Sven was going through a very long explanation of various local cheeses with a customer. The thing is, Sven is really not into customer service at all, because he isn't into customers at all, and will only interact with them when he is forced to. So today there he was, out from behind the counter for a sp,lit second, when this woman came out iof nowhere and asked him a question. He stood for a moment like a deer in proverbial headlights, trying to decide whether or not to flee, and then silently acquiesced. I could see the bitter resignation in his eyes. Fortunately, the customer could not. So there he stood, all six and a half feet of him, going through at least twenty different cheeses. He even went so far as to cut a piece for the woman to taste. She loved it, and Sven was looking quite relieved as he headed back toward West Coast Karen and me. But oh no, too soon.
"I can't buy New Hampshire cheese," she said loudly to Sven's back. His shoulders fell even faster than his face.
"Okay- is there something in particular about New Hampshire?"
"I'm going to a L0cavore's Dinner and I need cheese from Vermont."
He explained to her, much more patiently than I would have been able to, that in fact parts of New Hampshire were more local than parts of Vermont, and that the cheese in question was, according to LV definition, local.
I waited until she was out of earshot before mumbling
"If you're going to be a sanctimonious twat you could at least try to grasp basic geography."
West Coast Karen gasped audibly and Sven looked confused. I really do need a social filter here. Either that or Verm0nt needs to lighten up. Jokes, people! Jokes!!
*Sigh*
Nobody gets me here.

Harried Manager came flying to the bar the other night, a rack of fancy wine glasses in hand. He sent Too Loud Trixie, the Inappropriate Bartender, to get the expensive wine that had been ordered from the wine closet.
He chose to send TLT because he knew that she had been getting on my nerves for a couple of hours and he was tying to give me a moment's peace. Unfortunately, being the diplomat that he is, what Harried Manager actually said was
"I want Trixie to go. She needs practice finding the wines back there. You- (he pointed at me) stay and help me polish these. We have to be really careful with these so they don't break."
He was right, of course. Trixie has worked mostly day shifts and doesn't know the wine closet as well as I do because she doesn't use it as often, and she would have agreed with him had he found a better way to say it and had she not already been working for nine hours. But he didn't, and she had, so she threw a fit and cursed a blue streak right there behind the bar, in full view of all of the bar patrons and likely within earshot of almost everybody in the dining room upstairs.
Welcome to my Saturday night, everybody. These days it seems like I work with Trixie more often than not, and despite the fact that she clearly cannot handle a double shift without losing it and shooting her mouth off, she seems to volunteer for them on a regular basis.

So, Too Loud Trixie goes off in a huff, and then HM polishes exactly one and a half of the ten glasses before shattering one into a million pieces. This throws him completely off of his game, and as he scrambles to pick up the broken shards, he nearly knocks the entire rack (containing the rest of the unpolished glasses) to the floor. A trainee approaches, and is thrust into the middle of the task as Harried Manager finds havoc to wreak elsewhere. Trixie returns, smiling and cheerful as if nothing has happened, and sees the broken glass in the trash.

"What happened?" she asks, as if it isn't obvious.
"Harried Manager broke a glass," I respond with total ambivalence.
"You see? What an asshole. Good. I'm glad he broke one." (You can assume exclamation points after anything uttered by Trixie. Were I to type them, this post would be twice as long.)
"Well, you should be glad that it was him and not you," I say calmly and quietly. "He's just freaking out, and now he isn't freaking out at you."
I find it frustrating that this woman is ten years older than me and still such a child. She also has a habit of accusing everyone else of lacking professionalism, the irony of which will surely not escape the more astute among you. (Minutes later she dropped an entire rack full of glasses in the back hall, and then she came back behind the bar and cussed out loud about that, too.)

Through all of this, an off duty cook named Ed has been observing, drink in hand, from the other side of the bar. He occasionally looks at me as if to say, "Dude- I am so sorry." I occasionally respond by noting out loud the number of minutes there are before I am able to have a beer. About twenty minutes after the glasses are finished and the wine is whisked away, Harried Manager returns, stepping back to pour himself a caffeinated beverage behind the bar just opposite Ed.
"Well, the shit show's almost over," he sighs, looking at his watch.
Ed immediately shoots back "Why- are you out of here?"
I think ed and I are going to get along just fine. I knew my people had to be up here somewhere.

West Coast Karen, my over-concerned co-worker, was working in the deli the other day at the Local Grocery, when I overheard her explaining The Turkeys to a customer.

The Turkeys are currently flapping about doing turkey things and enjoying hormone-free, organic turkey diets in preparation for the end-of-month holiday, when they will go from Mr. or Mrs. Turkey to "turkey, $3.99 a pound". Of course, some turkeys are only $2.99 a pound at the Local Grocery. It depends on which farm they come from. $3.99 Knoll Farms turkeys are pasture raised, with access to a barn. They are able to wander in and out of said barn as they please. The $2.99 Hill Farm turkeys are raised in pens, which are moved about from place to place in a pasture, so that they get new grass and new bugs every so often. They have roofs over their heads and therefore, logically, less chance of getting eaten by a predator. This means fewer animals lost, which means a better profit margin, and the ability of the farmer to charge less per pound and still afford to be a farmer.

All of this nuance is of course completely lost on West Coast Karen, because although she seems to have no problem selling their meat by the pound (or consuming it, for that matter) she is very concerned about the well-being of The Turkeys.

"How are the $2.99 turkeys different from the $3.99 turkeys?" asked a customer.
"They don't have free will."
"Or claw marks!" I piped up helpfully from behind the cheese counter.

It has often been said that Athens is the Island of Misfit Toys. Well, the Local Grocery is a similar island, but instead of cool stuff like one-armed Star Wars figurines and melted G.I. Joes, this one is all lame, generic, Strawberry Shortcake and My Little Pony wanabees. Honestly, people. Can you find a way to be crazy and still functional?
My co-worker Karen is a self-proclaimed "West Coast Person", whatever that means, and she had a fit the other day because I was trying to kill a fly (yes- a fly) that wouldn't get away from the blue cheese we were cutting.
"Run away!" she yelled, waving her arms maniacally and jumping around behind the already claustrophobic counter. When it flew off unharmed, she looked at me accusingly and asked "What did that fly ever do to you?!"
Before I could answer that flies are disease spreading vermin who have no place in a grocery store, Sven (another cheese guy) goes
"Well, he threw up on my arm, for starters."
She looked bewildered, and I just busted out laughing. Confrontation averted. I knew I liked that guy.

So I scored a full-time gig at the Local Co Op. I am now an official Wine and Cheese Broad, and I will have health insurance for the first time in my adult life. Holy cow.
Meantime, I have been working both jobs, had a severe cold and then food poisoning, and have not had a healthy day off in a couple of weeks. But at least there is a light at the end of this tunnel. Joy.
Dyed my hair back to red yesterday. I have been blonde for some time now (A year or two?) and as per usual, I completely ignored the warning on the label that said in no uncertain terms NOT to put the Henna dye over bleached hair. So rather than medium auburn, my hair is now a light orange, not unlike any other person of Irish decent. Not what I was going for, but doable. So there's that.
In other news, it has been getting colder and colder. The b.h. and I went and bought long underwear and boots and all of those things we used to never think about. The dogs have been extra snuggly, which is great. And after this week, I will likely be seeing more of all of my boys, which I am looking forward to.
I know this is a boring post, but I haven't had time to think. And now I'm off to walk in the woods.

This week has been extremely busy. I've lost count of both the number of shifts I have worked and the number of hours I have slept due to illness from co-workers who can't seem to stay home when they are sick. Not that I blame them. You don't get paid for staying home, and the power company doesn't take "I had a really bad cold" as payment.

Anyway. The b.h. and I celebrated another wedding anniversary on Friday night. I had the night off, but since I was feeling like crap I slept the whole day until it was time to go to dinner. We had dinner at The Local Restaurant (where I work), which was good but took forever (which happens often when there are students in the kitchen, and there are always students in the kitchen- it's part of the deal). Anyway, they bought us dessert (pumpkin profiteroles and some kind of brownie thing), and we rushed out the door to a play. The play was The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged). It featured a total of three actors and was really entertaining, with lots of Monty Pythonesque speaking in not-terribly-feminine women's voices. I started to feel really crappy about halfway through, and by the time we got home I knew I was not going to make it to work on Saturday night. So I called my Harried Manager and he promised to work on it in the morning.
I slept the entire day on Saturday, getting up only to move from the bed to the couch and call Harried Manager (whom I have taken to calling "Hurricane (His Name)" to him and all of my co-workers). He covered my shift, and I settled in for more quality couch time. Watched three episodes of Dexter (Season Three now on DVD!), and promptly fell back to sleep for twelve or thirteen more hours.
I did manage to work last night with minimal coughing (until the very end). Today I'm feeling loads better and I hope to see a friend from down South in Burlington for dinner. Still waiting to see.

I can't believe it's been almost a week since my last post. Time is a'flyin'. So I worked on Tuesday night, a double on Wednesday, and had Thursday off. We're busy trying to get the house in order, since our friends from Georgia arrive today, stay until Wednesday, and then my parents arrive on Friday. It would be easier if we were not smack in the middle of a season change, as well. I had to bring the Meyer Lemon tree inside, where it doesn't have a real home yet, and I've dragged out the winter gear as well. It all needs to be laundered, along with the guest bedding.
I'm looking forward to having some company, and the weather looks like it will be gorgeous (barring the thirty-something temperature tonight, of course). Yesterday I bought some flowers at the Farmer's Market, and today I'll shop for beer and snack food. What more could a guest want, right?
In other news, I have finally utilized the neti pot I bought months ago. It feels really weird, but so far my sinuses seem to have improved.
Hoping we get to the World's Tallest File Cabinet this week. If we do, I'll be sure to post pics so you can see the glory for yourselves.
For now, I'm back to the grindstone.

Starting to feel at home in the Local Restaurant. This was Night Three of my training, and I already know several regular customers and most of the front of house staff. It is good to be behind a bar again, honestly.
At the end of the night, for the third night in a row, we were visited by Chef Gerard, who is a Big Wig at the Culinary School. It seems he has a reputation for being, well, French. As in, crazy and irritable and kind of scary. So far he has been exceedingly friendly and often hilarious. Tonight he asked me where I had come from. I rattled off my usual abbreviated "Just arrived from" and "Grew up in" answer, with the addition of some more specific information about another French Chef I used to work for.
"I know eem well," he smiled. "Ee ees back een New Orleans now."
There was some further discussion about the restaurant in Chicago where I worked for the Other French Chef, and about why he left (and has now returned to) New Orleans. I actually think about OFC a lot. He was one of the best people I have ever worked for. Under shite circumstances, of course, but that's often where the best experiences happen.
"Small whereld," mused Chef Gerard.
Indeed it is.
At the end of the night he returned for a nightcap (Pellegr1no). He was in a good mood, having entertained some friends earlier, and he was very animated. Another Chef (The Tall One from yesterday's post), Peter, was there again, as well as a dishwasher named Todd. Peter was telling CG that the Dishwasher was really interested in learning to cook, and that he was thinking about going to Another Cooking School in Florida.
"They will take your money, and you won't learn sheet," answered CG without hesitation. "Guys come out of there, they don know wheech end of the knife to cut weeth."
"So where do you think he should go?" Peter continued, knowing the answer already.
"Ere, of course!"
Peter continued the conversation, telling CG that Todd couldn't afford it ("We will pro bebbly geeve you more scholarsheep than them anyway"), and showing him the textbook that Todd had taken out of the library, as well as a spiral bound notebook full of notes that he was taking.
"He isn't even in school, Chef. He just wants to learn."
CG took the notebook and flipped through it. The thing was half full already.
" I weesh I write like you," laughed CG. "No one can reed my writeeng."
He handed the notes back to Todd, basically saying that they could figure something out. Todd was obviously gratified. It was a great moment. I should say also that Todd is exactly the kind of guy I would hire if I were doing the hiring. He has made some tattoo-related errors, and he could use some help in the dental department, but he is polite and professional, and he busts his ass. Dishwashing is not glamorous, or easy, or even pleasant. But it is a good gauge of how serious a person is. And it is a job that is integral to the running of a restaurant.
As he was leaving tonight, I very quietly remarked to him that Chef Peter had done him a big favor. He ducked his head and smiled, a really big smile that made it clear that he knew what this could mean. I thanked him and went back to the bar, feeling as good for him as he probably felt himself.
When I returned, CG was holding court.
"I was een New York last wheek," he was telling Annie (My Trainer this evening) and Peter, and I see this beautiful black woman. I like woman, so I ave to talk to er. And she say, 'Culinary School? What's eet called?' An I tell er, and she say, 'an where ees that?' an I tell er, and she say 'Oh, I ave an old roommate oo work at one of dose', and I say 'really?' what's ees name?' and eets Peter!"
Annie was laughing out loud. CG had her at "I like woman," and the rest was just icing on the cake.
So far so good. I hope things continue to go well.

I nearly forgot! Last night's Customers of the Night:

1) A young lady with whom many people on the staff were obviously familiar. She looked remarkably like Sarah Vowell, which might be the only thing that kept me from choking the shit out of her for being a condescending cunt. The girl who was training me was, as I said, very sweet, and though she was not terribly well-spoken, did her best to convey certain facts pertaining to the Young Lady's order. The Young Lady responded by being simultaneously smug, condescending, and unhelpful. She talked on her cell phone at the bar, which I already find kind of grating (and rude), but the volume was preposterous and the subject matter- again, fucking smug. Trying to make a big show of her worldliness, she was. She even went so far as to question whether we had given her "real" B & B. Fucking seriously. As if we might have somehow mistaken the letters (and also as if she hadn't fucking watched us pour it from the bottle two feet away from her). Not to mention that if you aren't my dad, or at least my dad's age, do you really even drink B & B, much less critique it? Seriously? My Trainer was completely oblivious to the attitude she was being shown, and I didn't bother to point it out to her. I mean, why burst her bubble, right?
2) This guy wasn't even a customer of mine (er- ours. I was training). He came down after we had already closed and the only people in the bar were myself, My Trainer, and a chef whose name I have forgotten- I'll call him The Tall Chef for now. The guy was slightly inebriated, and loudly but politely asking to see a manager. I told him I would find the Manager right away, but as I was turning to go he started to tell me why he wanted to see The Manager. It seems that the man's waiter had spilled a beer in his lap.
"But I'm not even mad about that. No- I have worked in places like this before, so I know how things can happen. And he cleaned it up right away and he was great. And he got me another beer and everything. The thing is, my bill came-" he paused here, either for effect or to belch, I couldn't be sure-" and he charged me for the beer."
"I'm terribly sorry sir. I'm sure it was an error. We'll take care of it right away."
"No. He took it off the bill. He took it off before he ran my credit card. But the thing is, it should have never been on there."
"I'm sure it was merely an oversight. You know, accidents happen, and people get flustered. I'm really sorry that it happened. I will get The Manager."
Except I couldn't get The Manager, because I had no idea where he was or how to page him. So I asked My Trainer to. She made a couple phone calls.
"He's on a break," she said, loudly enough for the man to hear. (Remember the thing she did with the milk? Yeah.)
"But he's on his way here, right?" I said, looking at her and flicking my eyes at The Customer in a wink-wink nudge-nudge fashion.
"Uh... yeah. He'll be right over."

Luckily The Customer and His Wife were feeling celebratory. So I went on about my business, wiping down and cleaning up the now closed bar. The Tall Chef ordered another beer, and when The Customer noticed his chef's uniform, started chatting him up.
"Aw, man," he slurred. "You the chef?"
"I'm one of them," replied TTC.
"Aw, maaan," he slurred again. "The food tonight was eexlnt."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"Yeah, the meal was perfect. I have no complaints about the meal."
"Thanks," replied TTC, turning slightly in his seat in a useless attempt to close the conversation.

I can't remember the details of the conversation that followed, mostly due to exhaustion, but suffice to say that it was long and jovial, and we discovered that The Customer and His Wife (who was standing in the background smiling uncomfortably and looking at the exit the whole time, and who, it is worth mentioning, was never introduced or brought into the conversation by her new husband) were on their honeymoon, that they were congratulated by each one of us when he announced it (four times), and that by the time The Manager had returned (probably from smoking, but I don't know for sure), the guy was considerably deflated. In fact, The Tall Chef was in mid sentence when The Manager returned, and The Manager spent a minute or two poking his head around corners looking for an angry customer before one of us finally cut in and introduced them.
The end of the story is rather boring. The guy repeated his complaint several times, each time stressing that he didn't "expect anything," but that he "thought we should know" because he has "been in the business." What he got was a business card from The Manager and the promise of a free meal should they ever return. Thank the gods they live a few hours away. Hopefully we'll never see them again.

New job is pretty good so far. Humbling moment #1:
"You need a keg changed? Oh, I got it. You just have to be careful not to push down until it's all the way turned", I said, turning and not pushing down, "or you'll get sprayed", I finished, spraying myself completely with beer.
"Um... yeah. Like that."
Apparently the system at the Local Restaurant is different than the one I spent eight years with.

Moment of horror/hilarity: My trainer this evening, who is as sweet as can be, has not been doing this long herself. Going to make a cappuccino, she pulls out a half gallon of milk and, while pouring it into the pitcher, looks at the date and says loudly in front of the twelve or so customers at the bar "This is dated the 14th. It's the 17th, right?"

Actually, it was the 18th at the time. It was a "sell by" and not a "use by" date, but still breaking the rules according to the He@lth Dept. She then checked every other container in the fridge, and made a show of dumping them all out directly in front of everyone, while a whispered "Not out loud! Not out loud!" as loudly as I dared. Luckily the only guy at the bar who was paying attention thought it was funny.

I took the dogs to the river again today, and Wyatt was all Micha3l Ph3lps and everything. I'm very proud. If he continues to improve, I may just buy him a bong.

The b.h. was already asleep on the couch when I got here. He got up long enough to point out the tortellini and garlic scape pesto in the fridge and then promptly went upstairs and passed out. Now I'm having a Smuttynose IPA and enjoying some No Reservations to wind down. Tomorrow I work at the Health Food Store from 11 to 3, then the Local Restaurant from 4 to close again. So you may not here from me again until Thursday. Buenos Noches, amigos. I'm really going to have to learn to say that in French.

After getting crappy and then crappier news yesterday, I decided to go outdoors to distract myself and enjoy the weather a bit. It has been in the upper eighties and lower nineties for several days now, which is apparently what summer is supposed to look like here (as opposed to the constant rain we've been having for the last two months).
I put the dogs in the car and headed out to a local nature center. This one has a very large prairie, grown up tall with walking trails cut through, and is on the bank of a river. We walked around the paths for awhile, with both of them stopping every three feet to inspect the smells of the other dogs that had already been through. The field is full of goldenrod right now. I wish I had brought my camera (maybe today), because it hadn't occurred to me how much it would change as the summer wore on. Anyway, it was beautiful and not very crowded, and we all enjoyed ourselves.
By the time we got to the river we were all pretty sweaty. Despite the presence of a father and his two small daughters, we managed to get down the bank and into the water without too much ruckus. Because of the lack of rain, the river is quite slow right now, and low enough that even Wyatt (who stands 16 inches tall at the shoulder) could wade in without trouble.
Wyatt has never been a swimmer. His odd breeding (half corgi, half German Shepherd, we think) makes for a strange body type and legs that simply can't propel his barrel-shaped body very well. Also, the first day we got him from the pound, we thought it would be best to take him and Kilgore to the park so they could be introduced on neutral ground. That park also happened to be on a river, and since Kilgore is an avid swimmer he raced right in, and Wyatt followed right behind him and then had considerable trouble getting back out. The event obviously stuck with him, and ever since he has been more inclined to lie in wait on shore for Kilgore and then pounce on him as he emerges from the water.
Yesterday, though, I was able to convince him to walk in the river with me. I let Kilgore have a lot of slack on his leash (enough to swim around but not so much that he could play with the children), and focused on getting Wyatt to try swimming again. The river is really pretty in this particular spot, and clear enough so you can see where it gets deeper and how much deeper it gets. The boys wear harnesses rather than traditional collars now (more control and less choking, we've found), so I was able to use it like a handle (picture a fat, fuzzy, suitcase) and pull him through the deeper parts, his legs pumping and tail twisting furiously until he propelled himself (with my help) to the next spot where his feet reached the bottom. He was uneasy at first, but I think as he got used to it he liked it. Of course, I don't imagine him ever swimming on his own, because he was definitely listing, but it was good exercise and a nice way to cool off. I'm hoping to get back there today.

I start my new bartending gig this evening. Fairly certain that my days at the "Local" Health Food Store are numbered, because the restaurant wants me to work the same days that I already work over there. Hate to quit the LHFS, but I can't keep driving 40 miles each way to work 3 days a week. As for the new job, I think I may have mentioned that it's a nice restaurant and walking distance from the house, so I'm hoping it goes well. I'll keep you posted. Wish me luck.

"Are those the customers from hell?" asked my boss The Wife, from behind the line in the kitchen. All I had done was punch in an order for mozzarella sticks with extra marinara.
Crystal, the other waitress, nodded, grimacing.
"Make sure you go with her to take their order," she said, gesturing at me and shaking her head sympathetically.
When they came in the front door, the man went immediately over to the hostess stand, which was empty at the time, and grabbed himself a stack of napkins. I rushed over and asked if I could help him, explaining that there would be place settings on the table.
"I always grab extra," he replied, making his way without invitation to a table in my section. The hostess was nowhere in sight. I grabbed a pair of menus and followed him and his wife.
"Can I bring you a beverage to start with?" I was trying my best not to sound the way that I felt. He immediately blew out and dismantled the candle and holder, leaving the pieces separate and lined up against the wall.
"She's going to have the house Chardonnay, and I want unsweetened iced tea, with extra lemons and an extra glass of ice."
Oh. I see.
So you can imagine that it was no surprise to me when The Wife Boss called them the Customers From Hell. I suppose I was kind of surprised at her volume when she said it, given the fact that she knew they were seated about five feet from the kitchen door. It made me like her more.
They ate overcooked burgers with overcooked bacon on top. He wanted no bread with his, but ordered rice on the side(?). He wound up finishing her french fries. Whatever.
After work Amy, the hostess/manager asked me how I was doing. She seemed eager to encourage me, worried that I wasn't going to stick it out. She's kind of right, I suppose. I mean, I interviewed for a full time gig down the street last week, and if they offer it to me I will take it. Health Insurance and all, you know. But I will probably have to continue waiting tables anyway, for the money. I just hope I am able to get some sleep soon. I have this problem, which has happened before when I was a waitress, where I go to bed and my mind races, and just as I'm falling asleep something will jar me awake and I suddenly find myself in a panic, my mind racing.
"Shit! Did I forget that guy's side of mayo?" And so on. I don't know if other wait people do this, but it has plagued me for my entire adult life. Even after I hadn't waited tables for years. Some people have dreams that they are back in school and they have a test and they haven't studied for it and know they are going to fail. I have nightmares that I keep getting more tables and I can't keep up. I'm hoping that the rise of high-gravity beer will help me through this time.
The Local Health Food Store is still a mixed bag. My boss has no organizational skills whatsoever, and also seems to be burned out, so it seems unlikely that it will get any better. On the other hand, in addition to a nice discount I am able to take home a whole lot of free food every week, so I feel compelled to stay on there at least one day a week- unless of course I get this other full-time gig, in which case I'm going to have to quit. I don't know if I mentioned it before, but the Local Health Food Store has a program where they allow employees to take food that is unsellable (for various reasons- bruising, effed up packaging, one day past the sell by date)for free. And there is always a lot of it. Last week I brought home two whole local organic chickens. Saturday I brought home two local organic pork chops for the b.h., as well as a couple pounds of local, organic, grass-fed beef. I also snagged a couple pounds of local organic zucchini and crookneck squash, a bunch of organic broccoli, a bunch of organic asparagus, and a large package of local organic romaine lettuce. On top of that I got a few small containers of organic rice pudding and some local organic ricotta cheese. All for free. So yeah- I'll be hard pressed to give that up.
Looking forward to a visit from my good fiend T this week. He should be arriving tomorrow evening while I am at work. Luckily I have managed to get Wednesday and Thursday off, so we will have plenty of time to goof off. The list of visitors and potential visitors keeps growing. I love it. I may be gone a couple days, but will hopefully have some good photos of Random Weirdness when I return.

11 1/2 hours of work, and 9 1/2 hours of sleep. Oh Service Industry, you knew I couldn't stay away. That's right people: A new job, and a whole new cast of characters.
Roger was the waiter who trained me. Roger is somewhere around fifty, and he wears an (unironic) earring and mustache combo that would have identified him as gay were we still in the eighties. I don't think he is gay, or if he is he doesn't know it anyway. He is, however, a total bitch. He was nice enough to me, but his interactions with the other servers were less than pleasant. He would tell me something about how to push desserts, or how to close a check, and then follow it with
"Because you are concerned about your money first."
It got to the point where we were playing the game, you know, where he would start the sentence, and then look to me to repeat that phrase back to him. I played along, because it was just easier. Many of the things he told me were either hilariously obvious or completely misguided. In column A, we have these gems: "Be nice to the kitchen, because if you take care of them, they'll take care of you." "Be nice to the bartender, because let me tell you, they are under no pressure to make your drinks first. And we can make your life very easy or very hard when we're back there." (He said that when he told me he was rounding up the bartender's tipout by fifty cents.)
He also explained to me a very complicated system he has for the order of service of the people at a table, based on their ages. He described it as "proper etiquette" having earlier mentioned his former job at a resort in Stowe. Now, don't get me wrong. I know that these things are very important sometimes. I know that it is best to serve the elders in a party first to show proper respect, but this is an establishment where people use fucking coupons. And frequent diner cards. And get a discount on their birthday based on their age. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'm not sure that they give a shit about who gets their basket of hot wings first, you know? I asked him some questions about shifts and what time they were usually over and how much I could expect to make. At first I was dismayed by his answers, but then I realized that he was likely making a lot less than everybody else, despite his "proper etiquette," due to his "shit attitude". Yeah. Can't wait to work with that guy again.

Today was Drag Your Shrieking Child Through the Store Day at the LHFS. And thanks to somebody's stroke of genius, many of them were piloting child-sized shopping carts and running around knocking into stuff and completely ignoring their parents. So that was fun.
Then there was a girl who showed up in her pajamas. Now I know you're thinking, so effing what? People do that all the time! And indeed that is true. I have seen people in flannel bottoms and a t-shirt, sometimes even in their slippers, running into the gas station or the Local Liquor Store for a pack of cigarettes or quick 6 pack. Shit, people used to come to the bar like that. No. This girl was wearing a silky, peacock green camisole and short set, with lace trim, and a pair of knee-length white trouser socks. Yeah. Somebody's daddy probably should have given her a little more attention.
Other than that and the fact that I got free breakfast (hooray for tofu curry!), it was a rather soul-suckingly boring day.
Off tomorrow, though, so if the weather is nice (it's supposed to rain, so I assume that it will be) I'll probably take the boys to do something fun.

So I guess I'll Just Sleep When I'm Dead.

Yep, I am still awake. I mean, I have slept a few hours, but not near as many as I should have. Last night was another slow one at work, and I would say roughly half of the customers I did have were crazy in one way or another.
There was the "I don't buy French wine" guy, who I believe was a car salesman. They are not known for their good taste, so I felt no urge to correct him). He was wearing sunglasses and never took them off throughout our entire exchange, though our entire exchange was conducted indoors. He was also wearing an incredibly gaudy gold ring, a Bee ehM dubbleeWe polo shirt(he had one parked in our lot), had a really bad mustache. He wanted "a good red" for under ten dollars, shot down virtually every suggestion I had, and answered any questions I asked (trying to narrow down what he wanted) in a hilariously egotistical manner. I gave up and walked away from him, and careened straight into a very diminutive man in his sixties who asked a million questions and hated everything I suggested to him. He kept talking about points, and Parker, and he had an eyePhone so he G00gle searched everything anyway. I don't mind people asking a lot of questions and wanting to be informed, but if our palates are so obviously different, why keep asking me what I think? And really, how does one answer the question
"Is this really worth fifty dollars?", armed with the knowledge that this annoying little man is going to come back in two weeks? Obviously he was setting a trap for me, and I had no intention of springing it.

I also had a very long exchange with the Nice Guy's wife. She was trying to decide what to get for NGs birthday celebration, and she seemed very wound up about getting it just right. I had stepped out front for a moment with my Regular Russian Customer, a youngish woman who has a very nice boyfriend and no friends in this town at all. She is very likable and though we have very little in common I think we might be friends if I were not about to leave town. Ah well. Anyway, when I came back, Adam was standing in the wine department with NG's wife. He had a pained expression on his ace and had removed his glasses, rubbing the place where they had rested on his nose. When he saw me he immediately brightened up, and then as soon as I got within a few feet of them he was off, blathering niceties over his shoulder and practically running back to the cash register.
She is a very nice woman, but she is obviously very concerned about getting this thing just right, which makes for a lot of indecision and more hand holding than I ever have to do with her husband. It was a long process, but thirty minutes later I finally had her out the door with a case of wine for the party and a bottle of rose' to go home and drink immediately.
At the end of the night, Stan and Adam and I chilled a Smuttynose Russian Imperial Stout while we ran through the store as quickly as possible, straightening and stocking and shutting things down. That took about three minutes, which was as much time as the beer needed. It was chilled to perfection. Stan divided it evenly between three glasses, and we all made the same face as we brought it to our noses. It smells awesome. And it tastes even better. It is hoppy, and malty, and creamy, and were I not so fucking exhausted I would have happily stayed for another. Three thumbs way up.
When I got home I sent the b.h. to bed. I grabbed a quick shower and finished the tofu curry, stupidly not opening another beer to go with it. I started watching an episode of Unc0rked, but Kilgor wouldn't stop whining so I shut it off and went to bed.
The wind was pretty nasty, loud enough that neither Kilgore nor I could quite relax, so I turned on the fan for some white noise. This had the effect of knocking him directly out, and I was awake for another hour, after which I slept fitfully and awoke feeling like shit. So here I am. The good news is that I finally uploaded some pictures I've been meaning to show you.

This is my new favorite coffee mug, courtesy of K. It looks just like the paper cups you see smashed in the street all over New York.



This is the hawk that I am fairly certain is nesting somewhere in the yard. She has been quite vocal recently. This picture was taken from here at the computer desk in the office.



This is the first icicle we ever grew in Georgia. Not the sheet of snow that is hanging precariously from our tin roof. We could hear that thing moving, very incrementally for a couple days after the snow. It crashed to the ground while we were out getting groceries.





Here's the long shot of said sheet, just before it fell:

Work was dumb.
Burn After Reading was funnier than I remembered.
The dinner party was great.
Donnie makes wicked good pretzels.
Sometimes rats just need to be poisoned.
This may be one of those times.
I'm still debating.

The b.h. has just informed me that his band got a really shit gig for really good money at a sports bar in Alphafuckingretta in a couple weeks. Hilarious! I kind of want to go just because the idea is a bit ridiculous.

I started The Fortress of Solitude and Neil Gaiman's children's book Coraline. That movie is either just out or about to be, so I wanted to read the book first. I'm enjoying them both.

I know that talking about the weather is a bit of a copout, but right now it is 24 degrees ("feels like 10"!)outside. I would guess it's about forty inside. I am sitting under a dog and a giant blanket with the heat blasting and I am freezing my ass off.

Friday the high will be sixty.

Watching the end of the new Tom Petty documentary Runnin' Down a Dream. It is two discs of genius. I have always loved the man, but now I am beginning to understand what a badass he truly is. I have to go to work at the LLS in a few minutes. As it will surely be even colder there, I am not looking forward to it. Hopefully Lynn will call and need my help at her store so I won't get stuck. We need to collect some firewood before we come home tonight, too. Damn. Think anyone will notice if I just stay here and hunker down?

Shit. Alright, gotta go.

Double.

Working the Local Liquor Store around eleven this morning. Then a two hour break, then Rock Club. Should be fun, but I'm really looking forward to having tomorrow off and getting some rest. Computer still fucked, so I can't upload NYC pics. The thing isn't even paid for yet and it's already crashed. Not a good sign. Anyway, I'm going to walk the boys before work. Hopefully I'll have something fun to report later.

*Later*
Well, that was exciting. The LLS was particularly busy due to the impending Big Game. Gods I'm glad I no longer work in a sports bar. If I had to work tomorrow I would surely shoot somebody. Anyway, at least most people were in a good mood.

The b.h. has had a tour-related neck injury. No, not the infamous "rock neck", but just as insidious: Couch Neck. Seems he slept somewhere too soft and woke up unable to turn his head much. Thankfully it was the last day and he didn't have to play in that condition. We went to the chiropractor yesterday and he spent the evening on the couch icing and self-medicating whilst I slung drinks.
The first two bands were underwhelming and gay, respectively. First I was exposed to the new 0F M0ntreal record, which was, to put it politely, not my cup of tea. Next was a decent enough band from Nashville, followed by a soul(?) band made up of some Atlanta all-stars. The lead singer was wearing red pants of the new-fangled and short-waisted variety, which rode so low that they didn't even come close to touching his red vest/sleeveless shirt combo. Later I referred to the hair in that part of his mid-section as a Trail of Tears. I had meant to say Happy Trail, but what came out was far more fitting. I don't know who told that guy that those pants were a good idea, but they ought to be slapped.
The Modern Skirts were fantastic, as usual. I don't own and have not heard the new record, but the material they played from it was catchy and fun. It's really cool to see them playing to such a large and responsive crowd, having been there years ago when they sucked out loud to six people. For the encore they brought out members of both opening bands and one Mr. Mike Mills, who sand harmonies and played tambourine. It was great.
Afterward I cleaned up quick, counted my money, and said a quick hello to Phillip and Jojo before taking my leave as quickly as possible.

"Feels Like 18"

That's what our local weather says on The W3ather Ch@nnel dot com. Fucking cold is what it is. Were it not for the musical stylings of South San Gabriel, I wouldn't even consider leaving the house.
Today was long and sucky. I knew it was going to be, so when i woke up this morning I stayed in bed for a long time thinking "but Mom, I don't wanna go to school today! to no avail. There was a huge delivery coming in first thing. More than two hundred cases of wine, and just two of us to deal with it. The first and largest delivery was already there when I arrived. I jumped right in and helped Lynn for several minutes before she was pulled away for something completely stupid that should not have come up today. I kept moving along, she returned, and we finished up that lot with little trouble. Next we had to move an entire display because it was crooked. We had to take all of the bottles off the top (at least a hundred, but probably more), pull apart the whole display, shuffle some of the boxes to one side a few inches, re-build the display, and then put the bottles back on top. All the while I was thinking that I must have made a serious error somewhere, but I couldn't put my finger on exactly where. I do have a degree and everything, so why all this heavy lifting? Oh yeah- useless degree. Right, then. I'll just keep doing what I'm told.
I convinced Lynn that we didn't need to actually move both of the remaining displays, but that we could manage by simply rearranging them. This kept me from having to move an additional hundred cases. Instead we moved maybe thirty. In the process of this move, a 1.5 litre bottle became dislodged from the display and fell directly onto my knee, striking whatever the knee equivalent of my funny bone is. That rendered me incapacitated for several minutes, so I hobbled back behind the cash register and put on an ice pack and rang people out while Lynn finished up. By the time the next delivery hit, we were well prepared and it went into the freshly moved display without any hassle. Once we finished that, we got to work on the regularly scheduled delivery, which we had almost finished when Lynn had to leave for a class. A bit later i decided that I was going to just move these three last boxes and then get on my way. The first of those three ended up crashing to the ground, spilling wine and broken glass everywhere. I cleaned that up, and as I pulled apart the dropped case I saw that I had only broken two bottles. A miracle. I then jammed a tiny shard of glass into my finger while picking up the unbroken bottles. Fabulous. So I stayed half an hour late for no reason except that I am sometimes clumsy and stupid and i don't know when to quit.
Now I'm home and trying to gear up to get out in this crap weather to go see a not at all crap show. Wish me luck.

Which Circle Is This?

So I worked on the wine inventory for thirteen hours yesterday, which is why I didn't check in. The bad news is that we didn't finish it. The good news is that I was well fed. I picked up egg and cheese bagels from Dunk1n D0nuts on the way in, since the Bread Basket doesn't do Sunday breakfast. Sam bought us brunch from F1ve and T3n. I split a 5 and Tenedict and French toast with one of my co-workers. It was really good, and I had a difficult time getting back to the task at hand.
Day turned to night and punchy turned to stabby, and eventually I hit a wall and decided to go home. I missed a dinner party that the b.h. and I were going to attend. That sucked. Dinner was fried cheese sticks and beer. So inventory still isn't done and my cholesterol is probably through the roof. Great.
The rest is too boring to discuss, but suffice to say that as much as I might like some of my co-workers, being in close quarters with anyone (aside from the b.h.) for hours on end is not pleasant.
Whew.