Well friends, it's over. I did my best and that was all I could do; my fate now rests in the laps of the gods. Hopefully they're not getting a celestial lapdance as I await the outcome of my efforts.
Of course I'm talking about my final exam for the culinary course I've been taking. It was a 2-part exam with the practical (cooking) portion a couple of days ago and the written part yesterday. How did I do? Still won't know for sure until next week, but I'm not optimistic about my chances. I guess I didn't do myself any favors when I didn't study for the damn thing. Yes, I actually do have an excuse -- I was overly tired from an excessive schedule of work and school -- but that doesn't change the fact that I likely screwed up.
There is some good news, believe it or not. The written exam accounts for only 30% of our grade. As it stands, I hear that everyone but two students had A's (don't know who they are, maybe it's me) before the final. The chef is evidently a lenient grader and the curve must be off the charts. Whatever, I'll take it. But I wonder how the best students feel knowing that even the underachievers will get passing grades? Kind makes me think about that parable in the Bible about the merchant and his prodigal son.
Friends, there are times when things become so fouled up they can only be referred to as a clusterf**k. That is the term I would use to define my experience thus far with the culinary class. It's not a bad course; it's simply a round hole and I'm a square peg. As I told Chef X upon turning in the written final: "I've learned a valuable lesson from your class. I'm much better at eating food than I am at cooking it."
Note that while he chuckled at my comment, he didn't disagree with me. At least I didn't utter a sappy "thank you-I've learned-so-much" line as did most of my classmates. I'd like to think Chef X will remember me as a laconic realist; or at least a disgruntled loner. Sometimes I think they're quite similar, really.
And as we close the cookbook on Chef X, Monday we begin a new chapter with the garde manger phase of the culinary course. How that will progress is anyone's guess. But rest assured your humble narrator will be here to chronicle all his food-centric experiences with alacrity and enthusiasm (depending upon how much Red Bull I've guzzled on a given day).
In the meantime, let me give you a few quick hits re other stuff going on at the Salvation Army Vocational Center:
I spoke with my caseworker recently about whether or not I must get a job as a cook upon graduating from this course. The official line is, yes; the job must involve cooking. Unofficially I'm told the graduate my get a job in a "food and beverage establishment." I expect I'll go the unofficial route. I'll also likely hedge my bets and look for a gig outside the culinary field. Who knows, I might work two jobs just to build up savings all the more quickly.
Some new women moved into the building recently, apparently still in their prison blues. Really, this place is like a halfway house. Some of the prison/street behavior has gotten so out of hand as to attract the notice of higher-ups around the campus. This is evidenced by the behavior of M. who is a large black woman, 35ish and on parole.
It's not uncommon to hear her shouting profanities at the top of her lungs while she works alongside us in the kitchen. She's often saying these things in a joking manner, but it's still jarring to her things like, "Boy if anyone try to steal my money I'll knock the f**k out the motherf**ker!" This comment she blurted out of the blue when no mention was made by anyone about stealing money -- hers or anyone else's.
She's gotten into arguments with customers about "ain't no special orders, sir. Why don't you take your skinny little ass to Mickey D's before I slap the piss outta you!" And talking about her busted relationships: "I got five kids with four different men. They all some deadbeat n***as. Broke-ass motherf***ers won't do a goddam thing to help me. I am so tired of these dead-ass n***as, I will never f**k another!"
I overheard a supervisor telling her she had to tone it down. When she looked confused, the supervisor explained there were complaints about her profanity, and that she had to ease up on the "street s**t. You ain't on the street now and you ain't behind bars. People out here don't understand that s**t. It won't fly out here."
Her response? "Who did the complaining?" The supervisor said, "It-doesn't-matter. It could've been anyone. Just tone it down." He mentioned that he had a couple of other people to talk to as well. Not surprisingly, all of those he mentioned are here on parole. It's odd, but it seems like a lot of these parolees here seem to believe they're entitled to bring their prison-centric behaviors and attitudes into society regardless of how offensive they might seem to others.
(Note that I'm picking up writing this blog after several hours due to a server malfunction. Pardon me if there are any lapses in syntax or any other terminologies I don't completely understand. Then again, that might be par for the course.)
all too often -- it seems to me -- society tends to tolerate certain, shall we say, faux pas from one segment of the population that would be deemed inappropriate if committed by another segment of the population. A case in point might be the use of the n-word. (Btw if you can make any sense of the preceding drivel, please drop me a line an explain it to me.)
Some might argue this has something to do with the 'liberal agenda' or somesuch. All I can say is that insofar as such an agenda wants to level the playing field to make things "fair" for everyone, I'm all for it. So long as it suits my objectives, of course. A case in point would be the generous grading curve afforded us by Chef X.
Then again, maybe it has more to do with we students being associated with the Salvation Army; maybe there's a different grading system for us. A system that takes into account our hardships and travails and whatnot. Maybe the powers that be figured, "Hey these SA folks have it tough enough without getting a D or F on their transcript. Give 'em a break and pass 'em all!" Yeah ... and maybe monkeys might fly out of my butt.
So with that visual, I'll leave you to enjoy he rest of your day/night/whenever you're reading this thing. More fun stuff coming up ... Not here of course, but somewhere -- look for it!
Quote of the day:
"I'd never eat in a restaurant that would hire me as a cook."
-- Your Humble Narrator
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