Dark have been my dreams of late....

In my dreams, heaven and hell are the same place. Hell is a restaurant, staffed by picky eaters, poor tippers, and rotten, impatient rude customers. Heaven is getting to go and eat at that restaurant.

I think everyone should have to work on the wrong side of a restaurant counter for about two weeks at some point in their lives. No exceptions. It would make us think long and hard about the shit we put our servers through.

"Could you go light on the mustard?"

"I would like that lightly toasted."

"Are you sure you can't do breakfast? It's really easy...."

"Could you make that extra crispy?"

"Leave off the bell peppers...."

"Could you put that on the side for me?"

"Timmy, tell the man what you want..."

"It's how much?!?!"

I'm gonna address that last one specifically:

Listen, you senile old fuck: at some point between 1950 and 2010, inflation happened and prices went up. We are not trying to screw you out of your pension. We are not hiding food or menu items. And, while we're at it, if you want to be waited on hand and fucking foot, learn where the tip jar is and how to use it, you miserable, cheap sack of shit. I didn't just cook dinner for you and your pack of yowling grandchildren just for kicks.

As for the rest:

Fuck you. If there is one thing on this earth that I cannot understand, it's a picky eater. I just don't get it. It's food. Shut up and eat it. Why is it that we feel the need to assert our individuality by making people's lives a living hell? If you have to give a server ten minutes worth of instruction before they can take your food to the kitchen, then do us all a favor and stay the fuck at home. A bell pepper will not kill you. You are not gonna die if you get a teeny bit too much salad dressing.

Learn to cook for yourself.

Here's another pet peeve: if you're gonna call in an order to a restaurant, know what you want before you pick up the phone. Don't keep someone on the phone while you wait for dad to get out of the bathroom so he can tell you what he wants on his burger. I am so sick of hearing people yelling across the house.

"HEY, JOHN! WHAT DO YOU WANT ON YOUR BURGER?"

"WHAT DO THEY HAVE?"

"What do you have?"

"WE HAVE THE SAME STUFF YOU'VE BEEN GETTING ON A BURGER SINCE YOU WERE OLD ENOUGH TO EAT SOLID FOOD!!!! Could we please hurry up with this order? I've got ten customers waiting impatiently at the counter."

When I stand in a line at a restaurant, I spend the time figuring out what I want to eat, so that by the time I get to the counter, I can make my order quickly and get the hell out of everyone else's way. Some people have no grasp of this concept. When they get to the counter, they suddenly realize they're in a restaurant, and their brains completely lock up. What do I do? What do I do? In desperation, they say the one thing that comes to mind, and it's the most irritating question you can hear at that point:

"What's good?"

or:

"Tell me what I want to eat" (usually accompanied by a nervous laugh).

I don't know what you want to eat. I don't have time to make recommendations. Besides, people who ask that question know what they want nine times out of ten. They want their minds read, and that one specific thing pulled out by a stranger who has to guess.

I won't say that I'm innocent of all this. I will not open myself up to accusations of hypocrisy. I will instead just say this:

I have worked the wrong side of the fast food counter. I know what it's like.

I will eat whatever is set in front of me, whether or not I ordered it, as long as it's not burnt beyond recognition or obviously spoiled.

I know what I want when I get to the counter.

I don't ask stupid questions.

And if, by chance, I should get on your nerves, or ask a stupid question, just remember: my minimum tip is usually 25%.

Love,

Paden

Okay!

A lot has happened since the last time I posted, as you may have guessed by the length of time that's passed. (What the hell happened to February?) Well, I had a lot of time to do some thinking, and a whole lot of cooking. Not to mention the knitting. My god, the knitting. I have gone on another sock kick, but we're not here to talk about socks.

I think that it's time to widen the depth and breadth of this blog. It's all well and good talking about my creature creations, but it gets old for me pretty quickly, to be honest with you. So I'm thinking about branching out, perhaps a little farther than I already have.

See, I work in a kitchen in a retirement community. That really opens up a lot of windows. I live in a small town, I read way too much for my own good, and even, occasionally, write a little something here and there. It's not much, but it's my life. I also love taking pictures.


I'm going to play this one by ear.

Oh, and the boyfriend is out of the picture. I can't really say that I'm too sorry to see him go. I learned a lot from him, but the time came for us to move on, and I have tried and tried to make that abundantly clear to him, but he' just not getting it. I wish I could fix that, but god knows we can't control anyone else's life.



Anyway, moving on (and I am trying), I went into Shirley, the town where I went to high school, and took a look around. I haven't spent a lot of time there over the last few years, so I thought I would take my camera down and have a look around. I have to say, the experience was unique. Quite apart from the fact that quite a bit has changed around town, there was also the plain and simple fact that I was seeing the town through fresh eyes for the first time, and my god, it was beautiful. Despite the clouds. And the recent rain. Not to mention the constant string of cars headed for more exciting destinations like....Mountain View? I don't know. All I know is that the pictures turned out great.....



Anyway, I'm rambling...the sleeping pill will kick in any minute, and leave me dozing until my alarm wakes me at a godawful hour. I'm going hiking tomorrow afternoon. I love you all!

~namaste