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The night before payday...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 831
And every single one of 'em in the kitchen is coming to me for an advance...not one has a nickel to their name, not enough to buy a pack of cigarettes, bottle of vodka, Chef, the 2 assistants, they're penniless. They've been working here, 8, 12 weeks. Every payday it's the same. I raise an eyebrow, ask one of the younger ones if they don't save anything, "Nope", pretty matter-of-fact, it's payday to payday and when the summer's over if they have enough for a bus ticket it'll be off to look for the next job...
Drunk Irish, Spoiling for a fight
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 841
The child came in, maybe 14, 15 years old, looking for a hot-dog. We don't serve hot-dogs. We did, for a bit, for the 70th anniversary of the ferry landing, at the concession outside, but the kid, he's late, 8:00 PM, and the hot-dogs are done and I know nothing about it, I'm not the hot-dog waiter.
I know nothing about this, I call R#4, he speaks to the kid, gives him the story. No, we don't do hot-dogs.
A few minutes later his pa comes in. His pa, maybe 35, 40 years old, dull, maybe not dull so much as drunk, you get it from the accent, they're Irish.
And he's spoiling for a fight.
"So you won't cook my kid a hot-dog..." he begins, and R4 is dealing with it, "Nope..." he replies "We're all out...".
He's the short man with the chip on his shoulder. He's pissing me off.
Pissing me off, we've a bat behind the bar for exactly this sort of situation...WTF, these people, go to another country, give the locals shit for not being exactly what you expected in your own country (which, if, in Ireland, you're out of hot-dogs, well, then, fuck, I'm pretty sure you're outta hot-dogs)
I know there's Canadians that do the same, I say revoke their passports, everyone that leaves your / our country is an ambassador for it, if you haven't the rudiments of good manners there's no way we're letting you out to prejudice the world against us...And for foreigners, you're guests, dependent on our grace, bloody hell, don't like it? Tell your countrymen. Go ahead. We don't fucking need you. Give us a miss. We've plenty enough assholes as it is.
This Irishman , he's pissing me off, I want to grab the bat from behind the bar and just give him the education he's been waiting for his entire life, his kid, well, he'd be learning too, the rest of the patrons, well, let's be real, no one likes to be told off by a foreigner, full of shit, they've all got bats of their own. It could become a national custom, holiday, beat the shit out of the rude drunk Irishman, we've plenty of space for the body, fuck, we're in the Kootenays, but somehow or another the Irishman mollifies his tone ... "Well, if you're out your out..." ... and takes the menu to consider other options for his hungry child.
Evicted
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1413
Having to pack up my shit, get out of the guest-house for a few days, there's visitors, my shit, my countless garage sale finds, they're everywhere...
I try to talk her out of it..."You don't want them to get too cozy or they'll want to stay on here...". She just laughs, she gets it, I've become rather transparently a pest, the uninvited guest who's stayed on just a bit too long, summer here will be busy, there will be lots of guests visiting, time to get a place. Damn. Well, not damn, it's time as well for me to start getting settled, almost 3 months already, and my interests will come along, for the moment I've gotten a little too comfortable in temporary housing, time now to pack up my shit and get going, find a place of my own, she's been more than generous and try as I might to summon up my mock indignation at being displaced I know I haven't got a leg to stand on...
"Free Man on the Land!!" I shout, I got this from an old roomate, he knew the rules..."I'm a free-man on the land!!!" but it's not working, I got 2 days, clean it all up, get out. Fuck.
The Death Doula
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 882
I've noticed her, hard not to, slender figure, a fine shape, beautiful face. We've chatted, briefly, she's beautiful, a mild flirtation, she's usually in to catch the ferry, a short window, and here, I'm busy, always busy...
The other waitress knows her, they live on the other side of the lake, small community, she tells me she's a Doula.
Tonight, she's in, alone, 5 minutes after the last ferry left, meaning for 2 hours, or an hour an 50 minutes , and so tonight, slow enough to chat, a wee bit, and I ask her about the Doula bit...
She's not a Doula, she's a registered nurse. But funny I should ask, she's thinking about becoming a death doula....
Curious, for me, because I knew somebody else once who had an interest in this. Me, death, pretty cut and dried, I've lots of practice, it doesn't particularly scare me (anymore) but I'd like to be ready. Not "Doula" ready, but - well, have my locker organized, have certain of my creative projects out of the way. But I'm not everyone, and I've met a lot of people who were scared to death of it...no pun intended. People who hung on far longer than was seemly, becoming, people who had this inarticulate fear and apprehension of death and would do anything to avoid it. Anything, in Canada, means anything that we - the taxpayers - are willing to pay for.
It's curious, I get it, and no, at the same time, death is the end, embrace it, live well and nave nothing to regret. Make room for the new generation. I sometimes worry that I'm a little too cavalier about it all, I think I just get it in a broader, metaphysical sense.
She's 55. She drops her age and it explodes lite a fucking nuclear bomb. "No Way!!" I tell her, she looks good for a woman of 40, 35 even, good period, she's a beautiful woman, well composed and collected, but she's not taking the flattery, "YES", absolute, I've never seen this, in Calgary, wherever, never. She's beautiful, and I hate to be ageist (being old myself) - but - well, you don't see this. Amazing. All my prejudices out the window.
The night gets busy, the conversation lulls, I want to buy her a drink, lead the conversation away from here, discover her a bit more thoroughly, but work and professionalism forbid, I'll break that taboo for sure, soon, I know, don't want to be "that waiter", but I'm here, she's keen, and while nurses aren't my thing I'm curious...
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