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Happy Hour
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Restaurants & Cafes
- Hits: 1398
It's happy hour in Nelson, I've been a meaning to go for some several months now....
Buck-a-shuck Oysters. Half price appetizers and soups. $5.00 highballs, wine, beer and Caesars.
I've been waiting for this my entire life....
The Patio, overlooking the lake.
2 dozen oysters, the layer dip, the Tuna Stack...
The oysters, a bit mild, but excellent. The Caesars, well, it's got alcohol, doesn't it?
The layer dip, good, cheesy, the tuna, not so, frozen, not ideal.
I'd applied here, resting-bitch-face manager had pretended well, not well enough, I'm not working here but I'm glad, this is a far better hangout than it would be a workplace. I gotta plan to spend some night in town and come here and do some real damage when I don't have to drive...
...gonna open my own restaurant...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1094
New waiter, R#4 likes him, he's nice enough, but I'd say "a bit sketchy". He's staying at the shelter in Nelson, takes the bus to work - not a lot of help, given the restaurant closes later than the bus schedule will allow, and to show up and not do the formidable side duties - sweeping, mopping, cleaning - etc. seems a bit of a cheat.
So I volunteer to give him a ride back to Nelson, and he's telling me about his plans to open a restaurant. He's got it all figured out, has friends he's gonna hire, knows the menu, the suppliers, has a business model by which he can work only 3 days a week...
...and I'm thinking that maybe buddy you should be worried about finding a place to live, a reliable means of transportation, it seems obvious, but that's the furthest thing from his mind, he's worrying about linen and cutlery...
The night before payday...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 997
And every single one of 'em in the kitchen is coming to me for an advance...not one has a nickel to their name, not enough to buy a pack of cigarettes, bottle of vodka, Chef, the 2 assistants, they're penniless. They've been working here, 8, 12 weeks. Every payday it's the same. I raise an eyebrow, ask one of the younger ones if they don't save anything, "Nope", pretty matter-of-fact, it's payday to payday and when the summer's over if they have enough for a bus ticket it'll be off to look for the next job...
Drunk Irish, Spoiling for a fight
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1139
The child came in, maybe 14, 15 years old, looking for a hot-dog. We don't serve hot-dogs. We did, for a bit, for the 70th anniversary of the ferry landing, at the concession outside, but the kid, he's late, 8:00 PM, and the hot-dogs are done and I know nothing about it, I'm not the hot-dog waiter.
I know nothing about this, I call R#4, he speaks to the kid, gives him the story. No, we don't do hot-dogs.
A few minutes later his pa comes in. His pa, maybe 35, 40 years old, dull, maybe not dull so much as drunk, you get it from the accent, they're Irish.
And he's spoiling for a fight.
"So you won't cook my kid a hot-dog..." he begins, and R4 is dealing with it, "Nope..." he replies "We're all out...".
He's the short man with the chip on his shoulder. He's pissing me off.
Pissing me off, we've a bat behind the bar for exactly this sort of situation...WTF, these people, go to another country, give the locals shit for not being exactly what you expected in your own country (which, if, in Ireland, you're out of hot-dogs, well, then, fuck, I'm pretty sure you're outta hot-dogs)
I know there's Canadians that do the same, I say revoke their passports, everyone that leaves your / our country is an ambassador for it, if you haven't the rudiments of good manners there's no way we're letting you out to prejudice the world against us...And for foreigners, you're guests, dependent on our grace, bloody hell, don't like it? Tell your countrymen. Go ahead. We don't fucking need you. Give us a miss. We've plenty enough assholes as it is.
This Irishman , he's pissing me off, I want to grab the bat from behind the bar and just give him the education he's been waiting for his entire life, his kid, well, he'd be learning too, the rest of the patrons, well, let's be real, no one likes to be told off by a foreigner, full of shit, they've all got bats of their own. It could become a national custom, holiday, beat the shit out of the rude drunk Irishman, we've plenty of space for the body, fuck, we're in the Kootenays, but somehow or another the Irishman mollifies his tone ... "Well, if you're out your out..." ... and takes the menu to consider other options for his hungry child.
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