Blogged Down Revisited!

Okay, so v.c. prides himself on being able to formulate a few sentences and categorize them as "forays into the infantile." Sometimes v.c., er, I can get on a roll and sometimes I can get blogged down. Tonite we'll soon see what path will be taken.

I now work at the airport instead of at a well-known cafeteria chain, which will remain nameless, because I don't particularly care for the fuckers who run the place. Pardon the french! And my life is much less stressful at my new digs. At the last job I developed a habit of grinding my teeth while smoking way too many cigarettes.

"Please lift my face out of the turnip greens if I happen to have a heart attack [ and fall into the 1/3 sized pan]" I used to tell the team members. "Please let me have a little dignity during my final gasps for breath."

The airport is a different animal. And the people who work there think it's soooo much busier than "on the street." ( One of their favourite sayings )

"Big deal and bull shit." I labored for 30 years at Hell Whole and never had a minute's peace unless I was alone and everyone had gone. Ooops, another policy I broke. So I knew what busy was. Working in the 80's and on Saturdays while serving 1600-1700 rowdy fuckers. ( If, perhaps, that word surfaces again, would you please pardon the french with each occurrence ) And making chopped steaks from scratch and breading okra and butchering meat and never having enough help because of insane labor restrictions. And the women's public restrooms would overflow at least 3 or 4 times a day. Feminine hygiene products and tons of toilet paper being the culprits. And no where for the water to go. Yeah, I knew busy. And I knew chaos. And I knew rowdy. So big fucking [ sorry-see earlier disclaimer ] deal. Whoooo! Busy smizzy.

I mentioned the 80's decade, but in the late nineties and until now Hell Whole was jammin.' So, yes, I knew busy. The airport setting compared to Hell Whole is like comparing Mott the Hoople to the Fab 4. There ain't none!

The best part of my new job, though, is listening to the endless complaints from the guests who ride the planes. And they do COMPLAIN. A lot of folks suspect I work for Brand X Airlines, so their "off-the-cuff" disparaging comments are intended for my perusal. As I waddle through their choruses of discontent, it's a great feeling, because I AIN'T responsible continuing merrily on my way while they're ranting and raving. Some good-natured, most not.

And the people griping seem to have a good reason to vent:

"I asked the gate attendant where Concourse Z was and he said 'look at the monitor.' I thought about sluggin' the guy."

"I will never ride Delta Airlines, er, "Mr. X" Airlines again."

"They are so rude and hateful at "Mr. X" Airlines."

"Is this how "Mr. X" Airlines treats its 'Platinum Customers?'"

"They were cool and groovy in Boston [ flight attendants ] but once we got to Hotlanta, it was a different scene. [ rude, non-caring staff ]

"No wonder your airline [ once again they think I'm employed by you-know-who ] is selling for $.90 a share." Hey numbnuts, been there, done that.

It's not just the airlines with rude team members. It's the whole fucking place. The frowns on the jugglers and the clowns number 20 to 1 as compared with smiling,happy faces. Ah, life in the big city.

Well, I could go on and on but this seems like a good place to stop tonite's foray into the infantile. Sorry there will be no pictures tonite. None from "The Creature From the Black Lagoon" or ""Vertigo," or "Cat On A Hot Tin Roof."

And as v.c. used to lament: Farewell and adieu!

P.S. gimme shelter.