Time to get reacquainted...

Some things never change:

• I can still survive on a steady diet of classic Kraft Dinner and cheap Argentinian wine
• My colouring has never been better and I still maintain that if it were an employable job skill I would, in fact, have all the jobs. All the jobs
• I am the queen of procrastination and putting things off until tomorrow
• I hate cats but I love kittens
• I'm still up to my eyeballs in crippling student loan debt

I'd like to say, after graduating from post-secondary education, some things have changed for me but the reality is, with a few minor exceptions, nothing really has. 

I still work at (insert real name here). The New Shop, on the other hand, has ceased to exist. One morning this past summer the boss called me up to the office and told me, effective immediately, the New Shop was closing down. I wasn't at all surprised but I wish a there was some more honesty about the "decision" to close. 

For defamation sake, I won't say the New Shop closed because the boss wasn't paying the bills, but when you show up to work and the locks have been changed and the property management company won't let you in to get your stuff because the boss hasn't paid the bills -- I think it's safe to say that the boss wasn't paying the bills. 

I was sad. And not because I was out of a job. I was sad because I had some great times at that place:

• after hours drinking adult beverage consumption with some good laughs
• wall papering Chef's office with gay porn 
• working hard to make the place somewhere Winnipeggers wanted to eat and be a part of
• street cheese

It really was a shock to the system. It felt, and still does feel like all my hard work was for nothing It was demoralizing. At the same time, it was a wake up call. As much as I have fun working in the restaurant industry, it's not my calling. I'm not sure what I am going to do with the rest of my life but I know it's time to get back on track because my particular pursuit of happiness is forever going to be that, a pursuit, not a reality. 

So it's back to living on tips but this time, I'm looking for a grown-up job too.

Day one hundred and forty two: results

The employee review continues...


Category #3: Results


Associate meets personal and company goals established by managers. Sets personal goals and works tirelessly towards accomplishing. 


(insert real name here) 


Getting a little personal, aren't we (insert real name here)? I don't think that it's appropriate for management to be establishing "personal" goals for me nor do I think it's any of their business whether or not I "work tirelessly" towards accomplishing the ones I set for myself. I know what kind of goals I've set for myself and what I do in the hours outside of (insert real name here) is none of their business. 


For example:

• To not be in crippling debt 5 years from now
• Keep my apartment clean for more than 7 hours
• Finish the Sunday New York Times Crossword puzzle... without cheating

That all said I am open to any goals that management has for me as far as work is concerned. I call those "work goals". 

For example:

• Be more patient when select co-workers ask stupid questions
• Stop eating whipped cream from the reach in fridge
• Stop breaking plates when I get angry -- just because my dad's cousin Scott married a Greek girl and I know view myself as being Greek even though I've never met her or her family or have I seen Scott since a family reunion in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan in the early 90s, it's not OK to smash plates on the kitchen floor (hypothetically speaking of course) 

(New Shop) 


My goals here are simple. Pull off a prank to scare all of the jerks I work with that scare me -- something so terrifying that I evoke this response:




Part of me feels like I have to rate myself as DN -- Does not meet expectations, but a greater part of me knows better. My rating? Exceeds expectations! 

Day one hundred and forty one: guest driven/passionate

Employee review time continues and I am breaking down each category so when I sit down and discuss them with management, I am beyond prepared. 


Category #2: Guest driven/passionate


Associate does everything they can to ensure a "WOW" experience for our guests. Upbeat, positive, friendly and passionate about their job with guests/co-workers.


(insert real name here) 


When I go up to a table to introduce myself and tell them will be looking after them for their meal I like to let them know it "may or may not be a good thing" depending on their expectations. If they are willing to keep their expectations low, then we're off to a great start. 


To truly determine if I give a table a "WOW" experience we must look at the word "WOW" itself. 


Dictionary.com defines "wow" as: 

But since the self-evaluation has capitalized "wow" I am led to believe that what they're really asking is if I am providing the "World of Warcraft experience" and to that I have to say no, no I am not. What does a "massive multi-player online role playing game" have to do with my abilities as a server? 

If the management at (insert real name here) wants me to take this assessment seriously then they shouldn't be asking such ridiculous questions. 

While I am "upbeat, positive and friendly" I can say that I'm not passionate about World of Warcraft, I've never played it -- I'm more of a Dr. Mario kinda gal. 

Now Dr. Mario? That's a game to be passionate about. 

(New Shop)

I don't play World of Warcraft there either, but there are ghosts so I guess that's close? I can't really be sure.

My rating? Exceeds expectations regardless of these outlandish demands.  

Day one hundred and thirty nine: murder house

The New Shop has the creepiest basement in all of Winnipeg. My old apartment's laundry room that looked like an abandoned mental institution with it's sea foam green walls doesn't even come close. I do my best to stay out of if because it feels like a murder house (a house where people are murdered). 

Every time I’ve had to go into the basement I make sure to bring someone down with me, preferably someone less agile so that if I need to flee, no one will be in my way.

The New Shop is haunted and even though everyone knows that ghosts only come out at night I still find myself a little on edge, which in turn makes me an easier target for trickery.

It doesn’t take much to make me jump or give out a little (blood curdling) scream which some of the staff (all) think it’s fun to do to me on a weekly (daily) basis.

A couple days ago I was so startled by the Chef jumping out from behind a wall that I screamed then threw an empty plastic soda crate at him before I topped backwards and fell on the floor. What can I say? I’ve got unreal survival instincts.

So in order to get back at him I thought I’d hide in the freezer and pop out when he opened it.

My mom didn’t like this when I told her about this after the fact because even though I didn’t get locked in the freezer, there was still a chance I could have gotten locked in the freezer and that “doesn’t sit well” with her.

Fun fact: I am awful at scaring people because I start laughing right before the scaring takes place. I think it’s a nervous tick.

His reaction left much to be desired as far as fright is concerned as he barely batted an eye and left out a relaxed "whoa." Ideally, I’d like it to be along the lines of this: 

Suggestions welcome.

Day one hundred and thirty eight: Ability

It's employee review time so I've decided to breakdown the self-assessment via blog post before I hand in my sheet to the bosses at (insert real name here). 


Category #1: Ability


Had the skills and knowledge to do the job. Strives to continuously improve skills in current job and through cross-training.


(insert real name here) 


The skills and knowledge to do the job? I think I've got both, sorta. 


Can I carry two glasses in one hand? Yes. At least three plates of food at a time? Yes. In the year I've worked at (insert real name here) I can only remember dropping plates twice -- once by accident and once, maybe (totally), on purpose when no one was looking. It helps if you exclaim something like "Oh shit!" or "Oops!" afterwards to avert suspicion (I assumed, based on the one time I may have done that).


The knowledge? Do I know every single ingredient that goes into each menu item? Of course I don't. But I know enough to get by and I'm quick enough on my feet that I can lie if need be. 


Strives to continuously improve skills in current job? 


The other night I carried six lemonades --SIX! -- to a table sans tray without dropping a single glass. I didn't know how to put them down and had to come up with a solution a la Adam West Batman:

If that's not continuously improving my skills I don't know what is. 

As for working towards improving my skills through cross-training, sometimes I get to make drinks in the bar. It looks a little something like this:

Eat your heart out Tom Cruise! 


My rating? Exceeds expectations, obviously.

Day one hundred and thirty seven: employee reviews

The thing about working at a corporate chain like (insert real name here) is that there are certain expectations the company has of its employees and how those employees conduct themselves at the restaurant. 


Today I got a sheet to fill out simply called "Associates Expected Behaviors - self assessment"


The instructions on how to fill it out are simple: 

Use the performance standards (listed on the sheet) in the performance rating outline to identify the most appropriate rating for each behavior. Include any comments or examples that support your rating.

There are  three rating levels:

1. E - exceeds expectations
2. M - meets expectations
3. DN - does not meet expectations

It doesn't say whose expectations are to be met and while most people would assume they are that of the management staff and the company, I have chosen to fill it out according to my expectations. 

There are 11 categories to comment on which, as you can imagine, has given me a lot to ponder. So before I hand in my sheet I've decided to give each category some serious thought. 


The categories are:

• ability
• guest driven/passionate
• results
• team player
• initiative
• cooperation
• integrity
• stamina
• reliability
• grooming standards/appearance
• fun

And what better forum to work out my answers than to post them on the internet via this blog. And because the New Shop doesn't have employee reviews or paperwork to fill out regarding my work performance I'm thinking, what the hell? Why not self-assess my performance there according to (insert real name here) standards too. 


This is going to be fun. Stay tuned. 

Day one hundred and thirty five: Champagne comes from Champagne

Champagne comes from Champagne, everything else is sparkling wine.

Sometimes, at the New Shop, the higher-ups get great ideas on how to bring in new clientele. The latest idea? A Valentine's Day couples dinner. 

It's a good idea, in theory, but a money pit in reality. None of the advertising had a phone number or address for the New Shop on it so reservations relied heavily on the foot traffic that passed the store front.  


A three course dinner for two including wine? $50?! Per couple?! What a deal! For the diner that is. 


My only real issue of the evening was the "event" advertising. The posters didn't list our phone number or address and, along with the three course meal, promised champagne.


Champagne is sparkling wine from the the Champagne region of France. One of my pet peeves is when someone refers to sparkling wine as such but oddly enough I have no issue when someone refers to non-Kleenex tissue as Kleenex or generic cotton swabs as Q-tips. 


We didn't buy champagne at the New Shop to give away for free, that would be ludicrous for a little place like ours. 


We doled out glasses of La Scala Spumante, a cheapie sparkling wine from the Calona Vineyard in Kelowna, British Columbia... I think. 


I was worried that I'd have to defend the New Shop and it's "champagne" but it turns out when you're giving people hooch with their grub they don't really care or know that what they're drinking is dangerously close to a bottle of Baby Duck. 


It's a good thing the night went smoothly. Would I consider it a success? Sure. I made a few bucks and got to finish the rest of the sparkling wine. In these scenarios I tend to be driven by how much wine I get to consume once all of the tables leave. It sure makes clean up seem less tedious. 

Day one hundred and thirty three: boom goes the dynamite

I finally have food in my refrigerator. I finished work early tonight so I went grocery shopping. 


I feel like I've accomplished more for myself in an hour of Friday night grocery shopping than I have in two weeks. 


The thing I like about grocery shopping is that self-checkout machines are popping up everywhere making every shopping adventure a do-it-yourself shopping adventure. I'm really good at it too and I think this is directly related to the hours I spent as a child playing pretend grocery store. No my parents never bought me a toy cash register but the cash register in my mind prepared me for any sort of grocery emergency life could throw my way. 


I love self-checkouts. 


Self-checkouts let you get away with things that cashier operated checkouts don't -- things I would otherwise never be brave enough to do. For instance: write a the code for a cheaper bulk food item on the tag of my bag of Olympic Trail Mix (peanuts, raisins, cashews and Smarties). It’s not the best trail mix out there – the best is the Kirkland Trail Mix from Costco. It’s got M&M’s instead of Smarties. If M&M's were in a battle to the death with Smarties I think we all know which candy coated chocolate treat would come out victorious. Kirkland Trail Mix is the kind of trail mix that actually makes me want to be on a trail. If that’s what hiking tastes like, sign me up!


What was I talking about? Ah yes, self-checkout price adjustments. This money saving technique isn't limited to bulk food goodies. You can do this with produce too. Gala apples running on the expensive side? Guess what? MacIntosh apples are $.04 cheaper. Punch in that less delicious apple code and you're laughing. 


Seedless grapes? Too rich for my blood until I punched in the code for grapes with seeds or poor people grapes as I like to refer to them as. 


I saved roughly $1.15 tonight and that's all thanks to the self-checkout. And boom goes the dynamite!

Day one hundred and thirty two: our father...

It happens more than you might think. I'm talking about tables that say grace before they eat their meals.


I've never been a religious person. The extent of religion in my life has been saying the Lord's Prayer in elementary school which I think that got the kibosh in the early nineties. After that my exposure to Jesus and such was my dad's copy of Jesus Christ Superstar, 




a preview of Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ




and Kevin Smith's Dogma 




It makes sense to me that the people who say grace before their meals do so in a restaurant. If you say it at home, why wouldn't you say it at (insert real name here)? 


My issue with the grace saying is that I never know what to do when half of the table's food is out and I'm holding onto the other plates mid-prayer. I feel like Ricky Bobby in Talladega Nights when he doesn't know what to do with his hands during an interview.



Sometimes I don't even realize that I'm interrupting grace and by then it's too late. And for that matter, if all the food isn't on the table does that make it less blessed than the plate I'm waiting to set down? 

At the end of the day my goal is to not offend a group of people or to make them think I'm ignorant of others' beliefs because I'm not, I'm just awkward. 

Day one hundred and thirty one: I might develop a stutter

The New Shop is not only a restaurant but a bakery as well. The second floor bakeshop makes all of the bread used for sandwiches and they attempt to make baked goods to sell in the restaurant. I say attempt because I'm sure I could half-ass a box of Betty Crocker cake mix into something more delicious than what they try on a daily basis. To be fair, they do a wicked job at baking bread, probably the best stuff I've ever had in my 26 years and I consider myself to be an authority when it comes to bread, a carbohydrate connoisseur, if you will -- but I'm not in any position to tell them to play to their strengths and give up on cakes. 

On top of this, the bakeshop tries to get us to charge airport prices for goodies $5 for 6 shortbread cookies? Makes sense. What? 


Jerry Seinfeld knows what I'm talking about (roughly 2:18 mark):

The Chef is making my New Shop bestie go work up in the bakeshop. How can he do this to me? She's not going to learn anything she doesn't already know! So, in a ditch effort to keep her on the ground level, in the kitchen, I composed a letter excusing her from bakeshop duties. In high school I used to write my friends and myself notes to get out of class all the time so we wouldn't get phone calls home from the automated machine informing our parent that their "son or daughter had missed one or more classes."


I'm confident that the note I wrote on the back of a receipt will really reach him and he will come to the realization that I'm right and he is, in fact, wrong:

Dear Chef, 

I am excusing Michelle from any bakeshop duties you have planned for her next week. We need her leadership skills in the kitchen, especially since you will be away for two of our busiest days. If you make her go away, I might develop a stutter. 

 I can't be certain but there is a good chance this will end in tears. DO NOT DO THIS TO ME. 

Sincerely, 

(Insert my real name here)

To really drive the point home I sent him a text message while I was en route to (insert real name here):


I trust you got my note excusing Michelle from bakeshop duties. I feel you'll make the right choice and keep her in the kitchen. 


To which he responded:


I have hired Geoffrey Rush to help you with the impending stutter. If he can help a king, think what he can do for you. 

I think I really got through to him.

Day one hundred and thirty: coffee

Coffee is readily available in a restaurant at any given time but every morning I try to drag my ass out of bed early enough so I have time to stop at Starbucks for a coffee before I start my day at the New Shop.


There was a time that I shucked lattes at a Starbucks and those six and a half years helped me to develop quite a taste for the stuff. 



Now I can't be 100% positive but I'm fairly certain the amount of coffee I consume on a day-to-day basis is starting to give me an ulcer or at the very least a slight case of acid reflux. 

I could just as easily start my day off with a cup of joe from the New Shop but it's nowhere near as satisfying. All I can say is get out of my dreams and into my car Venti Americano Misto. 


It helps that the girls at my Starbucks start making my drink the second I walk through the door and write little notes on my cup like:

Have a great day (insert my real name here)!

or

(Insert my real name here) is Awesome!  

or

Yesterday your skirt was tucked into your tights but I didn't tell you because you were wearing headphones and I didn't want to bother you, sorry. 

I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that I always give them a good tip. As someone who works in the service industry and a former barista, I always leave a tip for the coffee girls regardless if they are behind a counter or not because after all, we're all in this together. 

Whether it's the coffee itself or the daily ritual I make a point of getting Starbucks and I love it. 

Day one hundred and twenty six: my grandpa is only a little racist

"It don't matter what the hell..." is a typical Don (insert my real last name here)-ism. My grandpa is one of my most favourite people in the world and he's extremely diligent when it comes to making phone calls to the family. 

 (Grandpa Don: Christmas 2010)

There was a time when I talked to my grandpa at least once a week but now with my disgustingly busy work schedule weeks will go by with unreturned (on my part) phone calls. He lives in Vancouver so the time difference doesn't necessarily help but when I do get a chance to talk to gramps, he delivers the not-on-purpose laughs every time.  

What's a not-on-purpose laugh? It's when someone makes you laugh without any intention of doing so and my grandpa's not-on-purpose hilarity usually stems form his subtle racism. In this day-in-age we come to accept the little bits of racism that the older generation spews because they are a "product of their generation." I'm just happy that it doesn't come from a place of malice or hate but rather a polite ignorance to what is deemed to be politically correct. 

I try to explain to him that nowadays it's not appropriate to call Asians "chinamen" or anyone else who isn't Asian or White a "coloured fella" but it's hard to keep reminding him when I only get to visit once every couple of years. 

My favourite Grandpa Don story is when my uncle took him to get his watch fixed and the event went like this:

Repair guy: Hey! I remember you, do you remember me? 

Grandpa Don: Naw, all of you chinamen look the same.

Uncle: Don! 

Grandpa Don: Well what? We probably all look the same to him too! 

Repair guy: (nods yes)

On a day, like today, when I'm run down from having been on my feet for 13 hours and feel like a shell of my former self it's nice to hear a familiar, comforting voice like my grandpa, routing for me every step of the way. 

Day one hundred and twenty five: checking out the goods

Tonight one of the other servers at (insert real name here) walked into the kitchen and said to me "Hey (insert my real name here) go check out table 36, he's a dreamboat." 

So I did just that. No such dreamboat existed. 

I said back to her "really? I'm gonna have to disagree on that call." 

Being in front-of-house lets you do stuff that the back-of-house staff can't do, namely, scope out the goods. I challenge you to find a restaurant whose staff doesn't check out their customers and talk about them in the kitchen, as long as said customers are worth talking about. 

There are times when servers will take a lap around the restaurant just to catch a glimpse of a supposed "dreamboat" then turn around and do it again if the initial sighting wasn't good enough. If you're foxy, we're going to talk about you. 

Last year a Winnipeg writer by the name of Rheanne Marcoux put out a book called "The Last Crumb". It's a compilation of recipes and interviews of Winnipeg chefs and a damn good read whether you're part of the restaurant industry or not. 

One of the chefs interviewed, Scott Bagshaw, shared a story about time he spent working at a restaurant in Australia: 

"Being in an open kitchen does have its perks. 'We play the "would you" game,' laughs [Bagshaw], who spends most of his 14-hour shifts rubbing elbows with his sous-chef Matt. 'You know, "would you sleep with her?" type of thing. We have our inside jokes, it makes you forget you’ve been working 14 hours.'"

At the time book came out, Bagshaw was working as the head chef of a Winnipeg restaurant called Pizzaria Gusto but shortly after he was fired for the comments that had made it into Marcoux's book. 

What a load of shit. 

From what I understand the "would you" comment was the straw that broke the camel's back but to think that apotential customer would forego eating at your restaurant because the chef was vocal with his sous-chef on who he'd hit the sack with is just plain ridiculous. 

If every restaurant employee got canned when he or she scoped out a customer and proclaimed whether or not they'd, to put it gently, bone that customer, then there would be no such thing as restaurant staff. 

We all do it. Hell I did it today, at both restaurants. 

Day one hundred and twenty four: we're closed, get the eff out!

The hours of operation of a restaurant are not a suggestion for when diners can come and go, contrary to popular belief, they are posted for a reason. When you see that we are closed at 11 p.m. this doesn't mean ask for another cup of coffee and continue chatting with your friends until 11:30. 


Would you go into a bank five minutes before closing to set up some RRSPs? No, you wouldn't. So why would anyone go into a restaurant 10 minutes before closing and order a steak? This happens far too often.


Most times when someone walks through the door, roughly within the last 30 minutes before we close, the staff will let the potential table know that we are closing soon and that we've already done last call.



Whatever happened to Semisonic? I only actually know their song "Closing Time" but it was a really good song that I've included in several mixed CDs. But enough about late 90s alternative rock bands. 


There are times when some people ignore the '30 minutes' 'til close' warning and sit down for some grub. Fair enough. We can have your food out to you in no time but it is extremely annoying. I don't know why but I always grin and bear it hoping that the table will recognize that they are staying after hours and leave me a fat tip for the inconvenience but that never happens. 


It's like going into a clothing store at the very end of the night, unfolding all of the shirts and not purchasing a thing. It's creating unnecessary work for not just the server but everyone who works there. 


The cooks have to put off cleaning the grills, fryers and broilers and the dishwasher has to wait for the rest of the dishes to wash. The managers have to wait longer to take the servers' cash and the servers have to wait to do their front-of-house cleaning all because a couple of selfish-jerk diners have a hankering for some (insert real name here) eats. We've been busting our asses all night and all any of us would like to do is get our chores done so we can call it quits and get the rock out. 


Thinking of going to a restaurant right before they close? DON'T DO IT. 

Day one hundred and twenty two: I was just trying to help

Apparently I've stepped on some toes. 


The New Shop is Winnipeg's oldest, operating restaurant. It opened in 1918 originally as a confectionary and has had several owners since. 


When I started in November there were a few things I took note of that needed to change to give the place a bit of a boost, more pizzaz, if you will. The problem? I was new and far be it from me to waltz in and tell anyone how to run their business. 


Just recently, I took it upon myself to redo the menus because, to be frank, they looked ridiculous. Someone went overboard with the serif font and borders:

I know what it's like to be married to a font, my personal favourite is Bookman Old Style,  but the Monotype Corsiva just had to take a hike. The menus looked like they were made in 1992 and printed via a dot matrix printer.  

I mustered up all the design knowledge that hadn't quite yet eluded me from first-year Electronic Publishing: Layout and Design and with what may or may not be a bootleg copy of Adobe InDesign, to put an end to the eyesore that was the old menu. 


I'd like to think that the way a menu looks speaks volumes about the food it describes. If a menu looks like a big ol' mess then why would anything sound remotely appetizing. 


Here's what I came up with:

Now is it the greatest menu design ever? Of course not. Does it look better than that doily we had before? I'd say so. Was everyone really impressed? Nope. 

When I got the proofs printed it was like everyone in the building had a great idea on how to improve my design so I told them to "suck it"... with my mind.

I didn't take into consideration that I'd be hurting some feelings by re-doing the brutal menu and being so vocal about what an impediment it was on the restaurant but sometimes you've gotta be ruthless in this business.  

Day one hundred and eighteen: this never gets old.

I don't know and I don't care how the other residents of West Broadway/ Wolseley feel about the new Subway that just opened up on the corner of Sherbrook Street and Westminster Avenue, but I am trilled. 

I still have yet to do a lick of grocery shopping and there's not much, I assume, that one can make with Bisquick, paprika and a tin of Vienna Sausage. 

Let me be clear when I tell you that the only reason I have canned cocktail wieners in my cupboard is strictly due to the fact that it's some sort of Newfoundland thing so my mom, I mean Santa, put them in everyone's stocking at Christmas. And really, what's a Christmas without canned meat, am I right? 

That all said, a Subway within walking distance is a welcomed commodity as far as I'm concerned. At least it will ensure that I get fed from time to time. How I manage to have a sink full of dishes everyday with a fridge full of condiments and no food, I will never know. 

While the Subway employee's at my neighborhood sandwich shop are alright, there will never be a replacement for the Subway guys in Osborne Village. They're much more personable and they do backflips for tips... still. 

The backflipping Subway guy told me he's movie store locations to Carmen so naturally I had to get my fill of backflips while I still could. 

The thing is, I would have tipped regardless. 

Here's hoping the Sandwich Artists in my neck of the woods start practicing. 

Day one hundred and fifteen: sometimes your kids are funny.

While there is nothing I deplore more about serving than serving kids, sometimes there's a couple of young pups that can really make my night. Tonight one young gal, Sarah -- I know this because she drew me a picture, wanted to know all about me and if there's one thing I've established via this blog it's that I love talking about myself. 


She asked me how old I am so I told her to take a guess. She said 16. I appreciate her uncanny ability to recognize my youthful glow. She looked at me like I had six heads when I told her I was 26 but that was soon forgotten when I brought out her chicken fingers and fries. 


I'm not sure if it was the engaging conversation or the red jello, I assume it's cherry, with whipped cream that inspired this epic piece of art but I appreciate the gesture:  

I'm not sure if the short-haired character with the spear is supposed to be me. I hope it isn't because my hair is much longer and it would negate all the nice things I've said about the artist. I don't care if she was seven years old, you're never too young to offend and make enemies in the process.


The picture made it's way onto my fridge because, if I'm not the short-haired character with the spear, it's totally awesome. 

Day one hundred and fourteen: I have really nice printing

I'm going to go ahead and put it out there: 


I have great printing. 


I never get sick of people telling me how nice my printing is. I know that sounds ridiculous but it doesn't take much to make me happy. As silly as that seems it's about to get sillier. One of the best parts of my day is the 10 or so minutes I spend writing out the specials on the board at the New Shop especially on the days where my ritual is uninterrupted. 

There's something almost cathartic about the whole process -- my mind shuts off, if only for a few minutes, I crank up some tunes and instantly I'm brought back to a simpler time and all I have to worry about is if my printing is spaced out properly. 

I don't think about what I'm going to do with the rest of my life or feel the residual guilt I have from consistently sabotaging myself because of all the self-saboteurs out there, I can say with the most utmost confidence, that I take the cake. 

I'm really good at colouring too. If coulouring were an employable job skill I would have all the jobs. 

Day one hundred and thirteen: bending the rules

I think it’s safe to say that everyone bends the rules at their place of work from time to time and working in a restaurant is certainly no exception.

At (insert real name here) I’ve been known to jazz up my coffee a little bit with some chocolate or caramel sauce – maybe even a shot of whip from time to time but you never know whose eyes are on you and whether the mouth that belongs to those eyes is going to go tattle. So it’s best to avoid having a snack on line with food from the restaurant.

I’d feel pretty stupid getting a stern talking to from the boss maybe even a little bad about myself -- sorta like the fat kid in elementary school who stole food from everybody’s lunches.

I have no desire to get in trouble at work. Lately my attitude has been less than desirable at work which I'm sure I'll be hearing about any day now, I don't need to add more fuel to the fire. 


I have a feeling that if I were to get in trouble one of two things would happen: the bad attitude would boost to dangerous levels or I'd start crying. I've said it before and I'll say it again, when I get in trouble I tend to cry. Sure 99% of the time it's out of a place of frustration but that's hard to articulate when my nose is running and the uncontrollable sobs are making it difficult to even get a word out. 


What can I say? I tend to overreact but I'm working on it. 

Day one hundred and twelve: I have two VCRs.

I need a vacation.


I can't remember the last time I went grocery shopping or did laundry (other than my work clothes). My apartment looks like a house straight out of Hoarders.


I work every day -- no weekend to kick back and relax or get anything done for myself. I feel unhealthy, both physically and mentally and I'm fed up. I want to quit my jobs, hit rock bottom instead of dangerously hovering above it.


There are simple things I have neglected to do for myself because I spend the better part of my day with plates in my arms. I've had a bed frame sitting on my bedroom floor since New Year's Eve that has yet to be put together. To be fair, it was a bed frame I happened upon. I wasn't in the market for a new bed frame nor had I allotted time to put it together.


Now that I think about it, the majority of my furniture has been "gently used." My coffee table is second-hand from the same fella who gave me the bed frame. My couches look like they belong in the lobby of a Country Inn and Suites circa 1993 but I was more than happy to take the near perfect condition living room accessories off a different friend's hands.


My most favourite previously owned item, however, is my TV. Who needs high definition or LCD technology when you can have the finest tube machinery Panasonic has (had) to offer? I don't want to brag but m TV has a built in VCR and FM radio:

My TV gets turned on an average of once every two or three months. Lately I find that when I am home that time is spent doing one of two things: sleeping or getting ready for work. 

I need a vacation even if that means an afternoon off in my apartment to sit back on my used couch and watch a video on one of two functional VCRs I own -- to be fair, one is a combination DVD/VHS player. 

I need a vacation or I am going to snap.  

Day one hundred and ten: cash money

A while ago I mentioned a little bet amongst several members of the (insert real name here) serving staff. The idea was to abstain from (insert real name here) food for as long as possible.
The buy in -- $5, the prize -- all the money (and glory).


I'm happy to report that all the glory is mine. I wasn't sure what movie montage song to sing repeatedly and/or re-enact. The end of Teen Wolf when Michael J Fox plays the big game as himself rather than his alter ego basketball superstar wolf self? That made no sense so I went with a classic -- a Rocky training montage. Running around the restaurant jumping up and down singing Gonna Fly Now by Bill Conti probably annoyed some people but it seemed like the only viable option.



It's not an easy feat, sure I make it look easy.


When people started handing me over five dollar bills I started getting an overwhelming sense of superiority not unlike that of a certain Peanuts character by the name of Lucy van Pelt.


I played Lucy in a school play when I was in the 5th grade -- how fitting. She's a bit of a know-it-all and very bossy -- traits I had tried to shed over the years but somehow haven't managed to elude. The only line I remember from that play has been running through my head since I won the bet:


"Boy, what a sound! How I love to hear that old money clink, that beautiful sound of cold hard cash." 

Day one hundred and eight: dietary needs.

I get easily annoyed when tables ask me questions that can be easily answered if the person just took a moment to read the menu.

Today, at (insert real name here), two women at two different tables asked me if there were any desserts not on the dessert menu. 

My response to them both was: 

“If you’re asking me if we have secret desserts then I’m afraid my answer is: no, no we don’t have any secret desserts not listed in the dessert menu. Now, if you’re asking me if we have other desserts that aren’t a secret but not listed on the dessert menu then my answer is also, no.”

One woman was just unhappy with the selection while the other was looking for a lactose free option. 

We just started making gluten-free options on our menu. Can we tackle one dietary need at a time?

I’m sorry you’re lactose intolerant and that has put an impediment on enjoying the finer things in life. It truly is a bummer because cheese is delicious. At some point in your life, you might be so lucky as to have a lactose free option when it comes to a tasty treat at the end of your meal but for now, surrender the fantasy. And while you’re at it, stop wasting my time.


Maybe I'm bitter because I'm not the type of gal who orders dessert when I go out to eat. I don't really see the point when there are so many more options of delicious things to mow down on, why waste the room on apple crisp?