Work has been keeping me busy. Too busy, 10, 11+ hour days at the end of the world. The owner's son's wife - working haphazardly as a waitress, 5, 6 hour shifts, has her child's birthday, takes the day off. Then gets sick and takes a week off.
We can't afford this.
All the running, from the beach to the patio to the restaurant and kitchen, it's made me lean - at the beginning of the summer there were suspicions I was getting a bit pudgy, a bit of a spare tire, but now you can't pinch even a quarter of an inch, I'm like Jack Skeleton running through the restaurant.
The beach, it's own private Idaho, boatloads of revelers pulling up, expecting the same standard of service they'd get inside, only now a hundred yards from the kitchen across a sandy beach - Jr. largely handles it, I can't be bothered, my "Fuck OFFFFF" attitude a little too obvious, but Jr. is figuring it out - after a nightmare evening in which 2 large groups partied it up down there, unannounced, complained about the service and then failed to tip, "18% Gratuity to be added" signs posted all around the beach - he's getting smarter. And - while I hate auto-gratuities - if there's a place they should be applied - it's here.
Mondays - Mondays, we're the only restaurant open between Nelson and Revelstoke. And we fill up - parties of 6, 8, 17, all showing up at the same time, never a reservation - we're swamped - it's more than he and I can handle - we have a busser - his 17 year old brother in law - but he's clueless, cut from the same cloth as the wife, generally more in the way, breaking things, a hindrance, unable to do even one thing at once and generally languishing in a state of confusion behind the bar.
And the other new girl - a little heifer, 18 years old, can't make her own drinks, wants to be a server but tries to call in sick, it's her birthday, it's raining outside and she's afraid to drive, she doesn't want to work early, work late, ...
This place is killing me. Really. Not a little bit, a lot.
3 weeks of summer to go.
In town, there's a rotating roster of restaurants that are closed - due to the Covid. From 38 cases one week to 74 the next. 74 cases is almost 1% of the population out here. In a single week. And we're waiting for it to get out to our restaurant - it's a matter of time.
Time for a few photos. Trips up the mountain - the waving fireweed in the wind glitched my panorama mode - my phone/camera, dropped so often that really, I need a new one - but not now, not now.
***
And the Election - Justin Trudeau - the west is on fire, seriously, this is not a "Climate Emergency" it's a climate Catastrophe - and everyone out here has a million other things on their mind. Fuck you. Fuck your fucking election, we're on fire. Do something about that.
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Meanwhile, the weekend before last a more successful garage sale hunt. All sorts of Treasures - An antique scale, heavy, cast Iron with the cool display, circa 1961, $35.00. An antique gothic style New Haven Clock, $15.00. Antique cash register, more antique clocks, hutches - Mixed Media Opportunities abound, only everything is in too good a shape to be taken apart on my whims and destroyed - and reluctantly - VERY RELUCTANTLY - I show restraint and leave them behind. I've not 1 but 2 lockers full of supplies, should I ever find opportunity to retrieve them.
But - and there is one but - THIS:
In absolutely mint condition, $50.00. I can't leave it behind.
And so another typewriter.
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There's more, always the unforgotten notes - the Hippy Campers parked in front of my place everyday, the bears, raccoons, the crows that have taken to cawing my name when I go outside for a fag but fail to reciprocate with treats for me, classic Nelson "Entitlement", there's a few books I found - Manly P. Hall on Self Unfoldment - I've been looking for his books for over 20 years, first one I ever found, Terence McKenna's "Food of the Gods", A Native American Herbal Guide (medicinal plants of the Americas), a box of fountain pen nibs, and there was the freshening rain a week or so ago - 1.7 mm forecast, but a torrential downpour - for a few hours, that freshened the air and brought hope - but, too little, too late, and we're on fire all over again. And I've now only time to ready myself for another 12 hours in hell, the Monday Night Slaughter, before my sole day of recovery. So - more news, other news, another time.