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The Job
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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It goes without saying that I've never worked anyplace so fancy as this.
The manager introduces himself, French, a proper Sommelier, young, perhaps early 30's, the other staff range in age from early 20's to what I might guess at as late 60's or 70's. I'm paired with a girl working a private party - 25 people.
And I'm schooled. Here, what with the 120 page wine list you don't open the wine. Take the order, let the Sommelier know. They will take care of it.
Absolutely no modifications to food orders without Chef's permission.
You don't touch the food. There's expeditors for that.
You don't make drinks - the bartenders do that.
And I could go on.
Suffice it to say, I'm in over my head - there's more "standing around" and being available than there is actual serving.
The table - they spend approximately $6000, with an automatic gratuity of 15%. For 2 servers - not bad - but - I don't count as a server, I'm on "Observation", unpaid apprenticeship as it were. And even for 1 server - well, factor in the abundant support - Bartenders, Hostess, Bussers, Expeditors, Sommeliers - you get it.
Wait and see.
At the end of the night I'm offered the job. I don't even know what the job is - merely get told precisely what i have to do and do it. This will quite possibly the longest apprenticeship I've ever had in a restaurant. Worth it? I don't yet know. Fingers crossed. But - one down, now to deal with housing and wheels.
And - worse come to worse I can always throw on my resume that I got a job offer from ... - which alone should be worth it's weight in gold.
The Vancouver Art Museum
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Tuesday nights, used to be free, now a mandatory $5.00 donation.
So I peruse the art exhibits, some more inspiring than others. The "Yoko Ono" bit I skim briefly, it has no interest to me whatsoever.
But various other of the exhibitions do. I found Jan Wade's "Soul Power" intriguing - mixed media, an abundance of scrabble tiles, buttons, other found objects, a good lot of my own ideas, better realized, and I understand that I'm my own worse critic. I'm a fan of mixed media - and this is good - but I'm pretty sure I could come up with something as good...
Certainly I've accumulated all of the supplies, and now I'm kicking myself that they're all sitting unused in lockers scattered across Western Canada...
Emily Carr - meh, I like but I've seen her stuff at the Glenbow, in Toronto. And to see it here is fitting - but I've seen enough.
And the pottery of Edith Heath was good -- but - goddamn, someone turn over a couple of pieces so I can see her mark, look for this in thrift shops - I'm pretty sure I could turn a bit of it up...
Other randoms:
The above blue tie-died fabric swathes interested me - namely because I attended a workshop at Oxygen Gallery in Nelson a couple of years ago where I'm pretty sure we did something similar...
Anyways - what I got out of it all - is that the contemporary vision of "Art" no longer seems to compass talent or ability - nice to have, not required - a good many of the paintings I saw were more about the "idea", or conceptualization, and less about the realization of said idea...
Which - I have to say, suits me just fine. There's never been a better time for me to enter the Art World...
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Meanwhile
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Yesterday - apply for jobs online. 7 jobs applied for (I'll get far more traction today on foot). But some slight success.
An interview today. Upscale Italian restaurant. Good, good.
And so celebrating - perhaps getting a little too deep in my cups, this morning everyone looking at you: A French girl accuses me: "You hate all the French!!!!".
Mmmm. Did I say that? Me? Moi? Merely when I'm drunk I like to provoke a bit, in the spirit of lighthearted banter. I'm actually not fussed, probably I was just making a scene. She regards me suspiciously.
Steve, bunkmate, gave me a copy of his book. Autobiographical, the oft-told tale of an abusive father, how he came to be and how he gave it all up, tales of his hitchhiking, 26 pages - self published & printed - 4 pages to an 8X11 sheet of paper, double sided, and somehow in his arrangement he didn't get the pages right and so each page when turned brings you to a different idea or time in his life, then back again. It doesn't make linear sense - sort of a post-modern ramble, done better it could be art - but it doesn't matter, I got the idea, made the appropriate pleasing noises and reviews.
I need cigarettes, and it's late, and I'm done with paying full price, there's cheap cigarettes around, I know, $5.00 a pack, and Steve sends me off to a group of natives down East Hastings who are selling them, so I wander amongst the teetering and addled enquiring, amongst the tarp villagers, no one knows anything, surely they know - definitely they know - I'm not yet - although close - closer - at the point where they're going to trust me, addled as I am, a 7 foot native youth tests my mettle - wrestling me, telling me how tough I am, not at all, not at all, merely sinew & bone at this point, I sit down and have conversations with the anguished at the end of the world, there's an incoherent poetry, a young junkie, tormented and wretched beyond description, telling me of her life - when she had a job, children, a place to live, all gone, all gone, and the glimmers of lucidity amongst the ravings - I could listen to this all night - but - careful, caution, listen too long and you'll be drawn into the depths as well.
I give up on the cheap cigarettes, find a shop, pay full price, back to the hostel, sleep.
I think I slept.
This morning, Steve - sleeping in, always he's asleep in the room - he's pleasant to talk to, discuss things with - but - clearly, given the time he spends in the room - and this room, it's no place to spend time in - he's profoundly depressed.
I'd be as well, only now - at this point in time - I can't afford it.
So now, onward-ho with my day, interviews to be met - and more to be sourced - Step 1: Find a Job - Step 2: Find a place to live - Step 3: Get a Jeep.
And there's quite a few steps in between so I'm off...
Photos around Hope
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Images
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None of them any good - but they reflect the general atmosphere - low, hanging clouds, mossy cedars, chainsaw wood sculptures, the burned out/abandoned houses, the wifi at the church, the lifebuoy app advertised everywhere, the neon of the cinema...
Which brings me back - this town, the Pacific North West - they don't need a monster - the place is plenty haunting enough.
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