This was a question at a job interview. "What's your worst quality (presumably at work)...". I had no ready answer. Away from work - well - how long do you have?

At work. This just occurred to me - I have no patience for fools - it's exhausted on the customers, don't make me use it up with staff.

And the second - and this is probably true of anyone in service, whether it be restaurants or retail, and a great number of Chef's have it as well.

I have serious boundary issues.

I need to tell more people to fuck off. 

I've been - too long, too often - too patient - and far too hands off.

That is all. 

 

I'm in awe. I didn't know the restaurant, but - entering it - I do. I've seen articles about it - it's famous, 120 pages to their wine list, wines up to $30,000, $40,000 dollars. 

He's doing it right. There's no shortcuts on decore - on anything - and rarely do I admire a job well done in this industry - but - this is a job well done. 

He's frank, an easy candor, not - I suspect - easy to work for - and he tells you as much - but - if you wanted to be a server this would be your Everest.

My clothes - going through my addled suitcase, I forgot decent shoes, I packed the worst of my white shirts, the wrong vest... I have to address this, repack, get rid of the extra baggage, going through my suitcase I'm discovering long lost thrifting treasures - a wireless microphone, a pair of Bunsen burners...but the right waistcoat? Nope. The right shoes? Nope. You get it. I could go on.

Still, you have to try - and while I'm not optimistic - I'm appreciative that he took the time to interview me. And I should have known - really - what I was getting myself in to. My bad. 

And laughing to myself - it makes the last fine dining position I had look like McDonald's by comparison.

Afterwards - well, don't hold your breath, and off to circulate another half dozen resumes...

***(Got the call back. Start tomorrow - voluntary Try Out. Fingers crossed.)

 

Quite possibly the best city ever for this. See past the precarious teeterers - on every block, head down, trying to fight the slumber - try and see past the addicts and the homeless and there's a genuinely interesting contingent of people. Not that they aren't - only - well, that's another post.

The addicts, they all remind me of that short - "The Burden of Other People's Thoughts" - a little masterpiece. And you can see how he came about his inspiration. 

But the rest of them - 70 year old man, small, grey hair, adorned with bright gold chains and a huge gold skull pendant. WTF. 

A woman stops to say she knows me -

"You were in my AA Meetings".

Not yet, not yet

"Well, then, we must have been drinking buddies..."

And proceeds upon her way. 

And others - up early, someone out for a walk in full BDSM regalia, top to toe, including the BDSM mask. On his way home from a sex party? Escaped from a dungeon? The fashionably beautiful - that would fit in anywhere, including Calgary. The visibly trans and misgendered, the odd couples in every combination of age & youth, beauty and decrepitude, that you can imagine. The appalling facial tattoos. And I could go on.

Suffice it to say I'm enjoying the city very much.

And when I'm not watching the people there's always the bookstores - and antique shops - and period architecture - and museums.

All of which other big cities have - Toronto springs to mind - but - unlike Toronto - the range of personalities, fashion, and the out-and-out in your face addiction that plagues the city, makes it all a very interesting place to be. I shouldn't half mind to live here for a year or two.

And, I'm seldom here - to sleep, otherwise - like in Toronto - I'm roaming the streets, exploring. 

When I am here there's a few things. The guy that's forever on his computer - doing what? I don't think he's left the building in 3 days. There are the people that share my room - 1 who seems to never go out, the other leaves early and is back around 4:00. 

This sharing a room with men who's names I don't know, I find it despairing. It would be despairing if I did know there names - I'm merely a private person, and hate the commonality of shared sleeping or living arrangements.

Nonetheless, in the common area, reading my book, trying to ignore the euro-trash that accumulates in such places, the little Napoleon in the kitchen (short- French - with attitude to spare - although his cooking smells amazing), the perpetually drunk Brits and Aussies and various other slightly-more-respectable nationalities, sitting next to a couple of guys, they begin chatting to me. About their day, they'd woke up, dropped some acid, took some shrooms, headed on down to Stanley Park, were impressed by some drop-dead goddess of a woman that picked up the shit after her dog. For some reason it amused them greatly, they kept coming back to it, probably you had to be there. At the moment they were cracking open their umpteenth beer, rolling a joint on the table, telling me about their lives, then coming back to the woman who was beautiful - just gorgeous, and they watched her pick up her dog's shit - "just like that" - don't you know, a little gesture - I break for a cigarette. Outside, been drinking away with them, don't want to get too carried away or even try to keep up - these guys, clearly the pillars of their communities - really, I attract them. And I meet Tom, from Calgary, he's here - well, he doesn't say, works in geology in Calgary. And we're chatting and he's telling me he was doing Cocaine earlier and I'm incredulous - here? There's probably no real Cocaine for a few miles - what kind of shit was he snorting - he's not chewing his cheeks or grinding - none of the tells - and - before you know it he's telling me he's not feeling so well and does a nosedive into the pavement. Hits it hard, right on his head, before I can react or catch him. I sit him up and call 911.

8 minutes on hold.

8 fucking minutes on hold.

"We're experiencing higher than average call volumes..."

I hang up.  

He's conscious - tells me he's feeling better, take him into a bar. Buy some nachos - can't leave him like this - don't want him just dying, out of the blue, and so sit with him, listen to the band, watch the people.

He's feeling fine, fine, and then - again - not so much, and he's more fortunate than I, he calls 911, gets through, the police are there in a minute, and he gets in with them to go to the hospital. 

Never a dull moment.