The Urban Refugee

Hey, it runs like a top, it starts in cold weather, and it’s paid for. What more could a person want?

…after the number of computer classes I’ve taught over the past seven years, that my fear of public speaking would have abated by now. Apparently not, although I’m gratified to see that it wasn’t reflected in the very positive feedback from the students this evening.

So last Tuesday I told Da Boss that I needed to cut down to no more than two or three days of work per week in the kitchen as my PC repair biz has really picked up. He said “no problem”.

But…

Could I work next Tuesday evening? And next Wednesday evening too? (No, because my back is FUBARed.) A phone call on Wednesday to ask if I can work Thursday evening so he can leave early for the city? No. Well, can I work a double on Friday in addition to my scheduled doubles on Saturday and Sunday? Well, okay, I’ll do that.

Oh, and one more thing…

The other cooks figured we could open on Monday — when we had originally planned to close — because they would like a bit more money. How would I feel about working Monday evening, too? I told him to pass along the message to the other cooks that I hope they enjoy working their double shifts.

Since “cutting back” clearly isn’t working I think I’m about to quit instead.

You’ll never see this kind of thing on the Geek Squad ads.

[ phone ringing at 10:14 pm ]

“Hello.”

“Is this…um…are you the computer guy?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh, well, uuuuhh, you didn’t answer like a business would so I didn’t know.”

“I don’t usually get business calls at this time of night.”

“Am I calling too late?”

“Heck no! I love it when people I don’t know call me at all hours and wake up my five year old daughter who has school the next day.”

“Uuuuhhhhh.”

I haven’t been doing any real photography over the past couple of months as I’ve been going flat out between the cooking job and the computer business. As to the computer business, my office is a disaster right now with computers piled everywhere:

The two systems stacked on top of each other are client computers that are going into the Internet Cafe I’m opening in Consort in a couple of weeks. I have just finished configuring them and locking them down so that they’re mostly tamper resistant. The 22 inch monitor in the background used to sit on my desk before it was usurped by dual LCDs. It’s sitting on the boardroom table a.k.a. craft table a.k.a. makeshift workbench because I have no idea what I’m going to do with the damn thing.

While I’m working on my stuff, my daughter Ashlyn likes to visit with me and mess around on the Net:

Ever wondered what a $5,600.00 oversized notebook looks like? Meet the Dell XPS with its massive 20 inch LCD display:

The entire damn system just screams “sex” and it was a struggle to give it back to the customer after I had finished configuring it for him.

That’s it for this evening. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a sick Win 98 boxen that was promised back to a customer tomorrow morning.

[ sound of vacuuming ]

[ muttering ]

[ sound of vacuuming ]

[ muttering ]

[ sound of vacuuming ]

“GODAMMIT. An 85 year old hooker in a coma could suck harder than this miserable #@$%ing thing!”

Thinking of getting a job in Consort? When you’re sitting there talking to your new employer, it may sound like he’s speaking in English, but he’s not. Certain words have a different meaning in the town of Consort than they do in the rest of Canada. Here are the ones to watch out for:

Employer: A stage three zombie. It feeds on the life force of employees. Some of these employees will eventually become stage three zombies themselves if they foolishly succumb to pleas from their employer and purchase his business.

Employee: A stage two zombie. Recovery may be possible if the infection (employment) doesn’t progress to ownership of the business.

Casual employee: Someone who regularly shows up for work drunk. (Also see: Oil patch)

Employment: An infection which tends to spread through family and friends (”hey, so-and-so needs a [something] and asked me to check if you were looking for extra work…”).

Part-time: You’ll work at least forty hours per week, probably more.

Full-time: The occupational version of a black hole. Nothing escapes it — not even light — and certainly not you.

Paycheque: An item which ostensibly carries some value if a person could ever free up a day to get it to a bank and deposit it.

Resume: A tool used for demonstrating literacy skills. Not often read by employers.

Qualifications: Having a pulse and the ability to walk upright (knuckle dragging optional).

Firing: Your boss’ way of saying that he can’t stand looking at you any more this month, but to expect calls from him next month asking you to work when he can’t find a replacement and he discovers that someone else already beat him to the fresh corpses in the Consort cemetary.

Being a team player: Not complaining about working your third double shift in a row.

Equal opportunity employer: A business so desperate for staff that they’ll hire whatever shows up at the door, even if the business is a daycare and Clifford Olson is the one standing in the doorway.

Day off: There is no such thing so don’t even think of asking for one.

Non-scheduled working day: What you get instead of days off. You can have as many as you’d like.

Overtime: A mythical pay option. Legend has it that it turned to stone after gazing upon Medusa.

Family: I would have written a definition for this, but I’ve forgotten what it means.

A waitress at work this evening was complaining about serving a large table that ran her off her feet and then failed to tip her. I was trying to cheer her up so I tipped her instead.

Well.

I came away from this evening having learned two important lessons: First, waitresses don’t sleep standing up. Second, while some waitresses may look like cows, they most defintely are not, and you don’t tip them in the same manner you would a cow.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

“Fuck!”

“What?!?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!?”

“Putting away the cutlery.”

“Run it through the dishwasher again.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s no five second rule in restaurants!”