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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1927
Now a misleading title if ever there was one, because it's also my last day at work - I hope - and this posting should reflect both.
Days pass. Few customers know of my leaving - few would care, only Z tells them in his efforts to bond with them. The Nephew and G, they've accepted my departure, G not happy as he suspects he's losing his day off, I've offered to help out the 2 weeks I'm around (research to be done, other things), he doesn't want to accept.
Whew.
The Owner has been manageable, in a better mood, as it were, now that I'm leaving - or he knows that I'm leaving, quiet about trivial things, he as well wants it to be on a good note. They're bringing in the Talking Waiter as my replacement.
I threaten the nephew with the keys to lock up, they'll be his next, he declines, never in a hundred years could he deal with that responsibility, M enters the conversation "I wouldn't take them either....", he has his own reasons, the nephew reassures him: "not to worry..." , meaning, of course, that he's not long for the course. A shame, I rather like him. M doesn't get it. It's almost too savage, this rivalry of theirs.
Those few customers that know I'm leaving, they express their admiration, some tempered jealousy. It's curious, they didn't flesh me out that deep. Some even go so far as to pretend they'll miss me. Polite. To do what you want, that's a luxury. I don't disclose how ill I can afford it. The staff, they'll miss me, some bitterness, they presume I'll be back, when exactly do I think?
Never I hope, but I'm merely optimistic. I say nothing, don't want to burn my bridges, merely point out that if things work out I won't have to ever come back.
The biggest proof of failure would be to return. The goad in my side, walk farther, search harder, make sure you never have to return.
Better to die in the field than return.
That said, I'll miss them. My family, G, The Nephew, The Owner, even M and Z - of dysfunctional sorts - the past 2 years almost.
It's not easy leaving, and to an uncertain and precarious, ridiculous even, future, doubly so.
I'm amazed - really, by the slight resistance I've encountered. A crazy idea, to me even, but few - only a couple, have pointed it out. The rest - politely, reserve their opinions, a few ripost me as I might them about bears and the perils of the North Woods, but still wish me well, marvel at the adventure (the adventure I'm not feeling even slightly at the moment, only the pressure of organizing countless tiny chores ...), this is curious.
Even myself, I'd give me 50/50 for breaking even and 1/1000 for getting rich, I see the inherit insanity of it, the other side which I imagined to be invisible to everyone else is transparent. The owner talks to me outside, quiet, having a cigarette, of the folly of property, ownership, we should all live on the move, on the wing, he feels it as well.
Pressure. There's a lot of people not to let down. Fail at this and I don't just fail myself, but the children, my co-workers, friends, any number of people who felt themselves trapped in a box from which there was no easy escape. I've come to look upon it as an exercise in the force of my will, failure proof of my countless bad qualities, success as the tangible, demonstrable, exemplary proof of my ideals.
***
That said there's much to be done, and the imminent departure only adds to the stress.
I compose lists.
Things to buy, research to do....
Maps, Hip Waders, Nesting screens of varying gauges, build a sluice-box, water-filter for drinking, cheap watch with altimeter and barometer, pepper spray and flare guns, learn to use GPS, annotate maps with notes and history, existing claims, find places I think will yield profit. The more I think upon it, the more I need. Groceries, miscellaneous household chores, renovations, art projects, writing projects.
The lists become endless.
They only add to the stress. The staff, they imagine I must be looking forward to this, I am, but not yet, there's too much to be done.
***
The week conspires to tell me I've made the right choice. Every lunch tables stay late, every dinner tables arrive early. Lunch table leaves 3:00, Dinner table arrives at 4:30. Lunch table leaves 4:30, dinner table arrives 4:30. I'd be mad, livid, but it's always been this way and I'm almost done. It confirms my decision. The customers, Money and Power, other assorted criminals of different stripes, everything is telling me I'm on the right track. The job is killing me. The new job will be better.
Now to make it work.
***
It's the first week of garage sales and today I take advantage of a slight break between shifts to dash out and hit one. It's Terrific, buckets of vintage costume jewelry at discount prices, I rifle through it all, pick out some pieces that I like, there isn't time enough, really I could spend hours, some parting souvenirs - cufflinks, jewelry, for the staff. Mixed media for myself. An auspicious start to the weekend.
***
And now, 6:30 AM, The Good Samaritan Rummage sale in 2.5 hours, I'll be in line in an hour, after that St. Lukes and other sales, a big morning before the last night at work. Lots to be done and searched for, Urban Prospecting as it were...The weekend will be reported on and rated as it passes...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1719
Officially they start this weekend upcoming with the Good Samaritan Rummage Sale, and the St. Lukes rummage sale, (and how to be at both?), but I thought I'd begin a bit early.
Saturday, garage sale in the neighborhood. Find a set of clippers for the nephew at work, he complains it takes him hours to shave (because he does so only once a month), these should prove useful. Brand new, $3.00, with attachments, lubricant and brush.
Buttons, a handful, a dollar, larger, more enticing bags on display but "not for sale". Another sale, selection of jars, useful for sorting buttons into, $10.00 for 40 jars, kangaroo testicle keychain, tweezers useful for picking out flakes of gold from a pan.
Sunday, this the anticipated day, a parade of garage sales in Ramsay. the first of the season. I'm first on the scene, park car, walk across street to two sales, mostly rubbish, kitchen and barbie stuff. Turn around and beside my car there's a throng of people forming, I hasten back, someone is having their treasures scooped as they carry them out, an antique wooden trunk, $4.00, antique mantle clock, $3.00, an antique oak and brass instrument case, locked, unsure what's inside, $4.00, the victor some guy standing with his legs straddling his treasures, the vendor annoyed he's let them go so cheap, I've missed out in a big way.
He puts out more stuff, but now he's taken to adding a zero to his prices, and the prizes have already been sold. I've missed it all by perhaps 2 minutes.
The rest of the sales, drum sets, slide guitars, princess play equipment and merchandise for younger children, nothing to spend money on. A bad omen for the rest of the season, but I reassure myself that I won't be here for most of the season...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1648
Monday, and I'm overdue.
I've been meaning to give notice for a few weeks, reluctant in case I somehow ended up unemployed early (every nickel will count on this), hesitant as well because for a variety of fucked-up reasons I don't want to let the owner down.
It's fucked up, I know, I tell myself this, it's my life and too much of it's been given to him, this job, but he's this way of building up a false loyalty.
Monday night, last chance for an honest 2 weeks, and he's in a foul mood. Again.
Tonight it's breakage - having just discovered we've broken 100+ wine glasses over the past 6 months.
Not we, per se, the others are quick to blame J, his friend, clumsy J who worked a few token waitering shifts to help out, it's true, J was clumsy, but there's the natural breakage of a couple of glasses a week during polishing, in the dish-pit, it all adds up. He's screaming at the staff. We don't know what it's like, we don't care, we don't pay for glasses, he's going broke. We should all be equal partners in the expenses of the restaurant. The nephew, he points out how crazy it is, G just resolves to keep a watchful eye, no-one really is to blame but it's a long night nonetheless.
A glass of wine pays for both the glass and the wine. And the car he's now driving is, in my mind, proof he isn't going broke. It's just the weekly bipolar shit. I've limited sympathy, breakage is bad, but it's a peril of the business.
From here he sedgeways onto the kitchen, food spoilage, then back to the front of the house for throwing away cutlery, he's in a rage, unapproachable, tantrums for any number of imagined transgressions.
No one here throws away cutlery or breaks glasses intentionally, or even accidentally, more than the average. I've worked with saboteurs before, there are none here. Everyone treats this restaurant as if it were their own.
Except J, long gone, and not a waiter so of limited liability, in any event he was working, if the Nephew ever worked as hard he might break as many...
It's a natural cost of doing business.
***
The end of the evening, he's leaving, I have to tell him, now or never. I do, outside having a fag while he gets in his new luxury sportscar. "I'll be leaving the end of April - 2 weeks - going to search for gold...."
He takes a minute to process. "Does G know?" he asks. "Yes" I tell him. "Why didn't he tell me?" he asks. "It wasn't his place. It's my job to tell you. I thought you knew, we've discussed this before, this is just the date....".
***
He's annoyed I didn't give him more notice, he didn't need it, we're overstaffed as is. But he's quiet, wants to go, leaves, I'm relieved, a major load off of my chest, the committing to this necessary to prevent the reasonable second guessing, postponing, changing my mind. Finally it's done.
***
The boys from Naples have returned, they want to hang out, curious, bright guys from Italy, here on various suspect pretexts, suspect - well, nothing concrete, but nothing legitimate. They remember my name, I can't remember one of theirs. But they're polite, charming, and attractive in that don't-lend-them-a-dime sort of way...We may yet get together.
***
Tuesday and the owner is subdued. Perhaps my leaving, I don't know, it's nice, though, this quiet upon the restaurant. M and Z have both observed that he's calmer when I'm there. My notice is given, he's not going hard on me, I think, somehow, that he understands, commiserates. Lunch, we're slow, he leaves early. More tables, the hectic underlings in the kitchen trying to do right, a zoo....
He returns, 4:00, he's been home to raid the garage. Camping gear, stove, rain coat, all sorts of possibly useful things I do and don't have. I'll need them on my expedition. And I pick through, take what I can use, take some just to be polite, he gives me advice on what to eat, how to avoid bears, he searches online in the office for equipment and things I'll need to bring.
He understands, laments perhaps my going but in a way he envies me, if things were different I think he'd be doing the same. But he's a new wife, children, his business to drag him down, and so he's doing this to live vicariously through me.
I'm touched. I get it.
***
An Italian gentleman accosts me while I'm smoking in the back. Effeminate, puffy jacket with fur collar, neck-kerchief/scarf thrown carefully or contrivedly about his neck, he only speaks Italian, wants to speak to someone who speaks Italian, another ex-pat or refugee, I lead him to the owner in his office.
He's selling Jackets.
He talks to the staff, M, Z (who needs a translator, M can speak Italian fine), the Nephew. He's piqued their interest. The Nephew follows him to the car, previews the goods.
Leather coats, fur coats (well, fur collars), "Emporio Armani" or the like stenciled in the lining, expensive brand name tags hanging from them, packed in brand-name Armani bags. Suspicious, but that's part of the charm.
The Nephew borrows $150 and buys a coat off of him. He gives him the next one free. And he talks, charms, this salesperson, bald, ever-so-fashionable, from Rome, a reject from a fashion shop if ever there was one, has more coats to sell, and after more negotiating, dickering, etc, sells 5 to Z, for about 2/3 of what he sold the first two to the Nephew for. He's dodgy.
***
They drink coffee, talk, shoot the shit, he senses my skepticism and leaves me alone. Never would I pay close to these prices for knock-off shit, not knowingly. But the Nephew, Z, they're both thrilled. Eventually the salesguy leaves, having far exceeded his wildest expectations, the money he's made here - Z's generous sympathy and the Nephew's Avarice, this will keep him going for months...
I examine the merchandise. Expensive retail tags. But the leather is cheap vinyl, smells, and the stitching (or molded stitching) is poor. I'm sad to inform the Nephew he's been had.
The Owner, he's watched, laughed, joked, but bought nothing and kept his opinions to himself. The Lesson from the bogus car salesmen is firmly in his head.
The Nephew, he's undaunted, he's firmly convinced he can make a profit on these coats, it's the law of greater fools and he's entering into negotiations with Z to purchase the extra ones he bought...This will be his new sideline...
***
The vinyl-leather coat, it leaches it's solvents into the coat-check over the course of the night, the smell obvious from behind the bar, a repulsive, nauseous mixture that would make the coat unsaleable to anyone other with a nose or active sense of smell. It's funny, but the Nephew is undaunted, he hangs it outside, we joke and laugh that they'll (he and Z) will be killed by the gasses vented during the night, or that they can get high huffing the fumes, still he wants to buy the extra ones off of Z...
***
Work. Time passes. The owner spends his time researching gold prospecting online, makes recommendations to me about how to catch fish, repel bears, hunt game. He's well intended, I have no great fear of any perils other than my own incompetence, restlessness, greater ambitions...
And - in a sense, I'm sad. I'll miss this, the people, they presume that I'll be back, possibly, but that would be the greatest proof of failure. They wish me well, but expect me back, and I'm almost the same, I need to change this, find a different, better dream. Dream bigger. Realize bigger. My success will not only be my reward, but the spur for others as well...but this is a separate blog posting.
***
There's an election. Every day, 4-5 calls on my phone, the first time I've been able to check (the call display from J), competing parties, Wildrose and Conservative, or as I prefer to describe it, between bad and worse. There's no one to vote for and too many to vote against.
***
Customers, those few who've found out about my departure, are slow to laugh and jeer. Odd, I wouldn't be so, wouldn't give myself great odds, "looking for gold in Alaska" must sound ridiculous, I'm well aware, some are supportive, others merely quiet, keeping their reflections to themselves despite my willingness to be the butt of their jokes. I'd laugh, am in a sense, laughing at myself, but they're giving me better odds than they gave the Flames. There's only perhaps 7, 8 shifts left, but they're long, time passes slowly and time off is too scant to get anything great done...
The customer in the Private room, conservative to the core, confesses he'll miss my intelligent disagreement with his POV. "Rare" he flatters. He's being kind, after his fashion, and I'd like to promise that one day I'll be able to disagree with him on equal footing...as a server my opinions are severely truncated and kindly edited...
***
The Talking Waiter has come in on my day off, confirmed his start of employ, he's been on hard times since his departure, he'll be my replacement.
The Nephew, in a rare moment of sentiment, long having lauded his virtues confesses they'll be up the creek - , meaning they'll all have a bit of extra weight to carry, staying through the days, etc. This slight appreciation of my contribution pleases me.
***
Weekend, Friday, slow, Saturday (tonight) - busy. 1 week and a day left. M tries to take orders in preparation for my departure, fucks up, the owner's severely annoyed, no more food orders for him. It's back to me, and while M's concerned what will happen when I'm gone, I tell him not to fear, the talking waiter will take over. The owner makes no mention of my departure, the front of house staff makes frequent mention of it. M brings me books to read, I can't take them, there won't be time. The thought is appreciated. And the Nephew has taken to comically narrating my obituary, talking of what a great hard worker I was and then the RCMP came to the restaurant to have my body found in a river identified or post their missing posters...
I like, appreciate his grim sense of humor. It's my own. I would do no less. And G takes a picture of me out back, smoking in a chair with an espresso, this to be the proof of my hard work, the "Missing" portrait, the Nephew has seized upon my obituary as the comic narration for the next week...the counterpoint of my cigarette/espresso proof positive of my work ethic.
***
8 shifts left and countless things left to be done. Most can't wait until I'm unemployed, can't wait for the two weeks, there is lots that needs be begun and completed and this is fast becoming a "proof of will"....
Time Passes.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1739
The weekend, surprisingly busy.
And late.
The owner, pissed off at A for not returning his call, (Having called her about something so trivial he's already forgotten) has ignored her the past 4, 5 weekends she's worked. They're both pissed off at each other. Last night (Friday) he insisted she be called and told not to work, it wasn't so busy...
It wasn't, but later on, as the day progressed, after the call was made, it was.
She was surprised. For someone who lamented every second being there - understandably, now she's surprised at this unexpected day off. She's suspicious. Far slower nights we've had her in to pacify the owner, now a night off, she's suspicious of the Axe.
The night, busy, the nephew a poor substitute as Expeditor, requiring, insisting upon no assistance, but the food is carried poorly, single plates at a time, cutlery, pepper & other essentials forgotten.
She's sorely missed. A small contribution, true, but noticeable, the nephew's not an adequate replacement.
***
A table - older people, one of whom, I notice, sports a monocle. I profess my admiration, it's an interesting thing, a cool thing, he wears it well. I want one.
He offers it to me, will take my details, leave it to me in his will. I'm not that patient.
We jest, he's 78, it turns out, a bit of a wag, a sport, sense of humor. It's nice.
***
Saturday, A is in. Not called & told otherwise she's just shown up. Queried about her day off - unexpected - she's bitter. She doesn't see it as the day off she's long pined for, requested, wanted, rather as an outright declaration of war between her and the owner. Which it is, but it's the other things as well.
She's not seeing it that way.
She won't expedite the food, the Nephew can, she'll help out in the dining room.
It's ridiculously busy, late, the evening runs late, by the end we've gone our separate ways, by the end I'm on my own at the local to give best wishes to the manager, Pete, who's leaving, "Good Luck" I invite him to come along as my donkey to Alaska, the other staff - the staff at the restaurant I work in, couldn't be bothered, off to strip clubs and gay bars, they don't particularly care.
***
Now for Sunday, the day off, the week-end. I've not yet told the owner of my departure, don't know quite how to break it, don't think he'll take it well. And I'm uncertain, too, so much to be done, tools to be organized, other projects completed. 2 Weeks of work, 4 weeks until departure. I'll tell him Monday.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Payday, and as the Nephew has astutely observed the owner's always off on Payday. He doesn't like paying the staff. There's always something that he rages about, a fury that shouts and swears at all of the staff, it's predictable.
Tonight the excuse is the cheques seem too large.
There's a reason, our pay period, there's 3 extra days, and the tip cheques have always been a few days behind, the past few weeks have been busy (the weeks before have been quite slow), they've caught up, they seem high...
The owner has me check the math. He's suspicious.
The math adds up.
He has me call his wife to solicit an explanation, she's not answering, she's had to deal with him a couple of times already, she calls back when she receives my message. The cheques are correct.
He rails at the kitchen, the overtime is unacceptable, they should work only the allotted hours, their cheques are too large...
She sends him an email and explains that there's a Stat Holiday, they have to be paid overtime, and there's 3 extra pay days this period, hence the cheques seem large.
He's not yelling at me, railing instead at the others, the kitchen, the other staff, he knows what the issue is, he knows why and the solution, he just loathes payday.
He's Crazy. It's like this every paycheque.
The staff, ridiculously, try to understand, they get onto his page, think there must be something wrong with the paycheque, ask me if everything's all right, they are somehow sharing his point of view.
This is unbelievable...
"It's not about that", I explain, he's crazy. he knows we're due the money, he's just venting his pain upon paying us.
Everyone has a suggestion, "He should take an anger management course", or "He should take medication...".
They suggest it as if he knows. He knows, somewhat, but it doesn't make it any easier. We should deal with it.
Crazy doesn't know it's crazy...It's the rule. If he knew he was crazy he would be a long ways towards being sane...