Oh, hello there.

It was a rather ordinary day at work. Another day banging away at the keyboard to hack away fruitlessly at a constantly growing mountain of data to enter.

I heard a buzzing. Faint at first, it became louder and closer until it was like a bee in my ear. This made sense because there was a bee in my ear.

“Goddammit Frank. What do you want now?” I asked followed by an exasperated sigh through my nose.

“I need your help Tyler! I’m desperate!” This question was topped off by the visual of Frank buzzing around erratically a foot in front of my face while producing rainbow sparkles and all sorts of similar garbage.

“Alright, what can I help you with this time?”

“I really really really really need your help this time! I need your help so bad I don’t know what . . . “

“I already said I’d help, please stop.”

” . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do I’m freaking out whatever will I do I can’t deal with this please . . . “

“STOP!” I demanded. I was weary of this before it even began, words couldn’t describe how annoyed I was now. “What do you need?”

Frank took a deep breath. 

“I’m going to Olive Garden tonight and I’m not sure how much I should tip?”

Ho.

Ly.

Shit.

This was a complete waste of time. Like always. I buried my forehead in one hand and sighed again.

“I dunno. General rule of thumb is fifteen percent I guess. Adjust as needed.”

With an exuberant thanks Frank poofed away in a puff of smoke.

And that’s why this report was late. I absolutely swear that’s the case. Please don’t fire me.

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I am so good at Splatoon 2. Someday I’ll even play the game proper!

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Okay, so I gotta stop practicing for my charity Sonic Marathon long enough to start packing for a move.

5:42 PM: Let’s make some food and then get this thing started!

5:46 PM: Don’t give up! I can do this!

6:20 PM: Okay, I should probably start now.

6:43 PM: Not sure why that goat attacked me just now but here I am.

6:59 PM: There is visible sign of progress in the kitchen. A service will soon be held for those who were lost.

7:11 PM: I’ve finally stopped crying enough to resuming packing the pots and pans.

7:27 PM: Having one’s nether regions transported to the netherworld is a bit disconcerting at first, but I’m over it now.

7:40 PM: Oh hey, stickers!

7:53 PM: The clouds are beginning to thicken. Pretty annoying that this had to happen inside of my apartment.

7:58 PM: I think I’ve gotten enough scars for the time being. Coffee break!

8:07 PM: Their ghosts still haunt me. I offer the stickers. They weep. I weep.

8:25 PM: I think that’s enough for tonight.

8:57 PM: Yeah, that’s enough for tonight.

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Passing the time.

So I’m there in a meeting, and as I drifted off into a daydream like the model employee that I am . . . I noticed that the only thing I could think of was the value of different objects in the room. Not in their current state but rather wondering what I could fetch for various metals in the room by melting down the projector and the like. This turned out to be a rather fruitless endeavor since I’ve never taken anything other than bottles to a recycling depot and as such had absolutely idea how much various metals are even worth, or if they’re even worth anything at all.

Apparently toast sandwiches are a big thing in Europe? Lemme explain: You take a piece of bread. Toast it, flavor it up on both sides with whatever (I like garlic butter) and put it in between two uncooked pieces of bread. Then you eat it. The textures give off the illusion that you’re eating something that’s more complex than three pieces of bread.

That is amazing and I would gladly risk my father’s left testicle to become the first person to have thought of this. I know that doesn’t sound like a sacrifice on my end but if that was to be applied retroactively that’s a fifty percent chance that I would permanently erase myself from time.

Yes, I would flip that coin to have invented the best poor person meal ever.

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Are footbags one of the best things ever invented?

This morning on the bus to work I saw a construction worker playing with a hacky sack. He looked absolutely ridiculous. But then I thought about it for a bit:

This little bag of beads is easy to carry around, can relieve boredom during downtime, is used to play social games with others and provides a fair bit of exercise.

Maybe I should get one.

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Hacky Sack design copyright 2013 because I can open up Paint and totally copyright things if Facebook has taught me anything.

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!