New Pans and New Partners

We have these new pans at work.  They’re smaller than those old things, and they sit on top of the…um…I never know what they’re called…the things with the steam, haha, with that black heat thing over top of them that Maggie used to use down her end on nights when she had differently-shaped pans.  (I never know what to call any of that stuff.  Anyway.)  They’re pretty and all, but they’re really, really small.  Each one of them will hold about a dozen servings.  So when the semester starts up, and we get busy again, somebody is going to have to constantly be running back and forth to refill them.  Constantly.

So today Maggie was interrogating Dave (one of the bosses) about how exactly that’s going to work.  She asked him if they’d be hiring new people, as we currently have two chefs, one server, and no dishwashers.  He told her he’d hired two new chefs, so she could be okay (even though two new ones brings her back up to the same amount we had during the school year, it doesn’t make up for the new work that will have to be done) but that he hadn’t hired any new servers, because he was “pretty sure” Teshura would be coming back.

All this time, I’ve been counting on them getting me some new servers so it wouldn’t be just me during the school year, and they’ve been holding off on hiring them because they’re “…um…pretty sure Teshura is coming back”!?  Tinny, who told them all several times when she left that she would not be returning?  Tinny, who moved to freaking NEW YORK!?  (This is not your fault, Tinny.  I don’t blame you.)

So guess who my new partner’s going to be?  Katy.  Katy, the clueless bimbo, who never wants to do anything at all because she doesn’t know how, and doesn’t really care to learn, either.  Katy, who constantly wants to run her mouth, but all she wants to talk about is which guys are hot and what a dick her ex-boyfriend is.  Nobody likes her.  If it were down to a vote, she would have been fired by a unanimous ruling of her peers.  The one time she served with me, that week when we had 1200+ people, she just kept running her mouth about this guy and that guy and her ex—she didn’t want to do anything.  She’d lean against the counter, and I’d shove a plate into her hands so she’d be forced to do something, but then she’d just lean back again, despite the fact that there were 500 people in line!  Over and over again, so it would really have been easier for me to just do the damned job myself instead of constantly trying to get the plate into her hands.

Most likely, she’ll be fired very soon.  Then they’ll have to hire me a new freaking partner.  Bastards.

Lots of weird stuff in my dream last night, too….

Had a dream last night for the first time, I think, since the last time I updated.

We took a school bus to the Paris Opera House, which was in a setting I’d seen before in my dreams, more than once, and which I think is actually London, but my subconscious said it was supposed to be Paris.  And once inside, I was wandering around with a small group, and then all of a sudden I wasn’t, I was alone, in a bathroom, washing my hands, when, in the mirror, I suddenly noticed somebody standing behind me.  (Obviously, we already know I’m afraid of mirrors, so I guess it’s not surprising that this happened in a dream.)

I jumped and turned around, and it was Moaning Myrtle, sobbing softly as she stared at me.  And then, sure enough, I noticed that the scenery looked very much like that bathroom we see in Chamber of Secrets (but I don’t think I was aware of it in my dream; that’s just what I realized when I woke up), and Moaning Myrtle was upset at the moment because she was in love with someone, and although she followed him all over the opera (he lived there, you see) he never seemed to want to pay any attention to her, because he was only interested in me.  I didn’t really know what she was talking about.

Myrtle, however, said, “You know Erik…couldn’t you tell him about me?…I know he’d love me, too, if he’d only notice me…we would have lots in common…he even calls himself the ‘Opera Ghost’”.

I’m not exactly sure what it amounted to, but I refused, because of course he is my Erik, he doesn’t belong to some annoying ghost, so I said no (probably quite rudely, I’m ashamed to say, but it was my dream) and she flew off, crying harder than ever.

So then I went and sat in the theatre, which was dark, and I’m not sure whether any other people were around, but I think the audience must have been full, because I had come with a group, whoever they were, and then I heard what sounded like a muted trumpet, and it was–some guy up onstage was playing it.  And he was dressed like a mime.

Then, to the right side, I heard something else, and there was a spotlight all of a sudden on a man playing a tenor sax—and it was John Cleese.  (John Cleese, so far as I know, does not play tenor sax, but in my dream, he was surprisingly good—really good.)  He was just wearing black and white, and then, from Stage Left, another spotlight came up on a guy with another tenor sax, and he’s shouting at John, “You’re not supposed to wear the tux; I am!  That’s my trademark!  Yours is this!”  So he holds up this clown suit.  It looks sort of like Roberto Benigni’s Pinnochio costume.  (At any rate, it would have given Cortney nightmares, let’s put it that way.)

John plays calmly, and finally says, “My trademark is whatever I want it to be,” and this little guy (little compared to John, at least!) appeared with another coat hanger, holding a black jacket to go with the rest of his ensemble.  He puts it on casually and then just keeps playing, so the other guy storms off.

So then I’m at the café.  It looks nothing like the café, though…I think it’s actually another part of the supposed Paris Opera House, and we’re cleaning stuff up, but it’s not normal sort of cleaning we’re doing; we’re cleaning grass, and we’re taking huge pieces of machinery and things out to various people’s pickup trucks, because suddenly everybody I work with is driving one.

And I’m headed out one of the back doors, and somebody’s holding the door for me, and it’s Terry Jones, so, wanting to appear that I already know him (I don’t know, something like that), I said, “Oh, thank you, Jonesy” very casually.

He turned back for a second, startled, and looked at me, trying to figure out who I was, then seemed to assume that I was just a stranger who was obsessed with all things Python, and he sort of glowered and said, “I don’t like being called Jonesy.”

I said, “But everybody calls you Jonesy!”  (This really isn’t true; I’ve only heard a few.  But it seems natural to call him such.)

He said, “I wish they wouldn’t.  It’s only a nickname.  I don’t like it.”

So I said, “Well, I’m sorry, but what else can I call you?  Terry?  Well then you’re hardly distinguishable from Terry Gilliam, are you?  I mean, how’s anyone supposed to know which of you I’m talking about?”

Well, of course, by now, I’ve got him in conversation—argument, at least—so he’s not keen to leave my side now, and we head out to some pickup truck, and there’s somebody in the back of it, just standing there, very still, in that Pinnochio costume, with lots of makeup, and I know it’s a Python, but I can’t figure out which, and I’m just staring at him, until finally I determine that it’s Terry Gilliam.  So I exclaim, “Little Gilliam!”

…‘Little Gilliam’!?  I have never referred to him this way in my life, but that’s what came out of my mouth.  And I insisted that I always called him this.  (I’ll just add here that they were all in costume, but I can’t now remember what the others were.)

So then, inside (and I had to get something from inside the theatre to take outside), I ran into Michael, who was most friendly from the start, and whose hand I kept trying to hold, but he kept refusing because, “I’m married!  I have a wife!” he’d say.  (Damn it!  So typical—every time they appear in my dreams, he’s always resisting my advances because he’s married.  I mean, sure, that’s admirable, and I would expect nothing less if I actually were to meet him—but it’s a dream, damn it all! I mean…come on…please?  Just once?  Okay, fine, be that way.  …I love you, anyway!)

And I can’t really remember…it seems like Eric (with the c, not the k) and John were moving stuff around in the theatre, like set or something, and were helping to carry it out to random pickups, too.  I don’t know.  It’s all so muddled, and since when did I work in the Paris Opera House, anyway?  …Damn it, if that dream had gone on much longer, Erik would have probably killed the entirety of Monty Python right there in front of me.  I just thought of that.  And Moaning Myrtle would have laughed….

A Potterish Dream

I got kicked out of my classes because I hadn’t paid for them yet…I really hope that check gets here soon, because otherwise I won’t be able to freaking pay for these, either.  I re-registered for three of them, but the philosophy class was full, so I replaced it with Western Civ. 1589-Present with the only teacher who ever made history interesting for me, so that’s cool.  Now I’m taking three of my favorite teachers again.  But I have to get them paid for!  My dad has been insisting since I graduated high school that I should just take a semester off and work, but…um…no.  I don’t want to do that.  If I start doing that, I’ll never finish.

Okay, so I had this dream.  We had just come from a Harry Potter party, and so we’re all in our Hogwarts stuff and everything, and then we go and get on a train.  And then Cort and Nicole sort of…fade away, so it’s just me on this train, in HP stuff, and I’m strolling around (and it seems like the train goes in more directions than just back and forth–like there were actual rooms and hallways like a building or something), and run into some young parents with a 2-year-old daughter named Hannah.  (I sadly cannot now remember her last name.)

Hannah’s got red hair and she’s wearing this long green dress, and she’s supposed to be dressed as “the baby Weasley,” who doesn’t actually exist.  And she’d won a costume contest and all.  So she was wearing a ribbon on her dress.

Anyway, so I ran into them and recognized them from the party (as it had just passed a few minutes before), and the parents acted all snobby and said they didn’t remember me, as the party had been two years before.  The train had gone through like a time warp or something.  Okay.

It was then that I decided to look out the windows.  There’s nothing there.  I mean…nothing.  We’re sort of  hurtling along through this black void—creepy stuff, I’m telling you.

So I’m walking around, and eventually I run into Jasper, who is the only person on the train not dressed in HP stuff.  Jasper’s got a lightsaber.  And I say, “Jasper!  Good to see a familiar face!” and he says, “Yeah…Andrew’s here, too, somewhere.”  So I’m like, “Oh, I’m going to go find him and invite him to tea in our compartment.”  (Tea?  I grow increasingly more British in my dreams all the time.  Not, of course, that I mind.)

But Jasper says, “No, wait!  He’s killing people.”

I stopped suddenly.  “He…what?”

Jasper explains, “He already killed this one whole family, and he’s looking for this little two-year-old named Hannah, and he wants to kill her, too.”

I said, “I know Hannah….”

So Jasper told me that I had to protect Hannah, and if it came down to it, I had to kill Andrew, too.

Okay.  So I ran.  And I didn’t stop running until I found Hannah and her parents.  Hannah’s just sitting in the middle of the floor reading a stack of little kid’s books—maybe not reading, she might have been coloring in them or something—and the parents looked at me and were kinda like, “You again?  Go away.”

I attempted to explain to them that somebody wanted to kill their daughter, but they started shouting at me, and they thought I was crazy, and they wanted to take Hannah away, and I refused.  I told them she had to stay with me.

And then I just happened to glance down at the end of the corridor, through the window at the door, and it’s all dark, but I can just barely see Andrew standing there, staring at Hannah.

So I picked her up, and the parents are shouting at me, and Andrew opens the door at the end, and I take out my wand and start running with Hannah, who’s just holding a couple of books, and I’m still in HP stuff so my robe’s all billowy behind me and stuff—LOL—and they’re still shouting, and he Avada Kedavra’d them, and he’s running after us, so finally we got to one compartment where there appeared to be a closet of sorts in the side, and I sort of threw her and her books in there and shouted, “Stay there; don’t come out!” and whirled around to face Andrew, wand ready…

…And my sister started banging on the front door like a crazed lunatic and woke me up.  Yes, I hate when these things happen, but, as I explained to Andrew, if I hadn’t woken up then, I probably would have killed him, and then I would have woken up all traumatized.

That’s all for now, I guess.  We’re really, really busy at work these days; I won’t be getting off in the evenings until probably around 10:30.

Oh…and my dad wants to impose time limits on the computer, because every time he comes home from work late, I’m on it.  Never mind the fact that Psychobrat is on it all day every day—it’s just that I have it for a couple of hours each night, and that pisses him off.

Oh yeah…and now we have to pay $380 for that car window my brother shot out, not just $250.  And I don’t know if we’re paying any damages on the other car he shot.  I didn’t really hear what happened with that except the guy driving it wanted to beat the crap out of my brother, and wouldn’t back off until the cop physically held him off.

Fun stuff.

Veal Surprise

We had veal tonight at work.

Tell me, how was that a good idea?  I was staring at it, thinking, “Veal?  How the hell am I going to explain veal to all these foreigners?  They didn’t go to English school and learn veal.  Hell, half the native-English-speakers who come through my line don’t even know what veal is!”

And I was right, of course.  You try explaining “baby cow” to 200 people who only know basic words in English; it’s not easy.

There was one older guy who thought he knew:  He held up his hands behind his head to signify antlers, and another older guy next to him nodded his understanding:  “Ah, Bambi, Bambi, yes!”  I just let them think it.  As long as it tastes okay, they’re not gonna know the difference.

So…yeah…I have to go to work tomorrow.  I was never really going to get out of it, I guess.


Maggie has said that she might walk out tomorrow.  I hope not.  That would suck a lot.

Work and General Guilt About Friday

We’re supposed to have about 200 more people coming into the cafe, but they didn’t exactly all come in last night.  Maybe about 40 of them.  (Hopefully it’ll stay like that for a few days so I won’t feel quite so bad about calling in sick on Friday when Bob’s not going to be there, either….)  But anyway, they’re foreign, ’cause it’s some soccer group.  (I always feel so bad when I have a foreign person, and I have to keep asking them to repeat themselves, because it’s damned difficult to understand accents when it’s already hard to hear from where I’m standing–I always feel like I’m insulting them.)

There’s this one annoying guy named Jason whom nobody likes because his night isn’t complete until he’s criticized something in the cafe.  He’s an old guy who’s been coming in for forever.  Yeah…apparently he’s been living on campus for like 14 years, can you imagine?

Got distracted last night and accidentally took an hour-long break instead of a half-hour one.  Bob came to find me and said, “Hey, Ginny…you know it’s, like, 8:30 now, right?”  No, I hadn’t noticed that!  All I knew was that it felt later, but that made sense, because I was breaking half an hour later for the first time in months.  Ah, well.  They just made fun of me a bit when I emerged, and I didn’t get in trouble or inconvenience anyone or anything, so that’s good.  (Would have made me feel that much worse about calling in sick on Friday….)

Of course, Dann won’t be there on Friday, I hope–although he could be, when I call in…I just hope when I call in that I do get an answer machine and not an actual person.  And Fridays generally go a bit slower (though I don’t know how this one will work with those 200 extra people)…and there’s a new guy, but Dann and Scot decided that only I and the chefs can serve, so…right.  That’s Bob and me both will be gone…but Steve will be back…oh, damn it, the pluses exactly balance the negatives.

They hired two new people yesterday, neither one of whom is a server.  And just when do they plan on hiring any bloody new servers, then!?  I looked at each of them upon meeting them and said, “Are-you-a-server-please-tell-me-you’re-a-server-why-aren’t-you-a-server!?”  It’s like they refuse, or something.  “Oh, it’s okay, we don’t need anybody new, Ginny can handle everything.”

Anyway.  For now I can.  I just hope before we get more than 5 or 600 they’ve got somebody to help me out.  (And it would be nice to have another official server to take my place on Friday, when I shall not be working.)

What happened at work last night (in English).

I skipped my freaking religion class yesterday; I’ve missed it about ten times, no exaggeration (but Katie’s still missed it more, so it’s okay).  I swear, the entire class and the teacher all hate us, and I’m almost positive I am going to fail.

I thought I’d translate that last entry, and add a bit more detail.

I walked into work last Tuesday and there was a new guy, and I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that he was going to be bad news.  It was the way he was looking at me—staring, with this goofy, euphoric grin.  He approached me, introduced himself as Paul, and shook my hand for a really long time.  He might still be shaking my hand if I hadn’t pulled it away from him.  Just…right away he was creepy, and I predicted exactly what would happen—that he’d ask me out for a drink.

Sure enough, five minutes into the conversation, after a lot of pointless questions from him, he asks, “Do you drink?”  “No.”  “Do you want to get a drink with me sometime this weekend?”  “I have a boyfriend.  Sorry.”

So then it was all questions about my boyfriend, whom I met in high school, have been with for three and a half years, and occasionally travel with to Orlando or St. Augustine for the weekend, just for the heck of it.

Then it was all, “So, do you have any girlfriends that you could hook me up with?  Could you find me a girlfriend?” to which I gave the same response every time:  “I’ll see what I can do.”  Not a yes, not a no, just very vague.

And he kept coming up to me, putting his arm around my waist, but not long enough to say, “Get the hell off you CREEP”—just for a second here and there.

Naturally, I made sure everybody knew right away, and everybody had their say with him, including Dann, but not until after he had made a joke the next day about him putting me next to him in the hot tub, where he would serve and I would just sweat—meaning behind the line.  I wasn’t entirely certain that’s what he’d said, because he’s Filipino and has an accent, but Big Steve informed me later on that Paul had approached him and said, “Listen to what I said to Ginny” as though he thought Big Steve would find it funny (he didn’t; he told Paul he didn’t need to be joking around that way with someone half his age).

Anyway, after Dann spoke to him (and he assured Dann that it was merely a misunderstanding—right), he went up to the dishwashers and told them that he had been joking around with me, I’d gotten offended, and that he just wasn’t going to speak to me anymore if I was going to be like that.  Well…good.  Haha.  So we hardly speak at all, unless somebody else is involved in the conversation, or if it’s absolutely necessary.

And that’s about it for now; class and work, class and work, the usual.  Just thought I’d go and clarify what was going on for those of you who didn’t feel like reading that entire pirate entry there.

Speaking of pirates, you know why pirates say “ARR” so much?

It’s because their shipmates are always going around saying things like, “The cannons be ready, Captain!”


Avast Ye!

Yarr, been a while since I updated, me hearties.  I’ve been up tae the usual:  Pillagin’ an’ plunderin’, drinkin’ me grog when I gets the chance, causin’ general mayhem o’ all sorts.

We be havin’ a newcomer at t’ workplace–arrr, an’ a scurvy lubber he be, at that.  I knowed he was trouble the moment I laid me eyes on him, an’ I was right, o’ course.  He had a creepy look in ‘is eyes, mateys, creepy.  ‘Twasn’t five minutes intae our conversation he asked me tae drink grog wit’ him over t’ weekend, yarr.  But the rest of me good sea dogs be havin’ me back, they be.  Cap’n Dann be havin’ a chat wit’ him abou’ consortin’ wit’ the workers–particularly the younger ones, yarr–an’ Bosun Big Steve, he be tellin’ him a thing or two abou’ heavin’ tae the younger lasses.  Black Bob o’ t’Kitchens be checkin’ in wit’ tae Cap’n if’n he be witnessin’ anythin’ strange, as is First Mate Jasper, yarr.  An’ Maggie, Maid o’ t’Mediterranean, she be tellin’ the scurvy cur all abou’ his ass, she be.

It be good tae have a loyal crew, it be.  Heave to an’ prepare tae be boarded, Scurvy Cur!  We be keelhaulin’ ye wit’in an inch o’ yer life, if’n yehs don’ watch yerself.  Ye be seein’ yer way tae Davy Jones’s Locker, so avast now, ye scurvy dog o’ t’ sea!