My Mugstache

Hello. Please meet my new, awesome mugstache.

Not only is it a sweet representation of a fine fellow with a mustache, there is also a mustache guard, a small strip of whatever material this mug is made out of, that perfectly rests along the top of the mug, helping to keep coffee out of my mustache.

My friends are awesome. And give me gifts.

...

The humidity has climbed into numbers I do not care to repeat. While it may not be Texas hot and humid, it still is up there, and has been sucking the life out of me. Especially working in a small, enclosed kitchen that offers little to no ventilation. Luckily, working in the basement, or the 'prep cave' as I now refer to it as, offers a little more of a comfortable atmosphere, despite not being able to look outside via a window. Its a fair trade.

...

Sadly, I must tip the proverbial forty oz out to a friend, a fallen soldier. L. Marge, my favorite dishwasher, has left work for a little while.

I've been growing kind of fond of my Monday and Tuesday shifts with her. She, in her way, figured out exactly how to push my buttons, which was getting to be annoying. Like on the days when she knew I was hungover, which is often, she'd like to just talk to me, when she knew I wanted to be left alone. Always talking, that one. She even admitted that's what she was doing to me.

But I still loved her attitude for the most part. Going off on the boss about hiring new dishwashers, hounding her in fact. Making fun of our coworkers together, her snide remarks behind people's backs. Just not really caring for the most part, about much of anything work related. I don't blame her. No one wants to wash dishes.

And then endlessly telling me about her dogs.

She once fixed a china-cap (i.e. big strainer), by taking it to the old metal shop she used to be a welder at, back in the day. She fixed it herself, re-welding the bottom piece back together... such a weird gesture, from someone prone to not caring, suddenly taking a relatively cheap piece of equipment to get fixed, even though we have another one.

She fell off the wagon. Not sure about the entire story. But that's her business. I feel sort of guilty for all the stories about crazy bar nights that I've been telling her recently. Anyways, her replacement is actually a friend of a friend, who has keen musical tastes.

I found myself beside myself, realizing I didn't have to be in "silent running" mode all shift, and could actually have a conversation I wanted to be in.

So this one is for you, L. Marge. Come back soon.

All Thoughts Point South

My work week usually begins with the meat shifts, two to three days of working upstairs in the actual kitchen, cooking actual dishes, not the incessant chopping of vegetables that my other few days consist of.

The meat shift can be quite difficult. The difficulty does not depend so much on the work load, which can be stressful, but mainly on my tolerance of the Dishers, our little group of misfits that wash my pots and pans.

They are a sad bunch, souls who have definitely gone astray at some point in their lives, and pretty much have the worst job in all of food service-dom.

Prep cooks are not exactly far behind, as far as the career ladder goes for kitchen work. But its much better than the main line of my restaurant, which I did for three years prior. Grueling work, so grueling, and I actually make more now wage-wise to do what I do, than those fools over there...

But the Dishers, oh, these souls, the meek of the Earth, the lot of people I sometimes can't help but feel sorry for, yet can be the bane of my existence...

I'll introduce you to Xerxes, (names have been changed to protect the guilty), a guy who has literally done most illegal substances known to man, ex-alcoholic and jailbird, who has done some dark deeds in his past (to dark to write about here), has a penchant for protein
, and tends to tell the same jokes over and over again to anyone who walks into the kitchen, who borrows five bucks from me once a week (though has paid me back every time), and mispronounces the names of celebrities all the time (which is quite funny, actually. For example: Quentin Tarantino = Quentin Tino, or Val Kilmer = Val Kramer, or Robin Williams = Robert Williams. I've tried correcting him, it doesn't work).

He has changed his life around, though. AA worked for him, and he's been clean and sober for over twenty years. He has a good heart, and means well, and once hopped a tall fence (he's a big guy) to race into a burning building to help rescue someone.

I usually spend most of my shifts with him, which can be trying.

His latest thing is watching the History channel, which I don't think he should be allowed to do.

I mean, I'm all for people watching the History channel, increasing their knowledge, learning about things... But I'm still not sure how you can watch a two hour special on Joseph Stalin and Communist Russia, and still refer to him has "Joseph Starling" in casual conversation.

Information might not be sinking in there.

Today I got to hear all about the special on hillbillies that he watched. He's from the south, and I think this show reminded him a little about home, as it seemed to have interested him greatly. I just wish I didn't have to hear about it ten times today.

Though I'm really curious as to his Carnie days, of which he won't really discuss much about, namely due to something known as the "Carnie code." Apparently there's also a secret Carnie language, which he will not divulge the details of. Of course, he'd probably mispronounce the words anyway...

But I do have a special place for him in my heart. I just wish he came with a mute button sometimes.

and I do wish he'd win the lottery, mainly because he said if he did, he'd give all of his coworkers a million dollars a piece, and I believe he would. Which is surprising, because some of the other cooks can be down right brutal to him sometimes, even though he works really hard.

...

Just one week until vacation. My soul is still heavy, my feet hurt, I'm smoking too much, my heart is beating in 1/4 time, but oh dear lord, just four more shifts until I'm off for a week. Eight glorious days, five of which will be spent in Texas, where I heard there is this thing called the sun, a big ball of flame that actually shines during the day, of which I haven't seen for a month.

One week!

And I actually have two whole days off in a row! An actual weekend, on the weekend no less.

...

I just talked to my friend in Austin on the phone, who couldn't talk long, but gave me some information which has set my brain all a boiling... something about two friends of mine signing a lease on a house, a three bedroom house...

Though I'm not quite sure I'm in the best place right now to just up and move next month.

That is, if I actually want to move, which I'm pretty much at about 72 percent sure I'm going to.

But this info will make for some good day dreaming tomorrow at work.