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."