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Boundary Issues
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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This was a question at a job interview. "What's your worst quality (presumably at work)...". I had no ready answer. Away from work - well - how long do you have?
At work. This just occurred to me - I have no patience for fools - it's exhausted on the customers, don't make me use it up with staff.
And the second - and this is probably true of anyone in service, whether it be restaurants or retail, and a great number of Chef's have it as well.
I have serious boundary issues.
I need to tell more people to fuck off.
I've been - too long, too often - too patient - and far too hands off.
That is all.
The Vancouver Art Museum
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Tuesday nights, used to be free, now a mandatory $5.00 donation.
So I peruse the art exhibits, some more inspiring than others. The "Yoko Ono" bit I skim briefly, it has no interest to me whatsoever.
But various other of the exhibitions do. I found Jan Wade's "Soul Power" intriguing - mixed media, an abundance of scrabble tiles, buttons, other found objects, a good lot of my own ideas, better realized, and I understand that I'm my own worse critic. I'm a fan of mixed media - and this is good - but I'm pretty sure I could come up with something as good...
Certainly I've accumulated all of the supplies, and now I'm kicking myself that they're all sitting unused in lockers scattered across Western Canada...
Emily Carr - meh, I like but I've seen her stuff at the Glenbow, in Toronto. And to see it here is fitting - but I've seen enough.
And the pottery of Edith Heath was good -- but - goddamn, someone turn over a couple of pieces so I can see her mark, look for this in thrift shops - I'm pretty sure I could turn a bit of it up...
Other randoms:
The above blue tie-died fabric swathes interested me - namely because I attended a workshop at Oxygen Gallery in Nelson a couple of years ago where I'm pretty sure we did something similar...
Anyways - what I got out of it all - is that the contemporary vision of "Art" no longer seems to compass talent or ability - nice to have, not required - a good many of the paintings I saw were more about the "idea", or conceptualization, and less about the realization of said idea...
Which - I have to say, suits me just fine. There's never been a better time for me to enter the Art World...
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The Interview
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I'm in awe. I didn't know the restaurant, but - entering it - I do. I've seen articles about it - it's famous, 120 pages to their wine list, wines up to $30,000, $40,000 dollars.
He's doing it right. There's no shortcuts on decore - on anything - and rarely do I admire a job well done in this industry - but - this is a job well done.
He's frank, an easy candor, not - I suspect - easy to work for - and he tells you as much - but - if you wanted to be a server this would be your Everest.
My clothes - going through my addled suitcase, I forgot decent shoes, I packed the worst of my white shirts, the wrong vest... I have to address this, repack, get rid of the extra baggage, going through my suitcase I'm discovering long lost thrifting treasures - a wireless microphone, a pair of Bunsen burners...but the right waistcoat? Nope. The right shoes? Nope. You get it. I could go on.
Still, you have to try - and while I'm not optimistic - I'm appreciative that he took the time to interview me. And I should have known - really - what I was getting myself in to. My bad.
And laughing to myself - it makes the last fine dining position I had look like McDonald's by comparison.
Afterwards - well, don't hold your breath, and off to circulate another half dozen resumes...
***(Got the call back. Start tomorrow - voluntary Try Out. Fingers crossed.)
Meanwhile
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Yesterday - apply for jobs online. 7 jobs applied for (I'll get far more traction today on foot). But some slight success.
An interview today. Upscale Italian restaurant. Good, good.
And so celebrating - perhaps getting a little too deep in my cups, this morning everyone looking at you: A French girl accuses me: "You hate all the French!!!!".
Mmmm. Did I say that? Me? Moi? Merely when I'm drunk I like to provoke a bit, in the spirit of lighthearted banter. I'm actually not fussed, probably I was just making a scene. She regards me suspiciously.
Steve, bunkmate, gave me a copy of his book. Autobiographical, the oft-told tale of an abusive father, how he came to be and how he gave it all up, tales of his hitchhiking, 26 pages - self published & printed - 4 pages to an 8X11 sheet of paper, double sided, and somehow in his arrangement he didn't get the pages right and so each page when turned brings you to a different idea or time in his life, then back again. It doesn't make linear sense - sort of a post-modern ramble, done better it could be art - but it doesn't matter, I got the idea, made the appropriate pleasing noises and reviews.
I need cigarettes, and it's late, and I'm done with paying full price, there's cheap cigarettes around, I know, $5.00 a pack, and Steve sends me off to a group of natives down East Hastings who are selling them, so I wander amongst the teetering and addled enquiring, amongst the tarp villagers, no one knows anything, surely they know - definitely they know - I'm not yet - although close - closer - at the point where they're going to trust me, addled as I am, a 7 foot native youth tests my mettle - wrestling me, telling me how tough I am, not at all, not at all, merely sinew & bone at this point, I sit down and have conversations with the anguished at the end of the world, there's an incoherent poetry, a young junkie, tormented and wretched beyond description, telling me of her life - when she had a job, children, a place to live, all gone, all gone, and the glimmers of lucidity amongst the ravings - I could listen to this all night - but - careful, caution, listen too long and you'll be drawn into the depths as well.
I give up on the cheap cigarettes, find a shop, pay full price, back to the hostel, sleep.
I think I slept.
This morning, Steve - sleeping in, always he's asleep in the room - he's pleasant to talk to, discuss things with - but - clearly, given the time he spends in the room - and this room, it's no place to spend time in - he's profoundly depressed.
I'd be as well, only now - at this point in time - I can't afford it.
So now, onward-ho with my day, interviews to be met - and more to be sourced - Step 1: Find a Job - Step 2: Find a place to live - Step 3: Get a Jeep.
And there's quite a few steps in between so I'm off...
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