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The days escape me....
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1778
Time is running out.
I have only until April, the bills must be paid, renovations finished in the condo, I must acquire maps, equipment and relevant experience. How far off the beaten track will I get? Should I learn to Kayak? Buy a gun? Acquire remedial survival skills?
Time passes.
I've finished my first book in 3 months, a slender volume of some 125 pages, narratives and poems of Northern Alberta and BC. Relevant, but somehow I couldn't immerse myself. And no less than 100 other unread books upon my shelf, yet still I don't think I'll be attacking them soon.
There are countless projects that need doing, completion, yet when I find myself on that rare day off, free of commitment and obligation, there's too much to be done, painting, writing, there's xmas and treasure hunts at the local thrift shops, I find myself paralyzed with a sort of Agoraphobia.
I'm not agoraphobic, of course, but I wonder at my reluctance to leave the house, get fit, go to the gym, for coffee, dinner, dancing, do anything, something, outside of myself. Truly there's nothing to keep me here but housework and chores.
"There's too much to be done" I tell myself.
That's true, but it would be much better served by my going out and then coming home and just getting on with it.
I speculate that it's depression, probably it is, chemical? Not likely, more likely circumstantial, caught in the mindless rhythm of day to day existence, nothing to push myself forward, challenge me, help me to evolve. And, were I depressed I would expect to feel - well, depressed. As it is I just feel empty. I'm a worker, a silent, unobserved pillar of the economy.
Somehow I've found myself stuck in the mindless routine of work and home. Home, so much to be done, only another 5 or 6 months. I need to find a catsitter, finish the stairs, other light repairs, trips to the recycle, sell off shit, then Alaska.
If not Alaska then at least BC and the Yukon.
SO it is that the days escape me.
Work
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1822
Friday, busy, Saturday, Crazy.
We're fully booked, with flips, nothing fixed but we're hoping that customers leave in an hour so that others can be sat.
We're not the sort of restaurant where you plan to be in and out within an hour or two.
I've brought in pedometers for all the staff, want to track how many steps each of them take each night, it's lighthearted but I'm aiming to prove that some are definitely a lot less valuable than others.
The new waiter, M I'll call him, he really doesn't need a pedometer, he needs a odometer for the wheelchair that J pushes him about in, but in the interests of not offending anyone (or offending everyone equally) I've gotten him one as well.
They take it in good stride, figure out how they work, attach them to their belts or waistbands, and the night begins.
***
The night, it goes off pretty much as expected, it's crazy busy, the staff - mostly support apart from G, disappear the moment things get busy, reappear a couple of hours later when it's cooled a bit. We have the demon table from hell, a regular who's family is in from Montreal to wish him happy-important-birthday, they've imposed all sorts of financial restraints on the party, in the end 24 people spend what 3 or 4 tables of 4 would have spent without their patronage, they tip badly and stay until 1:30 AM. getting far too drunk and ignoring all subtle cues to get the fuck out.
It's a long night.
***
The end of the night, all the staff sitting down, a couple still serving the party from hell, most relaxing, the pedometers having proven a poor measure of worth, J has figured out how to shake them and rack up 10, 000 steps in a minute or two, the competition is off. A drunken native walks in off the street, wants us to call a cop car to take him to the lock up, won't leave unless we do, he refuses to go outside, it's too cold.
He's right.
And so the staff go through the motions of calling imagined friends and relatives, he provides us numbers, the party, they're shocked, they want to pay his cab to wherever he wants to go, he isn't going anywhere. What cabbie would pick him up?
I call the police,
It's an automated machine, not 911, this isn't an emergency, rather the local line, but I have to push buttons through 3 minutes of options before I get a live operator, another 10 minutes answering questions before they send out a car....
The party, most have never seen anything like this, they want to give him money, buy themselves a clear conscience, I try to explain, to him the police are cab drivers and the drunk tank's a warm hotel, like the Regency or Hyatt, they don't really understand.
Eventually the police come, take him away, the customers reluctantly leave, it's 1:30 AM. A long night. Come Xmas every night will be like this, December will be a long month. But 3 weeks yet before I need to worry about that.
Remus Reid
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2214
The owner of the restaurant shows me an email he just received - The Remus Reid Story.
It's amusing, and I have to remember to forward it off to my friends.
I've transcribed it below:
FW: This is how Political Spin is done in DC
Judy Wallman, a professional genealogy researcher here in southern California, was doing some personal work on her own family tree. She discovered that Harry (senator (D) from Nevada) Reid's great-great uncle, Remus Reid, was hanged for horse stealing and train robbery in Montana in 1889. Both Judy and Harry Reid share this common ancestor.
The only known photograph of Remus shows him standing on the gallows in Montana territory.
On the back of the picture Judy obtained during her research is this inscription:
'Remus Reid, horse thief, sent to Montana Territorial Prison 1885, escaped 1887, robbed the Montana Flyer six times. Caught by Pinkerton detectives, convicted and hanged in 1889.'
So Judy recently e-mailed Senator Harry Reid for information about their mutual great-great uncle.
Believe it or not, Harry Reid's staff sent back the following biographical sketch for her genealogy research:
'Remus Reid was a famous cowboy in the Montana Territory. His business empire grew to include acquisition of valuable equestrian assets and intimate dealings with the Montana railroad. Beginning in 1883, he devoted several years of his life to government service, finally taking leave to resume his dealings with the railroad. In 1887, he was a key player in a vital investigation run by the renowned Pinkerton Detective Agency. In 1889, Remus passed away during an important civic function held in his honor when the platform upon which he was standing collapsed.'
That's real POLITICAL SPIN! THAT is how it's done folks!
***
Now probably if you haven't received the email you've already figured it out, it's an internet legend.
You can read more here: http://urbanlegends.about.com/library/bl_remus_reid.htm
The restaurant as an unending maze filled with strangers
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1542
Now this is probably a result of my greed in naps on a selfish day off, a lengthy nap, followed by a refusal to go and seek dinner or do anything remotely productive during the dinner traffic rush, another nap, and hence somewhat bizarre dreams....
I'm in the restaurant, not mine but mine, it's an unending labyrinth, hundreds of rooms and passages, I can't seem to find my way.
I don't care, I'm taking a swig of rum from a bottle I've placed above the till. I have no prejudice against drinking, it's my bottle, I brought it from home....
There's a fellow I recognize, he's holding a beer and he hand's me a cheque, the IT guy I'm guessing, and I offer him another beer. I search for a service bar and find one in another room, with a fenced off area for the customers like a hockey arena floored with sawdust and these giant busts of clowns (???) or demons that recall Mardi Gras...
I need to ring it in before I can get it, they tell me he's with this group of nerds on such-and-such table and I can see them, but now I must find them on the map of the restaurant on the till and it's like this vast D&D map, I have to enter the front door of the restaurant (on the POS till) and then navigate the countless passages and rooms to find the floor plan for the room I'm in now....
I'm lost, these people I'm working with, they're all strangers, this restaurant I don't know, the IT guy I know but he's disappeared, I want to find my way back to the original room where this all started, where I have tables and my comforting bottle of rum poised above the till....
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