Monday, April 19, 2004
My apologies for the previous entry. I was delirious with fever and exhaustion. The whole family is recovering from a bout of Fifth Disease. I had to work at the restaurant with Chef Dumbass yesterday, which would have been annoying enough to put me in a crappy mood, but as the day progressed, I really tanked. The fever was low enough that I couldn't quite place what was wrong with me, and the joint pain started settling in early on, making me think it was just leftover tension from all the repetitive action from Saturday's work. By the time I was done, I couldn't move without feeling like the Tin Woodsman after an April Shower. I came home, collapsed in bed and moaned quietly to myself for a few minutes, until the kids came in and proceeded to jump on me for entertainment.
Melba toast is not my friend. Saturday night at the country club was a complete pain in the ass. They had a wedding reception, which put everyone on high-stress, although I had very little to do for them. So everyone around me was wound up tight, but my own task was to make Melba toast. Sounds easy right? I mean, they buy packaged bread that's sliced extra-thin, and all you do is slice it in half, lay them out on a sheet tray and squirt some liquid margarine on them, bake until toasty brown and cool. Very simple. Except I had to do more than 50 loaves. For HOURS... Slice. Fan. Squirt. Oven. Check. Cool. I'd get into a rhythm and get several trays going at once and then get called away to help plate a dessert or slice some rolls for the party or something equally challenging, and it'd throw everything off.
I was there til 10pm, just in time to get stuck in a MASSIVE traffic jam, because the night coincided with a huge street festival that left most of the streets surrounding the club closed for 4 hours. I didn't get home until after 11, which thoroughly and completely pissed of Shitfoot, who was home waiting for me to get there so he could go out and celebrate his birthday. When I walked in the door, without a word, he picked up the phone and called a cab. Then he learned that the cab couldn't get him to where he wanted to go due to all the street closings. He chose a different location, then waited about a half an hour before canceling the cab and going to bed. He never said anything to me (good), but he was really pissed. I noticed that throughout the entire scenario, he never once called a friend to let them know if/when/where he was going. It was his birthday, and he wasn't meeting anyone specific, he was just going out drinking.
Melba toast is not my friend. Saturday night at the country club was a complete pain in the ass. They had a wedding reception, which put everyone on high-stress, although I had very little to do for them. So everyone around me was wound up tight, but my own task was to make Melba toast. Sounds easy right? I mean, they buy packaged bread that's sliced extra-thin, and all you do is slice it in half, lay them out on a sheet tray and squirt some liquid margarine on them, bake until toasty brown and cool. Very simple. Except I had to do more than 50 loaves. For HOURS... Slice. Fan. Squirt. Oven. Check. Cool. I'd get into a rhythm and get several trays going at once and then get called away to help plate a dessert or slice some rolls for the party or something equally challenging, and it'd throw everything off.
I was there til 10pm, just in time to get stuck in a MASSIVE traffic jam, because the night coincided with a huge street festival that left most of the streets surrounding the club closed for 4 hours. I didn't get home until after 11, which thoroughly and completely pissed of Shitfoot, who was home waiting for me to get there so he could go out and celebrate his birthday. When I walked in the door, without a word, he picked up the phone and called a cab. Then he learned that the cab couldn't get him to where he wanted to go due to all the street closings. He chose a different location, then waited about a half an hour before canceling the cab and going to bed. He never said anything to me (good), but he was really pissed. I noticed that throughout the entire scenario, he never once called a friend to let them know if/when/where he was going. It was his birthday, and he wasn't meeting anyone specific, he was just going out drinking.
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