So despite Tuesday’s post I’m not the Prime Minister.

Carry on then.

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“The Timbit war.” A story of violence and pseudo-erotica.

It appears that I have been challenged to some sort of Timbit battle. I’m not entirely sure what this entails but it sounds like it will require far more Timbits than I could possibly afford. Good thing I’ve planned for such an event my entire life.

After purchasing a single Timbit I made my way to a nearby field. I held the Timbit above my head in my right hand with a loose fist. Then brought my right elbow down to my waist as I crushed the Timbit while letting out a mighty yell. This would become the cause of many regrets.

A warm sensation overcame me as I began my transformation. It was tingly and exciting. It felt like the time that guy in the locker room at the gym told me that my shirt was nice and I told him I got it 30 percent off the other day only to have him follow up with “Why don’t you come over here so we can get it 100 percent off?”. As I admired his chis . . . Woah, where am I going with this!?

Anyway, so within seconds I became a trio of Timbits with a shape and size not unlike that of a traditional snowman. I hop up and pound down on the ground. Within a radius of several feet the ground develops into a Timbit-like substance. As I hop again the transformation spreads throughout the Earth at an exponential rate. Within mere hours the entire planet and everything on it is merely one giant Timbit with myself in control. For the record it’s totally a chocolate Timbit, screw the haters.

I steer the planet-sized treat into Mars to assimilate it and make the Timbit even larger. The Milky Way is my home now, and brand name donut holes are the only things I know. The last thing I felt before passing out from the sugar rush was elation that I had finally succeeded in my goal of becoming an asteroid of sorts.

I wake up in a grassy field. And only the panda suit remains . . . 

Wait, you said we would be dueling with tidbits? I’m so sorry Dizzy, I read that e-mail kind of fast at work and misread it. 😦

Here’s the story of a shitty day I had in January of ’08.

So here’s the setup: Basically I was underemployed going on unemployed. I had three jobs, but two of them ended due to seasonal issues (Yay for my Travel and Tourism degree! >_>) and the third was a mere 12-16 hours a week. Since I was nowhere near making my bills I put in my notice so I could job-search full time.

Right off the bat I applied for and was hired on full time for a dishwashing position at an Indian food restaurant. A more tactful person would probably leave the name of it out but fuck it the place was the Taj Mahal in Halifax close to the Westin Hotel. I was to work five evenings a week, 8 hours a night. The pay was bad but that was to be expected really. The owner of the place mentioned that he had a lot of people take the job and leave after a single shift. He said so in a bragging manner. That should’ve set off some red flags but I was too busy being relieved that I finally had full time work for the first time in half a year.

Showing up for my first shift I could only find a single server who was getting ready for the evening. It took me awhile to find him even after walking around both levels of the restaurant. The upper level had a small room behind the bar with a small mattress with pillows and sheets. Weird.

After meeting the gentleman who was setting up, he led me to one of two kitchens that I would be cleaning. One of the two kitchens that I would be expected to keep clean. By myself. On separate floors with no way to move between them without moving through the dining areas. Oh jeez.

There was a mess but they were short-staffed with regards to dishwashers before I was hired so I was ready for that. Then the cooks came in. I like to think I don’t generally have a problem with cultural/language differences and the like but when you need to work directly with a staff being able to communicate with people would be pretty neat.

It was about this time that I realized that the dish pit was nowhere near as warm as it should be. Asking one of the servers I learned that the hot water tank for the building is extremely small/poorly made and it runs out quickly. So basically I was expected to sanitize everything with cold water. Awesome.

Now I will say this: The cooking was good at being stereotypically Indian. Unfortunately so were the hygienic practices of the people preparing it (Note: I’m not saying that stereotypes are true outside outside of this one specific incident!). At this point I couldn’t help but notice that the entire side of one of the fridges was covered in Food Safety Regulation notices.

The other dishwasher employee came in later to check up on me. I won’t get too much into it but basically the only person I could communicate with in the entire kitchen was a little . . . Off-kilter. When I asked him how I was supposed to sanitize anything while pressed for time with no hot water he responded by hastily scrubbing a few pans by hand and tossing them aside.

Falling behind and disgusted with the poor sanitation of the place I walked off before the end of my shift, crossing off all of my shifts on the wall and writing on it that I quit.  Depressed and feeling like a failure in life I began the walk/bus ride home.

Walking down the sidewalk with my head hung something caught the corner of my eye. Looking up I saw what was the most oddly inspiring thing I had ever seen in my life.

An older man was standing outside of a cafe with an electric guitar. He had headphones plugged into it and was calmly playing it, cigar(ette?) dangling out of his mouth as gentle snowflakes fell down in a poetic manner. He just looked so . . . Peaceful. Like he was doing what he truly wanted to do and nothing else.

It made one of the worst nights of my life slightly less shitty.

P.S. I never did get paid for the hours I worked there.

P.S.S: The place burned down sometime in late ’09/early ’10 if memory serves me correctly. Hopefully in rebuilding they at least fixed the hot water thing.

***

Adam sent me this picture of his dog. I’ll let it speak for itself ha ha. Thanks man!