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Reality TV
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1920
They call at the worst possible time. That's when people who don't work in restaurants generally call. Like sales calls at 7:00 PM, when you've people at the door and food up in the kitchen and tables that have waited a little bit too long to order drinks, they call and they want to chat.
Last night was no different. Well, it was in that the caller introduced himself as being from such-and-such TV network and can he speak to the owner or manager because they'd be interested in filming a reality TV show in OUR RESTAURANT.
Now this is a little more interesting than wondering who supplies our paper/linen/produce needs, and I'd love to pass this call on and overhear how it develops but sadly we're far too busy at the moment. From the kitchen you can hear screaming, cursing, pots banging, the owner's a little stressed as all the tables tonight have come in at the same time, Franco is running about everywhere and forgetting everything that he's doing, and so I apologize and recommend that he call back at a slightly less busy time.
I don't watch TV, don't know what's out there for programming, but I'm guessing that they'd be onto a gold mine if they could get the cameras into this restaurant; the owner, he's charming, his slightly eccentric son, the staff, well, nothing like a bunch of very unhappy overworked people to make for good drama.
...and I don't feel much like writing
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1894
Another busy night, home at a reasonable hour, emails, but oddly tonight I don't feel much like writing.
Transcribed my notes from the day (nothing really, the hydra sprouts more heads and things grow unmanageably in all directions), reviewed notes, don't feel much like writing. And so at this relatively early hour I'll go to bed. Better luck tomorrow.
CHKDSK - Or - Why one should back up one's data...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1976
A busy night at work. Busier than the weekend in fact, with fewer staff, but we cope fine.
The owner, he's asking about my vacation plans, he's future plans for me, he asks if my benefits have been sorted yet, and it's all uncomfortable because I haven't yet told him that I'm not returning.
It's the Stockholm Syndrome, this, the false sense of loyalty to lost causes.
I don't know what to say, there's "Promotions" - of a sort, in store, increased responsibilities, and I'm loathe to accept them, I won't be here, and bloody hell I don't know what to say...
I haven't even the excuse of another, a better job, it's just the fact that I know I can't go on like this.
***
Home after work, boot computer, forgot I'd run CHKDSK. Which runs and takes half an hour to boot, the volume is dirty (and I thought it was me...), a reminder that I should be backing up my data. I'll back it up tomorrow.
The cat finds me waiting on the sofa, hops upon my chest, it's been awhile since I've petted her and so we begin, scratching her belly, playing, we have a game we play most nights when I go to bed, stupid cat game where I make a cave with the duvet and the cat crawls in to explore....Stupid cat game.
***
And the other armchair, the one that didin't sell (the first one did, if you're curious, for $20.00), it's going as well, fortunately to the same buyer, she's going to take on the challenge of reupholstering it, I didn't like to see it there, lonely in the living room, and so I'm pleased that they'll be together, matching, again.
***
I've emptied my inbox, a few shortcuts, few accidental deletes and I'm on top of my game. Well, not really, but there's something that's so pristine, pure, enviable, Zen about an empty inbox. It pleases me. And there's something about an empty inbox that begs other people to fill it with inane requests, fortunately not too many tonight. It's empty again.
And that's the day.
One too many cups of coffee
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2088
One too many cups of coffee and the ideas flow. But flow in a meaningless, disconnected way, that flow only after standing, sitting, surfing, pacing, that flow in that interrupted - start-stop-start sort of way, a trip to 7/11 as I'm hungry and there's no way I'll make it until work, the diet of processed sugar and simulated protein makes me pace even more until I finally decide that maybe some whiskey will help to take the edge off....
These half days of work, they're dangerous. Whole days are worse.
From the current work in progress: "Chalk Circle":
"Her suspicions implicate me;
She first chides and then berates me;
She binds then interrogates me
Curses and imprecates me;
Her tongue raising welts
and blisters on my skin.
She conjectures gross transgressions
she imagines indiscretions
She conjures every vile unpardonable sin;
And while I'm wholly innocent
Her unholy tirade circumvents
Any attempts to placate her,
this fury won't abate and
frustrates all efforts to sedate her
Her wrath is senseless and drips drips driveling from her chin
Her opinions have secured my conviction."
Given that I had only planned for the entire poem to run a couple of dozen lines you can see how things get out of control. Blame it on the caffeine? Certainly I need an editor, but on the other I think I've somewhat captured the personage, the spirit, the natural language and reason of the jealous lover. And so I'll leave it for the moment, there are other verses, poems to be worked upon, and funny how problems will just solve themselves the moment you leave them alone and stop worrying them...
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