointment since their food looks positively delicious). Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The clock moved, but slowly. Surprisingly, the night did get over with pretty fast, given the fact that all of my tables were seated before 6:00 and I didn't punch out until 9:30. I attribute that to the newness of the experience.
I had two ho-hum tables; just the usual older couple. I managed to order the wrong half salad for one woman, and hit the wrong booze for one man's martini. I had the single guy in a wheelchair who is a regular. He doesn't tip, so I shouldn't feel bad according to the other waitresses. The ninja on the staff bolstered me with, "You don't get a tip, but you get good kharma from giving him good service!" Ohhhh-kay.
Then there was the star table. An older woman sat down and waited for her two friends. When I asked if there would be three of them, she told me she wasn't sure. It might be two, or it might be three. "It depends on if Delores brings Leona." In the end, it was a four-top. The table saver looked to be about 75-80. She was actually 92. Bright and beautiful, I complimented her on her youthful looks when she revealed her true age. I love these discoveries about the elderly. Even so, she wasn't my favorite at the table. The woman with the freckles and shoulder-length white hair won my affection. When I asked her what she'd like to drink, she pulled me in and told me to put it all on one bill and give it to her. Coolness. She ate as a vegetarian, drank a glass of wine, and was the only one at the table to indulge in pie and ice cream for dessert. She impressed me with her zest for enjoying the moment! She was sweet, complimentary for the great service, and just bubbly. She made me think she was someone I would like to have been friends with in our twenties. When she paid the bill ($59.06), she told me to put $10.00 on for a tip. When I brought the slip back, she handed me $2.00 and told me she realized she didn't tell me to put enough on, "so, here's two more dollars...you were terrific!" I knew I liked her for a reason. For those who are not aware, senior citizens rarely tip 20%, which is the standard if you are very pleased with your service. (Does this mean that senior citizens are rarely very satisfied?)??
The star table enjoyed the band immensely. It seemed the entire dining room did, actually. Toes were tapping, hands were keeping time on the table, and occasionally hands were clapping with the beat. Our Monday night felt like a Sunday afternoon on a patio table in New Orleans. I have to admit that I really liked the old time live music with the brass blasting out those jazzy tunes, the guest woman singer who sang like June Carter Cash in her last years, the aged wise vocals of men who may have fought for our freedoms in their younger days. It made for a better Monday. Everyone left a little happier than when they'd arrived for the efforts of a group of men who enjoy this little gig they scored for every Monday of the summer. I'm not sure if the audience or the band was more grateful for the evening that had just passed when it was all over. It was sweet, and American, and wholesome. And while it did not net me an evening worth my time monetarily, it was still a fascinating first night at the traditional place on the avenue.
Not being busy with tables afforded me the opportunity to scope out the cast of characters in more depth. The queen bee of the hive emerged last night. I had not worked with her in my training. One learns quickly to stay out of her way. 22 years on the job allows her to be bitchy, I guess. Genuine smiles from her probably stopped at least a decade ago. I won't be engaging her in any outside conversation. The gay man who thinks he is the best server ever is really just a bloated ego who tries to avoid work. The rest of the serving gang is pretty fun. They blend into a jovial entourage who will step in and help when necessary, and crack a joke when you need to hear one.
Hopefully, the tantalizing Tuesday specials will bring in a better crowd that makes the eight bucks I spend in gas getting there worth it. I can chalk up last night as more training, but if the money doesn't start coming in, I'm gonna need Fluffers to tell my landlord why I don't have the rent. I have to admit that I was a little stressed thinking that I would have made more at corporate last night. The scheduling nightmare that is occurring because I can't pin down any definite nights with my new hostess is frightening. I had to let six nights go unscheduled at corporate since I don't know what Fluffers has in mind. Does she know that nobody else is paying my bills, except me? I'm out on a limb that I have no business being on. The rest of this week will be very entertaining (in a sarcastic way). I'm going to think GREEN all week and hope for the best. There's always the chance that I can pick up a shift at corporate on my "day off." (I think "day off" is a term that is leaving my vocabulary).
It's tough to be calm in the storm of this job shuffle. The stress is making me tired. I come home, eat a late simple meal, and crash before midnight. I am never asleep before midnight! Until now. Now, I fall asleep on the couch and can't drag myself to bed when I wake up at 3:00 am because I'm too tired to walk that far. So I roll over and fall fast asleep again.
Someday I'm gonna figure out what it all means. Until then, the band plays on....
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