- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2518
Trying out a new older waiter, Persian, he reminds the nephew a bit of a cross between Z** and M*****. Which gets him to reminiscing...about a time, busy evening...
...and Z**, older waiter, Muslim, from Bangladesh, short, friendly, hugs and kisses to all the customers, they hated him or they loved him, an even split...
...and Z**, he was kind of the birthday waiter, if it was your birthday or anniversary he made sure you got a sparkler in your dessert and tried to gather the staff to sing "Happy Birthday", nobody was that interested, he often had to do it on his own, it's really all a bit too degrading, more degrading than anyone should have to put up with, that he voluntarily chose to grovel, loved to grovel, well, that was his thing...
...anyways, tensions between Z** and everyone could get a bit high, and one evening, busy evening, when Z** was pandering to a birthday table, running across the dining room with a dessert and a lit sparkler, when the nephew spots him and shouts in his best Arabic accent "Allahu Akbar"...which is, however cruel, funny as hell...he justifies it by explaining that he had been watching those videos (those videos) all day...
The customers, they laughed, hard, non-stop, they're mostly rich white folk anyways who share his prejudices, Z**, he wasn't so amused, and they had a long row in the kitchen before the owner forced them to make up...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2257
This morning, arriving at work, a Sparrow perched in the kitchen, it flew in, impatient for the daily feeding of bread. I gently shooed it out, thinking perhaps it might be confused, but it knew it's way and left when it was ready.
Superstition has it that birds flying indoors are an omen of death to come, I've got a month left, it's not my home, these are not my people, this is not my tribe...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2299
I find the moment to tell the owner I'm leaving. Moving to BC. Not an easy thing, overdue, well overdue, life should move on and I've been stale here a while, my corpse stinking up the restaurant.
I'm nervous, of course, it's been 20 years, more, here in Calgary. Kids, work, obligations. But I give up. Finding the work-life balance here, it's impossible. Especially now. Always, as long as I've worked here, but even now more than ever. Time to leave. Nelson, well, not so sure. There are jobs, if you're willing to work there's always jobs, and you begin again to climb the ladder, I only want the struggle to be 8 or 10 hours per day, 4 days per week. A little more time for me and my devices. Who knows? They might pay off yet...
...and I'm closer to a lot of things...
Worried, of course, about finances, bills to be paid, accommodation, work, there's things to be worried about for sure. It's no picnic...but I dispel the clouds overhead with my sunny thoughts that life is an adventure...and, regardless, I'm due. I'm due.
He takes it well. Disappointed, but I think he knew it was coming. Maybe the nephew, maybe the abstracted way I went days without speaking. I've got nothing to say. I'm overdue. Time to go. And, the word is spoken, the countdown starts...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2250
Not that I need it, what I really need is to finish up the countless projects I've already begun...but I'd made some notes the day before, jotted down a few related ideas. And the next morning, a bit under-the-weather (read: Hungover), I find the ideas, associations, percolating non-stop. Why? I don't know, clearly this idea had been gestating for a long time, every line found a rhyme or another, driving at every red light I'm grabbing the pen, the distraction of driving seemingly allowing a hundred, two hundred ideas to burst to the surface, I'm catching them all and scribbling them down, and road leads on to road...more ideas surface, the project completes itself, in rough, now to transcribe and filter the brainstorm. It was a rare day of inspiration and I've no desire to go back to work...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2448
Bored, the nephew persuaded me to go out, he wants to go out bad, this life in the burbs is wearing on him, he can't take it...I'm tired, can't be bothered to party, not tonight, notwithstanding the weather I have to dig some holes on my day off and don't want to be too wrecked before it starts...
Outside the club, having a cigarette, the doorman complaining to somebody in line that he doesn't get tipped. Alright then. I'll bite. I give him $50. Let's see what tipping the doorman does for one...I'm curious...he tells me he's straight, not to go expecting ...., no, no, I reassure him, I'm just curious, what do you get out of tipping the doorman? A red carpet? Expedited line-up? Reduced cover? Fairy tales are rife with the unexpected consequences of good deeds, we'll see...