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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Work is slow. Slowest it's ever been. Everywhere is slow, it's the price of oil, gas, the mon-economy of Calgary. But the owner's paid for it all, in the boom years, the land, the restaurant, the space, he's not paying $5,000, $10,000, $35,000 a month rent, so he's surviving....
For a while...
He's been making calls lately, lots of calls, receiving strange visitors, bankers, and we're starting to suspect he's of a mind to sell the restaurant, retire, move somewhere south like Panama where the child support won't be crushing him. To prepare himself he's been watching "Narcos" and reading up on Pablo Escobar - "I love these sort of people", and then informs me of what a community leader and philanthropist he was, how much he was worth, the size of his empire, I think I know what he means, these larger-than-life heroes and villains, over lunch we're treated to the lugubrious soundtrack played over his iphone...
The other lunch chef, she's been adding all sorts of friends to Facebook, the Virgin Mary, Baby Jesus, Joseph, all of the saints, I didn't know they were on Facebook but apparently they are, and she's showing us their pictures and updates on her phone ...
A*****, the sane Italian, no relation to the rest, he cringes when he catches my eye, he knows what I'm thinking ..."...And you say there's a whole country filled with you people?.."
With work slow we're back to the pandering to the painful "regulars", the once-a-month diners that come in as we're closing and stay the entire afternoon drinking with the owner, leaving halfway through the dinner rush, every day a new one, the days grow long and torturous...
And the owner's begun to miss G***, ask if he's found work yet, don't know if he's thinking of swinging the axe again, I'd be next, thank goodness for the new jeep as I'll be one of the next Alberta casualties and I'll need the wheels...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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The Nephew, newly back, but he has some opinions he'd like to share...
Like about how he never tips cab drivers, "brown people" as he so generously describes them, there's a table sitting not 5 feet away from him as he's telling us this. A table of brown people, to look at them, one of them for sure drives cab.
He uses their tip later to justify his philosophy, never understanding how possibly his moral stance led to theirs...
...But this is not all. He's reformed in his time away, no more tipping period, he doesn't tip anywhere he goes, anywhere, bars, restaurants, it's too much this...
...And it seems to me a bit strange, that for someone who's very livelihood depends on the kindness of others, to decide against reinforcing the economy he's the very best winner in...
More idiocy, less epiphany, the Nephew ....he explains it, tries to defend it, gives up, I can't be bothered to listen. He's an idiot.
Tipping, yes, it's a bit morally suspect, too much obligation, too little discretion. I get that. Too many greedy servers and minimum wage employees. For sure, for sure. But, I have to consider the positives, I depend upon them, (not so much, there are other jobs, but for the moment) - and they are that tipping enables you to appraise the worth of your service and reward it accordingly. If only you could do this in retail, with your internet or telephone bill, your new car, house, ...
So it's not completely without merit...
For more insights into the history and tradition of tipping (and the reasonable controversy surrounding it) go here: http://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2015/11/30/457125740/when-tipping-was-considered-deeply-un-american
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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The salad girl at work is a hairdresser, Sicilian, and she's been cutting the staff's hair.
I'd been there once, gotten mine cut, she did a good job, and then after she would serve dollar store biscuits and coffee and her husband would talk about how waiters shouldn't be tipped and nobody here knows what their doing and isn't real estate expensive until your eyes rolled back in your head and you bled from your ears...
She wouldn't take any money for the cut, and the visit grew a little overly long, strained, tiny cups of espresso, stale biscuits and giant old-world opinions...
So on Saturday, I'd been warned I needed a trim, a busy day with registering the vehicle, insurance, errands, I stop along the way for a generic haircut. I'm long past the point where a haircut can make me look good, and the quick in-out pay option appeals to me, I get it done in half an hour...I've no hairdresser loyalty whatsoever...
But at work she spies I've had my hair cut, by another, and the shit hits the fan, this is the worst haircut ever, that she's ever seen (it's not that bad, really), and why didn't I call her...and I can't really explain but she's now carrying a grudge, an imagined slight to her talents in this department, and I'm damned, damned, damned...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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All dependents gone, and with that the newfound absence of heart and committment, the boy arrived safely back in Victoria, the girl in transit to Frankfurt, relieved, in a way, my finances were purposefully exhausted on trips back to Canada, presents, trips to Edmonton, Camrose, Banff, shooting ranges and go-carts (and the new jeep, of course, oddly enough the most trivial expense in comparison...), $20.00 left, but heck, payday's around the corner...
...drop the girl off at the airport, back to bed, dead, make my lists, there are tickets to be paid, registration, insurance, the boy, a proper Xmas gift, (his gift a mere placeholder for better things to come later), the girl got hers, (a $2800 trip to Canada, a "Daddy under a tree" I tell her, "Think of how many kids would be thrilled to get that...", my sleeping bag under the tree in the living room, she's less than enthused, in tears on Xmas day, the boys gifts wrapped in gold paper, modest placeholders, she's only got me, hardly bright-eyed and bushy tailed, rather bloodshot, hungover and with the traces of upcoming fever and all plagues coming...oh yeah, Daddy's Xmas's to remember...).
But somehow we survived, the hectic schedule, she arranged a sleepover for NY Eve, and on NY day she discovered that the tree had been disposed of, over the balcony, she's upset, her fond memories of the Xmas tree I kept 'til April the year before, I defend myself, "This year I'm more organized"...true, but she's not buying it, my dysfunction is the family tradition and she wants to preserve it...
She's saddened, I'm relieved, impressed, it was a 20, 30 minute job to loosen the tree, haul it over the balcony, toss to the ground, haul it back up and around the block to the alley, another 30 minutes to clean the stand, vacuum the needles, an hour at least all told, all done on the aftermath of NY Eve...impressive, my organizational skills and sobriety, this year's gonna be different...and all this effort wasted on her disapproval...
The living room's vacuumed, the bed is made, the dishes are done, I need only clean the bathroom and tidy the desk, and, finally, clean out the old car (dead Jetta) and call the Kidney Foundation and I'll be ready to usher in the New Year. A week or so late, but that's years ahead of where it's ever been in the past...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Finally, knew it was coming, there were hints, everyone else at work was sick, there was a Flu, a fever, going 'round, and I'd coughed and ignored many of the same symptoms, the thickly knotted phlegm, the wooliness in the head... But as soon as the pressure of work is off it makes itself apparent...
Fever, hot, low energy, sitting in the hot springs in Banff and they're not nearly hot enough, can't get warm, dreams, disturbed and broken up, by yesterday I'd had it, tired, exhausted, sleeping overly long, can't make it through the most simple of movies, an early bedtime, 12 hours of broken sleep, waking every three hours, bad dreams, of places I'd never been and forgotten, the dismal sense of familiarity, certain I'd survive but to what purpose? Vicks on my chest, fever, sweats, cold in my sleeping bags, hot, sweating up a storm, I need a sweat lodge, a sauna, a steam room, someplace I can be truly warm, not this shivering sweating inside the sleeping bags on my floor...
Another 2 days and life will be restored, but I need some serious resolutions to survive this upcoming year...