In younger days, I told myself my life would be my own. And I'd leave the place where sunshine never shone. For my life's too short for waiting when I see the rising sun. Then I know again that I must carry on.
In response to the above paragraph: "Lucy, what happened?"
Tonite I was going to explore the marvelous world of co-dependency, but I ain't got it in me. For future reference, and to those who may be unfamiliar with the definition, here it is:
One of many definitions of codependency is: a set of *maladaptive, *compulsive behaviors learned by family members in order to survive in a family which is experiencing *great emotional pain and stress.
Huh? That's what I said.
This explains it better:
What are some of the symptoms?
* controlling behavior
* distrust
* perfectionism
* avoidance of feelings
* intimacy problems
* caretaking behavior
* hypervigilance (a heightened awareness for potential threat/danger)
* physical illness related to stress
Well, thar you have it, matey. A tip of the iceberg.
In summary: And when the heavy journey's done, I'll rest my weary head
For the world and it's colours will be mine
For my life's too short for waiting when I see the setting sun
Then I know again that I must carry on!
v.c.
P.S. Tonite's song is another tune that my roommate Rick turned me onto back in the daze. He also turned me onto something else before the preview, allah Mitch and Spooky Tooth's rendition of "I Am the Walrus!" The youtube video is from "Magic Christian" which starred Peter Sellers and Ringo Starr. It takes a minute before the song begins, but it is well worth a listen. When I first heard it, I was mesmerized; one of the most beautiful tunes ever. I don't endorse the taking of drugs by no means, but when I was a young teenager and young adult, I imbibed. And unlike Bill Clinton, I did inhale.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
"Have Egg Shells-Will Travel!"
Well, I used to be the EGGMAN until another powers-that-be deemed me expendable. It must be me, eh?
But yesterday I talked to my friend and cohort from the Atlanta Airport. Seems he's giving his notice July 5th.
Why I asked him!
Verbatim: "I can't take it any more."
He's having to work 6-7 days a week, a minimum of 12 hours a day. Ah, the food biz.
When I called him he said he was at work, twiddling his thumbs, waiting on the "crack" maintenance team to repair the Pizza Hut oven. Without the oven-guess what?-you can't sell any pizzas. He also made a deleterious comment inferring that perhaps the maintenance staff may be on crack.
He also manages a coppola bars as well. Sam Addams and Brews and Blues.
Seems they fired his associate manager during the Memorial Day weekend. She showed up late for work, and they termed her with a quickness. She had been employed with the company for over 10 years. When my former boss wanted yer ass outta there, it was only a matter of time.
And my last employer? They fired one manager for "stealing" a bag of gummi bears. The line was long at the cashier when he went to make the purchase. Forgot about it during the day. A team member ( ? ) told on him, and he was abruptly shown the door.
Suggested retail price of one bag of gummi bears: $.79.
Another g.m. was fired for spilling coffee, heavy on the caffeine, on his shirt. He went to Retail, picked out a shirt to replace the stained one and never paid for it.
His salary was an impressive $130,000 per year. He soon was making nada, as the boy was-what else?-abruptly shown the door.
More firings from my last venue:
1) customer orders a baked potato. None are ready. Ingenious manager wants to please the guest. Right? Puts a potato in the microwave. Serves guest. Happy ending? Nah, the boy's career. Kaput. Fini.' Didn't follow the recipe. Went against the system. The system don't like that! Bye bye!
2) Guest wants mashed potatoes. Ain't none. Plus, they use fresh. Can't cook potatoes quickly. Ingenious manager runs to store, buys a box of instant. Serves guest. Guest is frequent customer. Notices potatoes ain't fresh. Calls home office with her complaint. Result: farewell and adieu to you fair spanish maidens....
So maybe it ain't me after all. My 30 year employer was going through financial problems, so they liked firing the old-timers. My firing was also political. But I did give them a reason to fire me so....
Not sure how I got on this subject. I am committed to writing ( or attempting to ) a novel. My family is crazy; my work environs have been crazy; and I am crazy, so I have a lot of material from whence to choose.
If you are mentioned in my book, I will try to disguise your identity. Don't want no lawsuits. Per example, my male friend, *****, once confessed to me in confidence that he has always been a lesbian. I am a lesbian, too, and proud of it.
The name of the book: "Have Eggshells-Will Travel." It came to me ( divine intervention? ) during one of my walks to get in shape. I love the title!!!!!!!!!
In summary, the ex EGGMAN has to wrap this up. When I was in college my friend Mitch turned me onto a rendition of "I Am The Walrus" by Spooky Tooth. He also turned me onto something else before the preview. It was a magical experience. Circa 1971.
I am the EGGMAN, v.c.
P.S. This rendition is really good. There are two songs I want played at my funeral. This is one of them.
But yesterday I talked to my friend and cohort from the Atlanta Airport. Seems he's giving his notice July 5th.
Why I asked him!
Verbatim: "I can't take it any more."
He's having to work 6-7 days a week, a minimum of 12 hours a day. Ah, the food biz.
When I called him he said he was at work, twiddling his thumbs, waiting on the "crack" maintenance team to repair the Pizza Hut oven. Without the oven-guess what?-you can't sell any pizzas. He also made a deleterious comment inferring that perhaps the maintenance staff may be on crack.
He also manages a coppola bars as well. Sam Addams and Brews and Blues.
Seems they fired his associate manager during the Memorial Day weekend. She showed up late for work, and they termed her with a quickness. She had been employed with the company for over 10 years. When my former boss wanted yer ass outta there, it was only a matter of time.
And my last employer? They fired one manager for "stealing" a bag of gummi bears. The line was long at the cashier when he went to make the purchase. Forgot about it during the day. A team member ( ? ) told on him, and he was abruptly shown the door.
Suggested retail price of one bag of gummi bears: $.79.
Another g.m. was fired for spilling coffee, heavy on the caffeine, on his shirt. He went to Retail, picked out a shirt to replace the stained one and never paid for it.
His salary was an impressive $130,000 per year. He soon was making nada, as the boy was-what else?-abruptly shown the door.
More firings from my last venue:
1) customer orders a baked potato. None are ready. Ingenious manager wants to please the guest. Right? Puts a potato in the microwave. Serves guest. Happy ending? Nah, the boy's career. Kaput. Fini.' Didn't follow the recipe. Went against the system. The system don't like that! Bye bye!
2) Guest wants mashed potatoes. Ain't none. Plus, they use fresh. Can't cook potatoes quickly. Ingenious manager runs to store, buys a box of instant. Serves guest. Guest is frequent customer. Notices potatoes ain't fresh. Calls home office with her complaint. Result: farewell and adieu to you fair spanish maidens....
So maybe it ain't me after all. My 30 year employer was going through financial problems, so they liked firing the old-timers. My firing was also political. But I did give them a reason to fire me so....
Not sure how I got on this subject. I am committed to writing ( or attempting to ) a novel. My family is crazy; my work environs have been crazy; and I am crazy, so I have a lot of material from whence to choose.
If you are mentioned in my book, I will try to disguise your identity. Don't want no lawsuits. Per example, my male friend, *****, once confessed to me in confidence that he has always been a lesbian. I am a lesbian, too, and proud of it.
The name of the book: "Have Eggshells-Will Travel." It came to me ( divine intervention? ) during one of my walks to get in shape. I love the title!!!!!!!!!
In summary, the ex EGGMAN has to wrap this up. When I was in college my friend Mitch turned me onto a rendition of "I Am The Walrus" by Spooky Tooth. He also turned me onto something else before the preview. It was a magical experience. Circa 1971.
I am the EGGMAN, v.c.
P.S. This rendition is really good. There are two songs I want played at my funeral. This is one of them.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
"Hello Mr. Johnson! You Are A Sight For Sore Eyes!"
I have begun an exercise regimen. I have been walking for a couple of weeks now. I am up to about 3-4 miles a day. I even look forward to it. Damn, it's invigorating. And I am able to savor the trees, the lakes, the animals, the sky, the clouds; all the good stuff. It's corny as hell, but it's the truth.
And I have time to reflect on my life. And to think about what I want to do. I have lost a lot in the past year, but it's all right. I made my bed....
My mother is co-dependent, and, of course, I'm her reclamation project. She has me watching religious programs. "Get down on your hands and knees and ask God for help," is her rallying cry. And my only hope for success in this crazy world.
I haven't been very religious in my life. I am more spiritual. I would never be pompous enough to believe there was no God; and agnostic doesn't cut it for me either. My mom has become very religious in the last ten years. When we were kids, she would send us off to Sunday school and church via Mrs. Chadwick and her clan. In their Chevrolet. Sans my mom who never went with me.
Mrs. Chadwick had 4 daughters, three of whom were pigeon-toed. They were younger than me, the oldest being 5 years my junior. Mrs. C. was a decent woman and an ex Sunday school teacher. She would honk the horn to see if I was going on Sunday. And there were times I waited in bed hoping me mum wouldn't stir me, because I didn't want to go.
I hated Sunday school because it was normally very BORING! The S.S. teachers weren't the best. Droning on and on and in a monotone. Much the way I talk today. I did have one cool teacher who was funny and not uptight. He let me be the Sunday school class clown. But every now and then, he would have to reel me in. [ pun unintended ]
After Sunday school, we had the service. And Mr. Rainwater was the pastor. I forget the name of the musical director. But here is where I learned some of the old standards. "Old Rugged Cross;" "Onward Christian Soldiers;" and "Love Lifted Me;" to name a few. And I loved them.
And after the sermon, we'd climb back into that blue Chevy and head home. But when I started working after school and, then, going to college, and then in my adult life, I never went to church again. Kaput. Fini.' And didn't send my kids, which I regret now. Kitty wasn't religious either. Plus, I worked every freakin' Sunday anyway, even as the G.M. so....
In the last few weeks I have been watching two preachers. Joel Osteen I like, but this other guy starts out talking about Satan and "God Made Adam and Eve; not Adam and Steve." Well, that turned me off right there. Number one, I don't believe in Satan; and number two, I ain't homophobic.
I like to believe what my liberal sis from San Fran says about her "higher power." [ another example of the world gone awry, as denizens of our world use this phrase quite a bit these days. ] That he's a loving, caring God. I like to believe that myself, because I don't believe a loving, caring God would sentence anyone to a life in Hell; I don't care what that person did. Well, perhaps Hitler is there. Because if anyone deserved to be there, it would be he!
I lost my proof reader last nite-I fired his sorry ass-but back in my day, "it would be he" was the proper protocol. Methinks, it is still this way today.
Forget Jeffrey Dahlmer and Ted Bundy and all the other serial killers. Something other than Satan drove these people to commit the heinous crimes they committed.
So, the catfish is experiencing epiphanies daily on his road to recovery. I even went to an Al-Anon meeting Sunday nite. I am no alcoholic, but do have issues in other areas. Plus, there are alcoholics in every family. My grandfather was one. He always indulged from a bottle in a brown paper bag which he referred to as his "cough medicine." These scenes occurred while we were riding down the road in his Chevy. One of those vintage models where the gear shift was next to the wheel. We were young kids but knew he was drinking alcohol. He died, btw, of moonshine poisoning. My part of the family wasn't aware of this until decades later. He died in 1964. Skeletons in the closet, eh?
In summary, 1) I have an exercise regimen in place; 2) I don't believe in Satan; 3) I could care less about Adam and Steve; 4) I am experiencing epiphanies; 5) I wonder what happened to Mrs. Chadwick and her 4 daughters; 5) While riding down the hi-ways and bi-ways of Charleston, S.C., my grand dad was putting us at risk. Drinking while driving and no seat belts; and 6) I must recruit a new proof reader.
Here's hoping you have an epiphany today, v.c.
P.S. Oh, yeah. The title of tonite's foray. I can now see my penis again. Because of my exercise regimen. I know that's too much information for most of you, but it's a damn good feeling. I am still keeping the magnifying glass and tweezers, however. Selah!
And I have time to reflect on my life. And to think about what I want to do. I have lost a lot in the past year, but it's all right. I made my bed....
My mother is co-dependent, and, of course, I'm her reclamation project. She has me watching religious programs. "Get down on your hands and knees and ask God for help," is her rallying cry. And my only hope for success in this crazy world.
I haven't been very religious in my life. I am more spiritual. I would never be pompous enough to believe there was no God; and agnostic doesn't cut it for me either. My mom has become very religious in the last ten years. When we were kids, she would send us off to Sunday school and church via Mrs. Chadwick and her clan. In their Chevrolet. Sans my mom who never went with me.
Mrs. Chadwick had 4 daughters, three of whom were pigeon-toed. They were younger than me, the oldest being 5 years my junior. Mrs. C. was a decent woman and an ex Sunday school teacher. She would honk the horn to see if I was going on Sunday. And there were times I waited in bed hoping me mum wouldn't stir me, because I didn't want to go.
I hated Sunday school because it was normally very BORING! The S.S. teachers weren't the best. Droning on and on and in a monotone. Much the way I talk today. I did have one cool teacher who was funny and not uptight. He let me be the Sunday school class clown. But every now and then, he would have to reel me in. [ pun unintended ]
After Sunday school, we had the service. And Mr. Rainwater was the pastor. I forget the name of the musical director. But here is where I learned some of the old standards. "Old Rugged Cross;" "Onward Christian Soldiers;" and "Love Lifted Me;" to name a few. And I loved them.
And after the sermon, we'd climb back into that blue Chevy and head home. But when I started working after school and, then, going to college, and then in my adult life, I never went to church again. Kaput. Fini.' And didn't send my kids, which I regret now. Kitty wasn't religious either. Plus, I worked every freakin' Sunday anyway, even as the G.M. so....
In the last few weeks I have been watching two preachers. Joel Osteen I like, but this other guy starts out talking about Satan and "God Made Adam and Eve; not Adam and Steve." Well, that turned me off right there. Number one, I don't believe in Satan; and number two, I ain't homophobic.
I like to believe what my liberal sis from San Fran says about her "higher power." [ another example of the world gone awry, as denizens of our world use this phrase quite a bit these days. ] That he's a loving, caring God. I like to believe that myself, because I don't believe a loving, caring God would sentence anyone to a life in Hell; I don't care what that person did. Well, perhaps Hitler is there. Because if anyone deserved to be there, it would be he!
I lost my proof reader last nite-I fired his sorry ass-but back in my day, "it would be he" was the proper protocol. Methinks, it is still this way today.
Forget Jeffrey Dahlmer and Ted Bundy and all the other serial killers. Something other than Satan drove these people to commit the heinous crimes they committed.
So, the catfish is experiencing epiphanies daily on his road to recovery. I even went to an Al-Anon meeting Sunday nite. I am no alcoholic, but do have issues in other areas. Plus, there are alcoholics in every family. My grandfather was one. He always indulged from a bottle in a brown paper bag which he referred to as his "cough medicine." These scenes occurred while we were riding down the road in his Chevy. One of those vintage models where the gear shift was next to the wheel. We were young kids but knew he was drinking alcohol. He died, btw, of moonshine poisoning. My part of the family wasn't aware of this until decades later. He died in 1964. Skeletons in the closet, eh?
In summary, 1) I have an exercise regimen in place; 2) I don't believe in Satan; 3) I could care less about Adam and Steve; 4) I am experiencing epiphanies; 5) I wonder what happened to Mrs. Chadwick and her 4 daughters; 5) While riding down the hi-ways and bi-ways of Charleston, S.C., my grand dad was putting us at risk. Drinking while driving and no seat belts; and 6) I must recruit a new proof reader.
Here's hoping you have an epiphany today, v.c.
P.S. Oh, yeah. The title of tonite's foray. I can now see my penis again. Because of my exercise regimen. I know that's too much information for most of you, but it's a damn good feeling. I am still keeping the magnifying glass and tweezers, however. Selah!
"I Love Mozilla Firefox"
Man, I love Mozilla Firefox. Keeps up with your freaking passwords and even allows me to bypass all that bullshit to get to Golden Pond. Sometimes, you got to love modern technology. Even tho' it's a freakin' nitemare trying to call a business and getting a live person on the phone. That part of modern technology can be shoved up whoever's ass invented this frustrating means of doing business.
A correction is due per my proof reader, who has ventured forth and challenged my grammar in the last sentence. He claims the sentence should read: "That part of modern technology can be shoved up whomever's ass invented this frustrating means of doing business.
I thanked him for his input. What the hell am I paying him for if I don't listen to his expertise? And I also told him to shove my computer up his ass. As well.
I just fired him, too. It feels good to be on the other end.
"Mr. Proofreader. I would like a word with you."
"Yes, v.c. I'm at your disposal."
"Interesting choice of words, Mr. P. Because I'm afraid I'll have to dispose of your ass."
"You mean I'm fired."
"Mr. P. as we now say in the business world, 'it is what it is.'"
Back to our scintillating story:
I hate those phone calls where you have to push the buttons to get someone, or you have to listen intently to snare the right extension. And if you push the wrong button or don't have the right info, they or it automatically terminates the call.
There's that word again. "Terminates." Follows me around like an albatross around me neck. Must be karma. I fired a lot of people in my day. So it must have finally caught up to my ass. Perhaps I can cram my karma up who(m)ever's ass I can find. With or without k.y. jelly.
My ass is getting tired from talking about my ass. And because it's late, my ass is going to bed. Hopefully, my ass will fall asleep with a quickness.
In summary. ( learned how to close a foray properly in English class ) if you don't have Mozilla try it, you'll like it. Bypasses so much of the bullshit.
Life is a cabaret, ol' chum, v.c.
P.S. Welcome back to the fray, pictruandtru. We missed you, son. And yours truly is awaiting on yer call.
P.S.S. Tonite's scintillating song was playing on the jukebox during my years of service at Truck U. Circa 1970. Ah, memories. Shove 'em up your ass!
A correction is due per my proof reader, who has ventured forth and challenged my grammar in the last sentence. He claims the sentence should read: "That part of modern technology can be shoved up whomever's ass invented this frustrating means of doing business.
I thanked him for his input. What the hell am I paying him for if I don't listen to his expertise? And I also told him to shove my computer up his ass. As well.
I just fired him, too. It feels good to be on the other end.
"Mr. Proofreader. I would like a word with you."
"Yes, v.c. I'm at your disposal."
"Interesting choice of words, Mr. P. Because I'm afraid I'll have to dispose of your ass."
"You mean I'm fired."
"Mr. P. as we now say in the business world, 'it is what it is.'"
Back to our scintillating story:
I hate those phone calls where you have to push the buttons to get someone, or you have to listen intently to snare the right extension. And if you push the wrong button or don't have the right info, they or it automatically terminates the call.
There's that word again. "Terminates." Follows me around like an albatross around me neck. Must be karma. I fired a lot of people in my day. So it must have finally caught up to my ass. Perhaps I can cram my karma up who(m)ever's ass I can find. With or without k.y. jelly.
My ass is getting tired from talking about my ass. And because it's late, my ass is going to bed. Hopefully, my ass will fall asleep with a quickness.
In summary. ( learned how to close a foray properly in English class ) if you don't have Mozilla try it, you'll like it. Bypasses so much of the bullshit.
Life is a cabaret, ol' chum, v.c.
P.S. Welcome back to the fray, pictruandtru. We missed you, son. And yours truly is awaiting on yer call.
P.S.S. Tonite's scintillating song was playing on the jukebox during my years of service at Truck U. Circa 1970. Ah, memories. Shove 'em up your ass!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
"Happiness Is A Warm Gun!"
No, I haven't got to that point....yet. I have so many things to look forward to. Arthritis; prostate cancer; diminished libido; no libido; clogged arteries; the end of the world; etc. Why would anyone want to leave this glorious world? And ahead of schedule at that.
Amen, hoots. What started out as a quick reply to your message morphed into a new post.
Plus, I've been listening to the "White Album" all day and have reveled in songs from back in the daze. My passion for the Fab 4 has never subsided and never will. I'm afraid I was spoiled by the music. And have never been titillated by anyone or group since.
The food biz sux, as chronicled by me in many forays. Nights, weekends, EVERY holiday,
long hours, standing on your feet all day, etc. But somebody's got to put out all that wholesome food. And I admire the spunk of those who can tolerate the hell wholes of the industry. Frankly, I think they've lost their ever-freakin' minds.
And that's the extent of my rant tonite.
Life is a cabaret, ol' chum, unless, of course, you work in the food biz, v.c.
Amen, hoots. What started out as a quick reply to your message morphed into a new post.
Plus, I've been listening to the "White Album" all day and have reveled in songs from back in the daze. My passion for the Fab 4 has never subsided and never will. I'm afraid I was spoiled by the music. And have never been titillated by anyone or group since.
The food biz sux, as chronicled by me in many forays. Nights, weekends, EVERY holiday,
long hours, standing on your feet all day, etc. But somebody's got to put out all that wholesome food. And I admire the spunk of those who can tolerate the hell wholes of the industry. Frankly, I think they've lost their ever-freakin' minds.
And that's the extent of my rant tonite.
Life is a cabaret, ol' chum, unless, of course, you work in the food biz, v.c.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
"They're Gonna Crucify Me!"
Seems the cat has just about used the last of his nine lives. The boy is hurting emotionally and financially. I guess it's okay to mention my "feelings" malady, because it's 2007 and the infirmed can whine and cry all they want. It has become tres chic, and yours truly is getting a taste of it firsthand.
Not too long ago you could annihilate your boss-via fisticuffs-if the fucker canned your ass. But in today's politically correct world, the aforementioned fucker would sue your ass. Or have your sorry ass locked up.
I would like a piece of those three fuckers who termed me. Especially that rotund piece of dog shit that fired me at the airport. That pompous no-good asshole! He was brusque with everyone and would bump into the employees ( oxymoron, as they called them "team members" ) and never say "excuse me" or "sorry." Fat piece of whale blubber sitting on his ass, gouging his face with candy, hot dogs, and twinkies.
Me and my sis from San Fran just terminated our conversation via long distance. So my rant may be a bit kinder, gentler as we proceed. I WAS able to pen this line ["on his ass, gouging his face with candy, hot dogs, and twinkies." ] immediately upon returning to the computer chair. ( the point at which the phone rang ) So maybe there's hope for more venom to spew.
I consider myself to be a writer and am proud to have just penned "venom to spew." Even though self-serving, most of the population cannot formulate these delicious phrases.
Where were we? I would like a piece out of those fuckers who termed....
I'm afraid the mood is gone. Kaput, fini.' A kinder, gentler v.c. has morphed, he has, from the angry one.
Writing is a passion of mine. It comes easily and is great therapy. Especially for a guy who has been in the proverbial tailspin. Here's hoping that one day, per chance, I meet one of these aforementioned fuckers somewhere on the street. Shirley, I'll be gracious and turn the other cheek, but perhaps I won't and will kick some ass. I'm hoping for the latter scenario.
Life is a cabaret, ol' chum, v.c.
Not too long ago you could annihilate your boss-via fisticuffs-if the fucker canned your ass. But in today's politically correct world, the aforementioned fucker would sue your ass. Or have your sorry ass locked up.
I would like a piece of those three fuckers who termed me. Especially that rotund piece of dog shit that fired me at the airport. That pompous no-good asshole! He was brusque with everyone and would bump into the employees ( oxymoron, as they called them "team members" ) and never say "excuse me" or "sorry." Fat piece of whale blubber sitting on his ass, gouging his face with candy, hot dogs, and twinkies.
Me and my sis from San Fran just terminated our conversation via long distance. So my rant may be a bit kinder, gentler as we proceed. I WAS able to pen this line ["on his ass, gouging his face with candy, hot dogs, and twinkies." ] immediately upon returning to the computer chair. ( the point at which the phone rang ) So maybe there's hope for more venom to spew.
I consider myself to be a writer and am proud to have just penned "venom to spew." Even though self-serving, most of the population cannot formulate these delicious phrases.
Where were we? I would like a piece out of those fuckers who termed....
I'm afraid the mood is gone. Kaput, fini.' A kinder, gentler v.c. has morphed, he has, from the angry one.
Writing is a passion of mine. It comes easily and is great therapy. Especially for a guy who has been in the proverbial tailspin. Here's hoping that one day, per chance, I meet one of these aforementioned fuckers somewhere on the street. Shirley, I'll be gracious and turn the other cheek, but perhaps I won't and will kick some ass. I'm hoping for the latter scenario.
Life is a cabaret, ol' chum, v.c.
Monday, June 18, 2007
"New Subscriber?"
When we changed over to a kinder, gentler version of Google a few months ago, I lost my ability to post pix and lost my counter. So I don't know if anyone other than the three amigos-who know who they are-visit this here web site.
Perhaps during my extended vacation-and to think I hardly had any of those when I slaved, er, worked all those years, I can get the aforementioned back up to speed.
Today, I read an article in Newsweek about how many people are starving in Africa, so it made me feel better. At least I'm eating.
I have a plan, however, for the rest of my life, and that is to formulate a plan for the rest of my life. Details to follow? v.c.
Perhaps during my extended vacation-and to think I hardly had any of those when I slaved, er, worked all those years, I can get the aforementioned back up to speed.
Today, I read an article in Newsweek about how many people are starving in Africa, so it made me feel better. At least I'm eating.
I have a plan, however, for the rest of my life, and that is to formulate a plan for the rest of my life. Details to follow? v.c.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
"Florist Rump"
I have decided how to LEAVE the food business, whilst affording myself a living. Via a novel. The Great American Novel. Can the boy do it? Yknot? And I have just the perfect idea. It hit me a week or so ago. The subject matter; the premise; the whole idea. It smacks of brilliance. And now it is up to me to put it all down on paper, er, on the screen.
Here is a snippet of my new novel, "Florist Rump."
Florist Rump and Dubya are two young fellas who have just joined the army. Wartime. [ As of this writing, the war has yet to be determined. ] And they're riding on a bus to boot camp. Both are a bit eccentric. And not easily liked by the other recruits. However, the two boys strike up a conversation:
Florist: My name's Florist. Florist Rump!
Dubya: My name's Dubya. Dubya Dubya. My folks couldn't think of nothing else to name me, so they gave me the same name twice.
Florist: I'm a'gonna fight in this here war. ( undetermined )
Dubya: My family's in the restaurant hamburger business. They sell only hamburgers.
Florist: Really?
Dubya: You know there's a million ways to make a burger. There's cheeseburgers; bleu cheese burgers; lettuce, tomato burgers; burgers with mayonnaise; burgers with mustard; ketchup burgers; bacon burgers; swiss burgers; cheddar burgers; bacon cheddar burgers; burgers with pickles.
Florist: Burgers with no pickles?
Dubya: Lea and Perrin burgers; Dijon burgers; burgers with onions; Heinz 57 burgers; A-1; vegetable burgers; and plain burgers.
Florist: Po-Boy burgers?
Dubya: In Louisiana, they even got crawfish and etouffee burgers.
Florist: If we ever get out of this here war [ as yet undetermined] do you think I, Florist Rump, could become a partner with your family.
Dubya: Sure, Florist. Yam burgers; mash potato burgers....
Bus Driver: Next stop: Parris Island!
Florist/Dubya: Semper Fi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well, that's just a snippet of brilliance. Semper Fi, v.c.
P.S.
Here is a snippet of my new novel, "Florist Rump."
Florist Rump and Dubya are two young fellas who have just joined the army. Wartime. [ As of this writing, the war has yet to be determined. ] And they're riding on a bus to boot camp. Both are a bit eccentric. And not easily liked by the other recruits. However, the two boys strike up a conversation:
Florist: My name's Florist. Florist Rump!
Dubya: My name's Dubya. Dubya Dubya. My folks couldn't think of nothing else to name me, so they gave me the same name twice.
Florist: I'm a'gonna fight in this here war. ( undetermined )
Dubya: My family's in the restaurant hamburger business. They sell only hamburgers.
Florist: Really?
Dubya: You know there's a million ways to make a burger. There's cheeseburgers; bleu cheese burgers; lettuce, tomato burgers; burgers with mayonnaise; burgers with mustard; ketchup burgers; bacon burgers; swiss burgers; cheddar burgers; bacon cheddar burgers; burgers with pickles.
Florist: Burgers with no pickles?
Dubya: Lea and Perrin burgers; Dijon burgers; burgers with onions; Heinz 57 burgers; A-1; vegetable burgers; and plain burgers.
Florist: Po-Boy burgers?
Dubya: In Louisiana, they even got crawfish and etouffee burgers.
Florist: If we ever get out of this here war [ as yet undetermined] do you think I, Florist Rump, could become a partner with your family.
Dubya: Sure, Florist. Yam burgers; mash potato burgers....
Bus Driver: Next stop: Parris Island!
Florist/Dubya: Semper Fi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well, that's just a snippet of brilliance. Semper Fi, v.c.
P.S.
Friday, June 15, 2007
"Epilogue"
I first saw the word in tonite's title on the old "Fugitive" tv show from back in da sixties. When Hoots was a hippie and involved in social causes. Drinking wine and perhaps imbibing on a smoke whilst sitting down at a Woolworth's lunch counter. In order to promote equality for all.
Seems Dr. Kimble had his hands full with the law and Lt. Gerald, er, Gerard at the time. Circa back in the day. Homeless and a man on the lam, each episode involved the doctor's pursuit of the one-arm man. Each show was divided into 4 Acts. And each ending closed with an epilogue. Mr. Trivia [ yours truly ] remembers it being a Quinn Martin Production. Why I remember "shit" like this is totally beyond me. But thar she blows, er, thar it nestles in my depleting brain cells located-where else-somewhere in the cranium region.
Anyway, I forgot to mention in my letter last nite one important item. The flagship store [ number 2 ] next to our motel served lukewarm to less than lukewarm food when we would chow-down there. It wasn't every now and then; it was ALWAYS. One item, two, three, four or more would be served less than the required temp.
I once told the associate mgr. who returned with the good news that I was wrong; the pinto beans were 160 degrees. I never bothered again. And didn't eat there when we returned for our second tour of duty.
Good thing I don't work there. We would get to the root of the problems and serve HOT food. But I'll never get the chance, because I am deemed: unworthy.
Oh, well. Wasn't meant to be. And perhaps I can find a job that will fill my life with bliss. C.B. would never have done that. So for that, I'm grateful.
Epilogue and ranting over? v.c.
P.S. Thanks to me buds, the hootster and Marty, for giving me a yahoo and a hell yeah. No, I ain't eatin' there no more. Too damn nasty anyway. And the food sits in a "hot box" for hours. Mushy pinto beans anyone?; black green beans?; salmonella?
P.S.S. I will miss one thing. This song which was piped into the kitchen area. Made everybody go ga-ga. Except for the senior citizen types.
Seems Dr. Kimble had his hands full with the law and Lt. Gerald, er, Gerard at the time. Circa back in the day. Homeless and a man on the lam, each episode involved the doctor's pursuit of the one-arm man. Each show was divided into 4 Acts. And each ending closed with an epilogue. Mr. Trivia [ yours truly ] remembers it being a Quinn Martin Production. Why I remember "shit" like this is totally beyond me. But thar she blows, er, thar it nestles in my depleting brain cells located-where else-somewhere in the cranium region.
Anyway, I forgot to mention in my letter last nite one important item. The flagship store [ number 2 ] next to our motel served lukewarm to less than lukewarm food when we would chow-down there. It wasn't every now and then; it was ALWAYS. One item, two, three, four or more would be served less than the required temp.
I once told the associate mgr. who returned with the good news that I was wrong; the pinto beans were 160 degrees. I never bothered again. And didn't eat there when we returned for our second tour of duty.
Good thing I don't work there. We would get to the root of the problems and serve HOT food. But I'll never get the chance, because I am deemed: unworthy.
Oh, well. Wasn't meant to be. And perhaps I can find a job that will fill my life with bliss. C.B. would never have done that. So for that, I'm grateful.
Epilogue and ranting over? v.c.
P.S. Thanks to me buds, the hootster and Marty, for giving me a yahoo and a hell yeah. No, I ain't eatin' there no more. Too damn nasty anyway. And the food sits in a "hot box" for hours. Mushy pinto beans anyone?; black green beans?; salmonella?
P.S.S. I will miss one thing. This song which was piped into the kitchen area. Made everybody go ga-ga. Except for the senior citizen types.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
"Salmonella, Anyone?"
The following is a letter written to the powers-that-be. Who terminated my employment after a somewhat tumultuous ride, a magical mystery tour if you will. It is submitted for your viewing pleasure:
"Hello *****"
I was notified Wednesday night of last week that I didn't make the grade. After running shifts in restaurants for thirty years, I was stunned to learn that at ***** I was unfit for the job. Too laid back; employees would run over me; no sense of urgency; misplaced priorities; ***** is like no other animal-I would get eaten alive; etc. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
Why did I feel this way? I was G.M. at Piccadilly Cafeteria for 26 years. I ran shifts. I had sales in excess of $3 million per year. We made most of our food from scratch. And I mean scratch. Not ***** scratch. Even though there are similarities. I managed a staff of over 60. We were always in the top ten in sales and profit. At the Atlanta Airport, I began managing 3 bars on Concourse E. Had no bar experience-didn't even drink much for that matter.
I immediately surveyed the situation at Images ( one of my bars ) which was a casual dining concept. ( 80 seater ) I immediately added staff to the dining room; installed another Micros; added kitchen staff; and began weeding-out the problem employees. I also had weekly meetings with the management staff, who had no direction or sense of purpose. Soon remedied as we began working together and with a purpose. And sales increased and check average increased over one dollar the first month I was there. Why? Suggestive selling and selling large beers vs. small beers which netted a dollar more. And perhaps they began ringing up all of the sales.
My experience! Liability running a shift at *****? From the outset when I arrived at *****, I was perceived as laid-back. Which I am-can't change my personality. But I was stunned to find my training store to be far different from the idealized training I had just received in *****. I know there's a difference in "real world" and "text book" operations-I've been in the business 30 plus years, but I was surprised to say the least.
My first day training on the grill I noticed the wait staff was more interested in talking and having fun than in taking care of the guests. Food sat in the window without anyone caring. And while preparing the trays to be taken out, the wait staff continued to talk with each other with no regard ( in my opinion ) for the guests. I had never cooked "eggs" before, so I was busy trying to learn the grill and the codes for the tickets and the staging of the order so it would all come out together. I struggled with this but did end the week manning one of the egg stations, when we had a $1700 hour, a record from what I was told.
My first Saturday there, I was told by Stevie, while Tom sat in, that I had to step it up a notch. That I had no sense of urgency. I questioned this, because I have always thought of myself as having a sense of urgency when it came to the guests. I also thought how can you tell me this when I haven't seen any semblance of urgency from the staff or the management team. At some point that week I asked Tom how long food should sit in the window? His reply: "one minute." And what do I do if this isn't happening? "Tell me," he said. Frankly, I was shocked to see the lackadaisical attitude from the servers.
I also noticed, while working on the grill, those first few days the buildup of grease on, under, and around the grill area. The filter machine wasn't working, as well, and I mentioned it to Tom or one of the associate managers. The night I worked "night maintenance" I took the hose and thoroughly cleaned the back up area. The tiles behind the mixing bowl ( where the dumplings are made ) were yellow. The tiles underneath the table was never cleaned on a regular basis. I sprayed chemical on the tile and rinsed it with the hot water. And cleaned around the kettles, the floor, under the biscuit ovens, etc.
Another area that was never cleaned was the potato peeler.The first day I worked in backup, I showed Tony how to lift up the bottom and clean the sides. His response: "I never knew that lifted up." And during night maintenance Kartez and I had to scrub thoroughly the dining room floor. Why? Because when the 4 tops were exchanged for 2 tops, it was noticed that the floors down the sides of the floor and in the corners were never cleaned by the night maintenance. It took me and Kartez hours to scrub the floor. Having to empty the mop bucket repeatedly, because the floor was so dirty.
I was also shocked to notice the dishes coming out of the dish machine. I was familiar with a 180 degree final rinse as opposed to a 140 degree one. While learning the grill, I had to go through many dishes each time I needed to plate an order. The servers had to go through 5-6 coffee mugs and glasses to find one suitable for serving it to the guests. The same with the dishes at the server's station. Many times I picked up dishes with grits stuck to the bottoms of the bowls. Being a coffee drinker, I went through many mugs to find one I could use.
The rack that held the dirty pans and dirty dishes was cleaned sporadically. Maybe 3-4 times I was there. And I initiated it once. My thinking was: I'll see the things that are wrong here and attempt to fix them, but because I have little clout, I will look to fix them at my new store.
Which was my bone of contention from the outset. Even though I had 30 years in the food industry, I was regarded as a neophyte, as if I had never served my first guest. Maybe I rankled the status quo by questioning some of the procedures or lack thereof. Stevie still thinks I worked in "fast food." His last parting words of wisdom were: "***** is different from fast food. You have to sustain an intensity all day long." And he also told the staff that fateful Wednesday that I would not be there to spoil them after today, because I was going to *****.
By spoiling them I think he meant I was always there to handle their problems with guests. Either with their orders; helping to bus their tables; comps issues; remaining calm in the face of adversity, etc.
I bonded well with the staff. Some said they were sorry to see me go. Servers, cooks, dishwashers, etc. But I think we enjoyed a professional rapport. One new employee, Jaime, thanked me continuously for helping him get "out of the weeds" one night when he was really struggling.
I have always been about quality. I have always been considered a "food man." I would always notice the brown kernels of corn; the hard biscuits; the dried-out pinto beans; the mushy apples; the stiff mashed potatoes; the soupy mac and cheese; the black green beans; and fix the problem. By throwing away the mushy apples, adding milk to the potatoes, water to the pinto beans, etc.
A guest once told me his pintos were mushy. And he found that to always be the case in this store. And his wife liked beef stew but didn't like it here, because the potatoes were huge and not cut the right size. The beef stew and mac and cheese were never made correctly consistently. The stew was always an afterthought-because we didn't sell much-but the macaroni was a popular item. One guest, while placing her to-go order, asked me if the mac and cheese was runny today. If so, she would order something else.
My last couple of weeks at the store, I was alerting the management staff of what I had accomplished, because I knew I was on the "hot seat." I told Tommy that I had walked by the backup cook who was ready to prepare the baked chicken and noticed the chicken in the obligatory red blood. That I had told him to wash the chicken before preparation.
Tommy told me that I had created a health hazard. Salmonella would now be in the sink, on the walls, and on the floor.
My last two nights there, I corrected a familiar problem. The broccoli-cheddar chicken was always overcooked. And the broccoli was always literally burned or black. My last night, the broccoli-cheddar chicken was served the way it was supposed to. And I suggested to Tommy ( the night prior ) that we should cook off some fresh broccoli and repan the chicken. His response: "We can't cook any broccoli and leave the pan as it is."
One guest had alerted me to the problem earlier in the week when she complained apologetically that her broccoli-cheddar chicken
was burnt ( broccoli ) and the chicken was cold. I immediately went to the kitchen and found the oven to be off. ( mechanical ) I prepared her another order which she took with her. I did use [ the manual ] in addressing the problem.
I am excellent at handling guests issues. And some of the regulars said they may drop by and see me in *****. I handled many guest issues while in ***** and always wrapped them up rather nicely. And touched many tables. And bussed many tables.
In closing, I wanted to tell my side of the story. My first encounter with my d.m. was negative. I was too laid back. I had no sense of urgency. I didn't check to see if a guests' table had received their drinks. I told him a ticket was not ready to go out and didn't get it ready. I didn't check the food.
When I did check the food on his second visit, I was admonished for 10 dirty tables in the dining room. And that I should have anticipated their "getting up." I didn't have the [ medallion ]. I had taken a few minutes to check the food, ( it was 2 p.m. ) and I had remembered what happened on the last visit.
I had told Tom a few minutes earlier that the grits were not seasoned with salt. So I was considered derelict of duty. Salt in the grits was small compared to the ten dirty tables. I agree. However, I was checking all of the food and not just the grits. And was not officially in charge of the dining room.
I wanted to work for *****. I put a lot of effort into it. You put a lot of effort into me. I wanted to tell my side of my experience. I have always been about the quality of food. In training, I wrote down: "Quality of food increases sales." I may have been perceived as having no sense of urgency; however, I disagree. I took care of the guests; and I took care of the staff. And incapable of
running a shift?
Sincerely, v.c.
"Hello *****"
I was notified Wednesday night of last week that I didn't make the grade. After running shifts in restaurants for thirty years, I was stunned to learn that at ***** I was unfit for the job. Too laid back; employees would run over me; no sense of urgency; misplaced priorities; ***** is like no other animal-I would get eaten alive; etc. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
Why did I feel this way? I was G.M. at Piccadilly Cafeteria for 26 years. I ran shifts. I had sales in excess of $3 million per year. We made most of our food from scratch. And I mean scratch. Not ***** scratch. Even though there are similarities. I managed a staff of over 60. We were always in the top ten in sales and profit. At the Atlanta Airport, I began managing 3 bars on Concourse E. Had no bar experience-didn't even drink much for that matter.
I immediately surveyed the situation at Images ( one of my bars ) which was a casual dining concept. ( 80 seater ) I immediately added staff to the dining room; installed another Micros; added kitchen staff; and began weeding-out the problem employees. I also had weekly meetings with the management staff, who had no direction or sense of purpose. Soon remedied as we began working together and with a purpose. And sales increased and check average increased over one dollar the first month I was there. Why? Suggestive selling and selling large beers vs. small beers which netted a dollar more. And perhaps they began ringing up all of the sales.
My experience! Liability running a shift at *****? From the outset when I arrived at *****, I was perceived as laid-back. Which I am-can't change my personality. But I was stunned to find my training store to be far different from the idealized training I had just received in *****. I know there's a difference in "real world" and "text book" operations-I've been in the business 30 plus years, but I was surprised to say the least.
My first day training on the grill I noticed the wait staff was more interested in talking and having fun than in taking care of the guests. Food sat in the window without anyone caring. And while preparing the trays to be taken out, the wait staff continued to talk with each other with no regard ( in my opinion ) for the guests. I had never cooked "eggs" before, so I was busy trying to learn the grill and the codes for the tickets and the staging of the order so it would all come out together. I struggled with this but did end the week manning one of the egg stations, when we had a $1700 hour, a record from what I was told.
My first Saturday there, I was told by Stevie, while Tom sat in, that I had to step it up a notch. That I had no sense of urgency. I questioned this, because I have always thought of myself as having a sense of urgency when it came to the guests. I also thought how can you tell me this when I haven't seen any semblance of urgency from the staff or the management team. At some point that week I asked Tom how long food should sit in the window? His reply: "one minute." And what do I do if this isn't happening? "Tell me," he said. Frankly, I was shocked to see the lackadaisical attitude from the servers.
I also noticed, while working on the grill, those first few days the buildup of grease on, under, and around the grill area. The filter machine wasn't working, as well, and I mentioned it to Tom or one of the associate managers. The night I worked "night maintenance" I took the hose and thoroughly cleaned the back up area. The tiles behind the mixing bowl ( where the dumplings are made ) were yellow. The tiles underneath the table was never cleaned on a regular basis. I sprayed chemical on the tile and rinsed it with the hot water. And cleaned around the kettles, the floor, under the biscuit ovens, etc.
Another area that was never cleaned was the potato peeler.The first day I worked in backup, I showed Tony how to lift up the bottom and clean the sides. His response: "I never knew that lifted up." And during night maintenance Kartez and I had to scrub thoroughly the dining room floor. Why? Because when the 4 tops were exchanged for 2 tops, it was noticed that the floors down the sides of the floor and in the corners were never cleaned by the night maintenance. It took me and Kartez hours to scrub the floor. Having to empty the mop bucket repeatedly, because the floor was so dirty.
I was also shocked to notice the dishes coming out of the dish machine. I was familiar with a 180 degree final rinse as opposed to a 140 degree one. While learning the grill, I had to go through many dishes each time I needed to plate an order. The servers had to go through 5-6 coffee mugs and glasses to find one suitable for serving it to the guests. The same with the dishes at the server's station. Many times I picked up dishes with grits stuck to the bottoms of the bowls. Being a coffee drinker, I went through many mugs to find one I could use.
The rack that held the dirty pans and dirty dishes was cleaned sporadically. Maybe 3-4 times I was there. And I initiated it once. My thinking was: I'll see the things that are wrong here and attempt to fix them, but because I have little clout, I will look to fix them at my new store.
Which was my bone of contention from the outset. Even though I had 30 years in the food industry, I was regarded as a neophyte, as if I had never served my first guest. Maybe I rankled the status quo by questioning some of the procedures or lack thereof. Stevie still thinks I worked in "fast food." His last parting words of wisdom were: "***** is different from fast food. You have to sustain an intensity all day long." And he also told the staff that fateful Wednesday that I would not be there to spoil them after today, because I was going to *****.
By spoiling them I think he meant I was always there to handle their problems with guests. Either with their orders; helping to bus their tables; comps issues; remaining calm in the face of adversity, etc.
I bonded well with the staff. Some said they were sorry to see me go. Servers, cooks, dishwashers, etc. But I think we enjoyed a professional rapport. One new employee, Jaime, thanked me continuously for helping him get "out of the weeds" one night when he was really struggling.
I have always been about quality. I have always been considered a "food man." I would always notice the brown kernels of corn; the hard biscuits; the dried-out pinto beans; the mushy apples; the stiff mashed potatoes; the soupy mac and cheese; the black green beans; and fix the problem. By throwing away the mushy apples, adding milk to the potatoes, water to the pinto beans, etc.
A guest once told me his pintos were mushy. And he found that to always be the case in this store. And his wife liked beef stew but didn't like it here, because the potatoes were huge and not cut the right size. The beef stew and mac and cheese were never made correctly consistently. The stew was always an afterthought-because we didn't sell much-but the macaroni was a popular item. One guest, while placing her to-go order, asked me if the mac and cheese was runny today. If so, she would order something else.
My last couple of weeks at the store, I was alerting the management staff of what I had accomplished, because I knew I was on the "hot seat." I told Tommy that I had walked by the backup cook who was ready to prepare the baked chicken and noticed the chicken in the obligatory red blood. That I had told him to wash the chicken before preparation.
Tommy told me that I had created a health hazard. Salmonella would now be in the sink, on the walls, and on the floor.
My last two nights there, I corrected a familiar problem. The broccoli-cheddar chicken was always overcooked. And the broccoli was always literally burned or black. My last night, the broccoli-cheddar chicken was served the way it was supposed to. And I suggested to Tommy ( the night prior ) that we should cook off some fresh broccoli and repan the chicken. His response: "We can't cook any broccoli and leave the pan as it is."
One guest had alerted me to the problem earlier in the week when she complained apologetically that her broccoli-cheddar chicken
was burnt ( broccoli ) and the chicken was cold. I immediately went to the kitchen and found the oven to be off. ( mechanical ) I prepared her another order which she took with her. I did use [ the manual ] in addressing the problem.
I am excellent at handling guests issues. And some of the regulars said they may drop by and see me in *****. I handled many guest issues while in ***** and always wrapped them up rather nicely. And touched many tables. And bussed many tables.
In closing, I wanted to tell my side of the story. My first encounter with my d.m. was negative. I was too laid back. I had no sense of urgency. I didn't check to see if a guests' table had received their drinks. I told him a ticket was not ready to go out and didn't get it ready. I didn't check the food.
When I did check the food on his second visit, I was admonished for 10 dirty tables in the dining room. And that I should have anticipated their "getting up." I didn't have the [ medallion ]. I had taken a few minutes to check the food, ( it was 2 p.m. ) and I had remembered what happened on the last visit.
I had told Tom a few minutes earlier that the grits were not seasoned with salt. So I was considered derelict of duty. Salt in the grits was small compared to the ten dirty tables. I agree. However, I was checking all of the food and not just the grits. And was not officially in charge of the dining room.
I wanted to work for *****. I put a lot of effort into it. You put a lot of effort into me. I wanted to tell my side of my experience. I have always been about the quality of food. In training, I wrote down: "Quality of food increases sales." I may have been perceived as having no sense of urgency; however, I disagree. I took care of the guests; and I took care of the staff. And incapable of
running a shift?
Sincerely, v.c.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
"Imbibing"
Yes, I have imbibed a few beers tonite. Killians Red. I was turned on to them by one of the associate managers at my training store.
Jim's a nice guy with 3 young boys. Jaime, 5, Wesley, 4, and Catcher who is 14 months. Jim didn't get married until he was 34; he's now 42. So when Catcher is 20, poor old Jim will be 63. Sorta like yers truly, who, with Kitty's help of course, had kids in his thirties.
People would always say "they grow up fast." Charlie Jr. is now 21 and Catlain is 19 going on 20 in a few months. It seems like an eternity since they were toddlers. Goo goo and da da just doesn't compute with yers truly in this year known as 2007.
Where does the time go, eh?
Gimme shelter, v.c.
P.S. Tomorrow my destiny will be determined. The powers-that-be decide if yers truly has the gonads to do the job. If they can me, I'm thinking a mistake of epic proportions.
P.S.S.
Jim's a nice guy with 3 young boys. Jaime, 5, Wesley, 4, and Catcher who is 14 months. Jim didn't get married until he was 34; he's now 42. So when Catcher is 20, poor old Jim will be 63. Sorta like yers truly, who, with Kitty's help of course, had kids in his thirties.
People would always say "they grow up fast." Charlie Jr. is now 21 and Catlain is 19 going on 20 in a few months. It seems like an eternity since they were toddlers. Goo goo and da da just doesn't compute with yers truly in this year known as 2007.
Where does the time go, eh?
Gimme shelter, v.c.
P.S. Tomorrow my destiny will be determined. The powers-that-be decide if yers truly has the gonads to do the job. If they can me, I'm thinking a mistake of epic proportions.
P.S.S.
Monday, June 04, 2007
"Another Sunday in the Food Biz"
Another Sunday has come and gone. Our sales were good today-$13,000. And we up about $2,000 from last year. Some of the comments I've heard through the weeks:
1) Maurice was so kind. He said please and thank you to all my requests. We will pray for him to-nite. And you, too. [ yers truly ]
2) We eat at a lot of your restaurants all over the country.
3) Your bathrooms are deplorable.
4) I just wanted some HOT soup.
5) You and Tom have a great place here. Not like the one in Montgomery.
6) I said where y'awl wanna eat. Piccadilly, Red Lobster, or at yers truly's place? They picked my place.
7) You should be ashamed of yerself for taking those little chickens away from its momma so soon. Oops. That was at Piccadilly.
8) You have no sense of urgency. [ from my mgmt. cohorts ]
9) The hills are alive with the sound of music. Maybe that was a movie. Perhaps I didn't hear this.
I'm sure there are more but right now I can't remember any.
Have a good nite, v.c.
1) Maurice was so kind. He said please and thank you to all my requests. We will pray for him to-nite. And you, too. [ yers truly ]
2) We eat at a lot of your restaurants all over the country.
3) Your bathrooms are deplorable.
4) I just wanted some HOT soup.
5) You and Tom have a great place here. Not like the one in Montgomery.
6) I said where y'awl wanna eat. Piccadilly, Red Lobster, or at yers truly's place? They picked my place.
7) You should be ashamed of yerself for taking those little chickens away from its momma so soon. Oops. That was at Piccadilly.
8) You have no sense of urgency. [ from my mgmt. cohorts ]
9) The hills are alive with the sound of music. Maybe that was a movie. Perhaps I didn't hear this.
I'm sure there are more but right now I can't remember any.
Have a good nite, v.c.
Friday, June 01, 2007
"I've Got Nothing To Say But It's Okay, er, Good Morning"
Well, Lebron James put on quite a show tonite. I have never seen a performance that rivals it. He scored all of Cleveland's points in their win over Detroit. [ in the south some of us say De-Troit ] Not exactly all of the points. But with 8 minutes left to go in the game and in two overtimes, no other Cleveland player scored.
Unprecedented to say the least. Take that M.J.
Last nite-as we change the subject-I was pissed, because they want me to stay here another week. I am tired of living out of a suitcase. Arrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhh.
And I'm tired of how everything is so regimented. Their plan works, however. Haven't checked the stock price lately but it was teetering at $50 bucks last time I looked.
My old company met its demise when its price went under a dollar.
Changing the subject again. It's late and I'm tired. Good nite and sleep tite, er, tight.
From the land beyond beyond, v.c.
P.S.
Unprecedented to say the least. Take that M.J.
Last nite-as we change the subject-I was pissed, because they want me to stay here another week. I am tired of living out of a suitcase. Arrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhh.
And I'm tired of how everything is so regimented. Their plan works, however. Haven't checked the stock price lately but it was teetering at $50 bucks last time I looked.
My old company met its demise when its price went under a dollar.
Changing the subject again. It's late and I'm tired. Good nite and sleep tite, er, tight.
From the land beyond beyond, v.c.
P.S.
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