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Notice
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 890
Last week, Thursday, give my notice.
Another job, smaller place, closer to home, less hours, every reason, really, I need to recapture my life. Managing and serving.
I explain it, without blame, and he gets it, accepts the surface explanation because the other explanation - the other one I'm pretending doesn't exist, that "Golly Gee Whiz I love working 12 and 13 hours a day", frame it as an "I'll miss the hours..." - but I won't, lets be real, who would?
He's got a tear in his eye, Sr., we got along well enough, but - enough is enough. And the place was running me ragged, run, run, run, until you drop of a heart attack or old age, with little to no help whatsoever.
It's done.
Jr, he finds out from his father. He shows up Friday, "Just in the nick of time" 6:00 - time to work out the dinner rush. He congratulates me, it's a good fit, wishes me well and all that - but he's curt, short, something in him's broken. He thought I'd be the restaurant donkey forever. Now the grim realization that he might have to do some work.
The next couple days, forced civility, but he's lackluster, I understand, he feels betrayed, but - fuck, I need my life back. To pay the rent I'm paying and never be in town, never have time for a coffee or friends or a book, film, play - well - it's taken it's toll. Saturday he opens, does a little rush, then goes on cleaning binge. Cleaning everything - his Mom is coming home. I ask him why all the cleaning - he tells me: "I want to impress my Mom with everything I've done". In my mind I heard "Mommy" but I'm pretty sure it was Mom. He's 33.
He's there for the dinner rush and then knocks off early, he wants to go and visit a friend. I can close the place up.
Sunday, the same. He opens, late, does a bit of work then knocks off. Goes out to help his dad build a fence. Go's upstairs to visit his Mom. Sits down with customer to discuss politics and his life experience for an hour. Tries to ingratiate himself with a customer that doesn't particularly like him, but gets along with me, and now - since it's his show - his and his alone - he's got to make peace with a lot of people that would rather he stayed away...
Then, before you know it it's 5:00 and he's got to be off, back to ... - I can handle the night by myself. He checks to ensure I'll be in next week - he's got a birthday, his, his wife's, their anniversary, wants to make sure I'm around so he doesn't have to work - and I'm thinking - fuck - I'm thinking he did nothing but fuck around all day and didn't even have time to offer me a lunch break and now he's fucking off.
Sunday night, busy, but I survive, and I'm thinking, wondering - how the fuck did I last as long as I did?
But - it's done, the die is cast and I'm moving on and I'm surprised at my initiative, rarely have I ever looked for a better job when I've had one already, but - just as things can always get worse I'm starting to realize that things can also get an awful lot better...
The Vaccine Passports
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 852
And, while on the topic of "Rule Breakers" we're on to the Vaccine Passports.
Restaurants, in town, they're following the rules or changing their service model. A few of the cafes and restaurants are back to doing take-out only, unwilling to ask their customers for their passport.
Out at ... well, it's Dodge city. There's no clear direction from the owners, "Go through the motions", but - ...
But...
Monday, easily half our customers are unvaxxed. If I asked to see papers I'd kill the business. And so I play by the rules the owners want me to play by, but this is tricky.
I don't want to piss off our good customers, our regulars, I don't want to be the bearer of bad tidings, throw anyone out, not for THAT anyways, I'm so fucking tired of the whole thing - who isn't? And I never want to hear another persons facebook-informed science opinion ever again. But this ignoring it - it's not going to work either.
Now - I've started the other job, a completely different clientele that I don't know, and these people, I'm fine with asking them. I haven't the same relationship, the same investment. I get why so many people are quitting their jobs over this. A restaurant staffing shortage already - every restaurant in the city, on the lake - 50, 60% understaffed, and people are quitting over it.
Anyways, anyways, the days are long but there's only 5 shifts left, 12 hours a day, dodge and duck my way through them...
New Taboos
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 850
It used to be that you couldn't discuss Sex, Religion or Politics.
Used to be. In the Olden Days of Yore. Now: "I like to bugger goats" is a perfectly acceptable introduction and no one is in the least offended by the title of Mr./Mrs Goat Buggerer.
Religion is essentially Child Buggery, which still seems to offend the majority, so bringing it up merely solicits agreement that it's bad, and on Politics everyone agrees to disagree.
But try and bring up "Science" or "Medicine" and see how quickly you're ostracized...I mean, just try it!
Stormy's Last Stand
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Stormy
- Hits: 744
Finally, piecing it together, how it all went down. Meeting with the nurses, others of Stormy's friends, it goes something like this.
A neighbor, perplexed and concerned about the maggots that were coming out of her wall, called the police. Who broke into Stormy's place to do a "Wellness Check", probably expecting to find him dead.
Instead they found his flat. I've posted photos of it before, and, given that he stopped allowing me in and the foul winds that blew forth from it when he opened the door I'm gathering that things got worse.
So - the police in Stormy's flat, not finding the body, then call the fire department who condemn the place. Bits of rotting food, feces, everywhere, piled two and three feet deep on the floor. They begin to empty it out, dressed in full hazmat suits.
Stormy, thankfully, is not here for this - but he shows up on his scooter to witness it, there's a confrontation, the police are there, he attempts an escape - on his scooter - the classic "Low Speed Chase", he's caught without too much trouble and "given a ride" to the hospital.
News of this reached estranged god-bothering sister who apparently shows up to loot the remains.
Now the hospital is in a quandary, who to call, what to do, no living relatives that he cares to speak to, and so he's appointed me - amongst others - as his guardian. Papers to be signed to get him into the extended care home. Other details. And meet his other friends, who I find out have believed far too much of his ramblings with very little evidence.
The theory - which they accept as fact - surfaces: STORMY IS MARILYN MUNROES SECRET ILLEGITIMATE LONG LOST SON...
Fitting, that, and while hesitant to put any credence in it who am I to question such a plot twist?
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