Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 28 July 2021

Hits: 1306

The smoke, it's as if we're living through the end of days.

The all day sunset light, abysmal, coppery and bronze hues on the lake, the sun, you can stare at it, feel the punishing heat, it blazes through grey smoke and still we're burning up.

The rough throats, watering eyes, the smoke sticking to you, nosing, nuzzling you, the headlights at night blaze for not a hundred feet before falling off, the sun, setting over the western mountains disappears into smoke long before it goes behind the mountain.

I'm drowning here, chewing every breath.

Scorched plants line the highway, not yet burnt, merely dried up and withering, autumn's come a few months early, yellowing grass and burnt orange and brown leaves, those still green crumble in your hand.

Leaving town to go to work, the crazy people in the street, lunatics, drug-addled, loudly arguing with cars, a guitar on his back, book in hand, silhouetted against the smoke, the beggar in front of the liquor store diagnosing every customer - "You're insane. You're not". These are surreal, fantastical images from movies like 12 Monkeys, any movie, really, that dealt with this, and I'm getting a de-ja-vue.

Then there's the outbreaks, speaking to other servers, restaurants already short staffed, at half capacity for servers, now being tested with the virus, one pub, half staffed and then losing over a couple of days 5 servers to the virus - 2 weeks off, and then what? How many more?

Rumors of other outbreaks. If, when it hits us we'll close. Our kitchen, almost completely unvaccinated. I follow the news - look for the news of the outbreaks here - none specific to Nelson, but 85 new cases in one day, all in the Interior Health Region, More than the rest of BC combined.

Today, my day off, noticing everywhere in town waiters are wearing their masks. These aren't just rumors.

The ash from the fires, raining slowly, a fine dirty film that stains the tables, chairs, cushions, air visibly too dirty to breathe and it settles upon everything. 

And the restaurant, throughout it all we're getting slammed - empty, all day, then - just as the owner's son is planning his early departure (too soon! Too Soon!) we get slammed, fill up, inside, out, on the beach, they keep coming like it's like some sort of Zombie Apocalypse, vacationers at the end of the world, we're the only show open for 20 miles, coming all the way from Nelson to share their Covid, infect us...

It's no wonder no one wants to do this job. No wonder at all, and these unpredictable rushes, the smoke, pandemic, they've made it worse. 

Now the owners want to make a plan, sit down with me, they want to stay open over the winter - if I'm interested?

I'm not, not in the least, this is hell and I'm working towards a definite end, it's been too much, too long, but - how to be discreet?

And - in any event - I've a ticket to a rave, in the valley, August 21, family reunion of sorts, expecting the kids, and even this is presumptive - how to plan anything when the world is falling apart, burning up, falling over sick and dying? It's impossible, my thoughts even at the moment are one day at a time...

Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 22 July 2021

Hits: 1157

This morning wake up to the smell of campfires. For a moment - just a moment - I think to myself that the house is on fire. But it's fine. It's the world that's on fire.

The nearby mountains, invisible, eyes watering, you need to chew before you can breathe.

It's intolerable, and we're not yet even close to August. 

Check the news to ensure there are no fires closer - time again to reconsider that flight bag - I can pack everything I own into the jeep, and probably should take an hour or two to do so - and I'm wondering - how long will the restaurant last in this? Soon, I imagine, there will be an exodus of tourists - and then?

Day to day.

Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 22 July 2021

Hits: 1185

The week at work, bananas, crazy, busy, busier, never caught up, long days grown longer, the mid-shift sucking up my mornings and nights. 

And the smoke from the fires - a month and a half early, choking out the morning, the evening half-slip of the moon a blood-orange-red in the sky, spectacular sunsets for those with the time to take the pictures. 

By Monday I'm done. We're all done, drinks in town, I take it easy, a couple of pints of Guinness, got to be functional on my days off.

Tuesday, my reaction to the second dose of the Vaccine. I was warned it would be worse than the first. The first, a swelling around my neck, the lymph nodes grown over large, lasted a couple of days. This time, it's my upper lip, swells like a chimpanzees or orangutans, numb, large. 

The day, attending to trifles. Eat tacos. Cover them in hot sauce, try and balance the diet. Clean out the fridge, eat - whatever, everything, all of it, I'm starving, not just for food but nutrition, I'm missing it all in my diet. Go thrifting - no finds, hit the antique shop - some treasures, but nothing that I want - or need. 

(Locks, 1880's, love the detail on the faceplates that no-one would think to look at. But do I need them?)

The weekend past was great for garage sales - or - not great - but I found some necessary tools, and a boxing cushion and gloves which I passed on to the twin bus-girls at work. "Get trained" I tell them. "Foxy boxing - Sibling Rivalry - I've already started selling tickets.". 

I don't think they were impressed. My daughter, she'd have been over the moon, but they're a little more sheltered.

The weekend provided the finds, there are none this week in the thrift shops. 

Do the recycle, the laundry, the dishes, make more dishes, eat, eat, eat. I'm starving. 

Afternoon, sleep off the heat of the day, strange dreams of garage sales, Jeff Bezos, Water Bottles...

Evening. Visit Stormy. Verify he's home, go to DQ to buy him an Ice Cream, return. Knock on the door. It takes him 10 minutes to answer. And he answers, the door closed, just enough for him to slip through, but the air!!! Who will know when he's dead? The smell, already it's as if he's died. And it must penetrate the neighbors suites...

Sit for a bit. He's out of it, was interrupted, answered with a clutch of scrolls half completed, he complains about the ice cream, about everything, the time I visit, and I've no patience for it, these days off are too rare to be here, in this heat, with him complaining about the ice cream that's melting in the front of his scooter, and I'm off...

Home, watch "Ong-Bak", "Rick and Morty", but nothing excites me. The job, the schedule, it's flattened me, I need out of myself in a big way and there's nothing that's doing it. I'm flat. Flat like I've been steamrolled, flat in that all the colorful bits of me, my curiosity, creativity, they're kaput. 

Today much the same. A few of the farther flung thrift shops - no finds, or perhaps there were, only my mood has blinded me. 

There are endless trifles to be dealt with, my benefits, chores, there would be - on less grey days - prospecting to be done, socializing, but I'm self conscious about my lip (in the morning, the entire face, but over the day it drains and disperses), and I'm flat. Without any ambition other than survival - 7 weeks to go, and 2 weeks to cross the summit - the August Long Weekend - this is becoming a long - the longest - summer ever. 

I make plans. There's a party in the valley - August 21 - I get tickets. Me, the kids. Maybe they'll make it, maybe they won't - but it's something to look forward to regardless.

And I brood upon my writing - projects outstanding, art projects, there's a hundred ways to constructively fill my time - but I'm exhausted.

There's a rumor of a new waitress, she's due to start, train, if she starts - if - my schedule might get a little more reasonable, survivable - but that's a big IF. We've hired dozens in the past few years - few have had any skills. Fewer have lasted. Still - 

This job - like the Italian place - it's the monkey's paw - you have to get someone else to take it before you can be free of it's curse - and I'm thinking that it's too late, it's done it's number on me. 

Anyways, that catches me up, more or less, to the present.

Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 14 July 2021

Hits: 617

The skies grow increasingly hazy with all the forest fires. You can't smell them - yet, but they're increasingly close.

Usually I'd pay my rent up early, get ahead on my bills, - but - what with the state of the world and all I'm just going to sit on it until the last minute.

The restaurant - Thursday, reasonable, Friday, Saturday, Sunday - bananas.

Stupid busy. Busier than we can handle, and they've had an ad in for staff for how many weeks now, without a single nibble.

The jeep, flooring it home from work every night - can't escape that place fast enough - only halfway, at Sitkum or Kokanee creek begins to stall. Power on, jeep off, drift to the side of the road, wait 5, 10 minutes, crank it again and I'm off. 

Phew. 

Except for Saturday night, when at 9 mile it does the same thing only it isn't restarting and I'm calling AMA for a tow.

Whatever it is it must be trivial.

Sunday, thumb out by the big orange bridge, not 10 minutes and l'm picked up by a retired gent out touring in his vintage 1975 TR6 - little sportscar, I'm squeezed into it, limbs akimbo, popping out every which way, he's in a loud Hawaiian shirt decorated with martinis and bright cocktails, a fine German mechanical chronometer on his wrist, just out for a spin, we chat - he's that comfortable air of someone who's done well in life, for whom everything has worked out and now he's in a position to enjoy it and by goddamn-it he's going to, and I'm along for the ride to witness his good fortune.

The most stylish ride I've had, and I'm not dressed for it.

Work, busy in the day, and then, contrary to expectations, and every year previous, we're busy again in the evening. 

** shows up. **'s a regular, stylish, tattooed, pays cash, he's in the other "industry" - on the East Shore, and I remind him that he failed to pay his bill last time, to which he quickly counters "You must have overserved me...". I laugh. He's pretty sharp. But he pays the bill, the bill from today, from last month, and tips 100%, cash, and I'm gonna need this for the jeep, gotta love **. 

Most of our customers are pretty decent.

Monday, my new balloons have shown up, I've been out of balloons to make animals for the kids since the beginning of the pandemic, you can't buy them in town & so I'd ordered a whole new batch off of Amazon. Chromes, looking for 260Q Qualatex, found these shiny off brands, and I blow one up - tough, near impossible to blow up, but they're perfect. Perfectly shiny, like fluid gold, silver, metallic colors, I'm pleased. I'll be producing Jeff Koons in no-time.

Now I need a pump.

To the mechanics, describe the problem with the jeep, then - too late for the bus, thumb out to get to work.

A lot longer for a ride.

Work, Monday, the afternoon, busy, then slow, reasonably busy, chug-chug-chug until 7:00 and WHAM!, the restaurants full, inside and out, they keep coming, table after table, we're the only place open for 30 miles, we're full, people sitting at dirty tables, demanding service, it's every service industry nightmare, fucking-the-fuck hell shit, can't keep up, they keep coming, it takes us 10, 20 minutes to get to each table, to figure out they're there, they're new, gong-show.

Bloody hell. I mean, bloody-fucking-hell. And I'm taking no complaints, we're hiring - you want better service? I don't blame you. Get a job here and raise the bar you fucking moron, can't you see we're short staffed? Grab a cloth, a rag, go wipe a table, clear plates, take an order? What? You don't want to? Then fucking shut-up, I don't want to either and yet here I am and YOU - YOU are not making it any better....

My patience is done, we're perpetually short staffed, everywhere on the lake is, but some places - they put up signs, they've reduced the section sizes, the menus, limited the numbers they serve - we've done none of this, we're in over our heads, every fucking day, and I'm getting tired of it.

Tuesday, day off - finally, there's no amount of Vodka can recover me from this. The mechanic calls, found the problem, camshaft sensor, need a new one, all-in $600. Oh, and there's this other thing as well....

The struggle, it never ends, no matter what you make, how hard you work you're never on top of it, and the skies fill with smoke, the end of the world, it's coming, it's nigh upon us, and I'm the hamster running in the wheel...