A windy day in Las Vegas, with gray swollen clouds that might be the harbinger of a monsoon. Or so local residents and weatherpersons have anxiously claimed. I did walk through some gusting winds and endured bits of dirt and sand assaulting my face on the way here to the public library (see how dedicated I am to both of my readers? Sum homo indomitus, indeed). At any rate the only sign of a 'monsoon' that I've seen has been a couple stray drops of rain here and there. For some of the folks spoiled by the sunny weather I guess that constitutes a tsunami of sorts.
Some noteworthy events have been taking place lately, a few of with have apparently gotten your humble narrator in deep poo-poo (as opposed to po-po, which is urban slang for the fuzz. But you knew that, right?). We start culinary class at a local college on Monday, and so uniforms have been handed out to the participants. Almost everyone complained that the pants were too small by 1-2" or more, and had to be exchanged. Unfortunately, my correct size wasn't in the stock received at Salvation Army and so I along with three other students had to be driven across town to get out proper clothing directly from the outlet store.
Along the way one of the students, an attractive albeit heavyset girl named Candace, took pains to let us know all about how hard she used to party around Vegas. "I did anyone, anywhere, anytime," she said, seeming to brag about it. "There isn't a drug I didn't do. Hey, look! That's where my pusher used to live! Yeah, I know this area real well." She's in her late 20s and I was surprised to learn that she'd served in the Army. I didn't have the nerve to ask if she was dishonorably discharged or not. Candace is one of those people whose moods change on a daily basis, likely in accordance with how much medication she's had. I've seen her on days where she wouldn't -- or couldn't -- speak, and walked with a hunched over gait. Today, she was talkative; so much so I saw one or two of the other guys rolling their eyes and silently wishing she would shut up.
The guy who drove us also performs the driving duties for SA's Meals On Wheels program. He told us about how he had saved up $3700 and lost it all in a night's gambling, thinking he could somehow win it all back. That seems to be the quagmire most gambling addicts find themselves sucked into. He also told us how he had $500 meant for a plane ticket but went to the laundromat and after some early losses at a video poker machine almost made the money back. He stood at $495 and decided he just had to have that extra $5. He didn't. He ended up losing all his money and going home with a load of dirty laundry. Talk about insult to injury.
Another guy told us about how his son is doing marijuana and ecstasy. He said he's tried to tell the kid to stop, that it'll lead to harder drugs and he'll end up in the street like his old man. How did he tell this to his son? "Yeah, we was smokin' a joint at the bus station. I just figured he'd listen to me better if I joined him for a blow or two. You know what I mean, brother." I'd call it fuzzy logic at best.
I just mention these incidents because it never ceases to amaze me how willing people are to discuss their personal problems and demons with other people who are essentially strangers. Moreover, it often seems that such people are bragging about their wrong headed mistakes, as if they should be proud of the mistakes they've made. Since I know these guys are in various 'recovery programs', I wonder if this is the philosophy they're taught: "You're the victim of a disease. You're not responsible for what happened. You couldn't help yourself, it was beyond your control." I often heard people at SA say things like, "My addiction made me do this or that, etc."
Although this isn't the place for such a debate, I'd argue that addictions like drugs, alcohol, gambling, or even smoking are things that are are within a person's control; they just don't want to control it it. In the case of mental illness, I would call that something beyond a person's control. I've never heard of mental illness (schizophrenia, depression, bi-polar disorder) referred to as an addiction. Ironically, those who suffer from mental illness are often given such potent prescriptions that they do in fact become drug addicts after a fashion. In this case, however, the prescription makes them legal drug addictions while making billions for Big Pharma.
As earlier mentioned, your humble narrator made a faux pas of sorts. I missed an important meeting that served as an orientation for the culinary class that begins Monday. I guess it is a big deal, but I honestly was never told about the orientation. I'll likely have to bend over and grab my ankles as the caseworker in charge sticks it to me for missing the event (which she conducted). I can already hear her voice, filled with snideness and sarcasm. Ah, well. Grin and bear it as they say. Or, in one ear and out the other. I just hate having it hang over my head like the Sword of Damocles over the weekend.
Also had my first contention with a customer in the SA cafe. An older, squat woman known for being picky asked me to separate the lasagna we were serving that day. I asked what she meant by 'separate.' She said that she didn't was the pasta, just the cheese. When I said I didn't know how to do that, she walked off in a fit of pique. I could only smile at her irritation. A few minutes later, a co-worker came back from the front dining room and said, "Bro, you gotta get that old lady what she wants. I can't stand hearing her bitch about it." The situation was explained to the lead cook who suggested simply skimming off the top layer of the lasagna that contained the sauce and cheese.
He admitted that it shouldn't be served that way and that the old lady was being a "pain in the ass" but he just wanted her to shut up and go on. It didn't help, though. She still came back to complain to the lead cook about how I didn't serve her what she wanted, or that the food wasn't in the proper shape, or somesuch. The lead cook listened and sloughed off her bickering with, "All right, it's not worth the aggravation." She left, still unhappy. I don't doubt she'll have the incident 'written up'. She seems to have that kind of time on her hands. Still, not exactly a shining moment for yours truly, what?
A more extreme example of customer dissatisfaction occurred yesterday. This one didn't involve me directly. This incident stems from some efforts by the kitchen management to control the amount of food that 'mysteriously' vanishes from the kitchen. Not so mysterious because it's common knowledge that the workers (including your humble narrator) treat themselves to various goodies from produce to sodas to pastries, cakes, cookies, chips and/or whatever else might be available on a given day. In fact, it's one of the primary reasons for the weight I've gained at SA; the availability of all the snacks -- for free -- is too great a temptation to overcome. And of course, that doesn't include the free meals we hand out to ourselves as we prepare food for the customers.
All that snacking is considered fairly minor so long as the food is consumed in the kitchen/dining area. Problems stem when people try to sneak food out and take it to their dorm rooms. Too often, the crumbs will lead to insect problems with ants, roaches, or worse. Only sodas are allowed in the rooms. There's also the concern that workers might try to sell food to the homeless outside the SA entrance. But the real problem is this: Too many kitchen workers like to hook up their friends, girl/boyfriends and others with free meals.
Normally, the public pays SA $2.50 for breakfast and $3 for lunch and dinner. Not a bad deal, considering the larger portions. But too many free meals were being handed out and that starts to cost money and leaves less food for the paying customers. So the managers cracked down: no more free food. That also includes another problem area: The drinks. Normally, coffee is provided with breakfast, along with juice (actually Kool-Aid) which is provided with all meals.
The serving portion is supposed to be two 8 oz cups maximum (or a two drink maximum, if you will). The clients regularly exceed this by bringing along 20-40 oz containers with which to load up the caffeine. Obviously, that depletes the coffee supply all the quicker and results in us having to brew more of the drink, which means delays; which ultimately means the clients get pissed off at a situation that they themselves created in the first place!
I've also seen clients go to the juice cooler and fill up 2-liter bottles of the stuff. One guy turned to us with his full bottle and laughed, "Yeah, that's I do it!" The same problem doesn't exist with the public because the coffee can be regulated by us; that is, we serve it to them over the counter. Likely, that might be the solution the kitchen managers may have to adopt for the clients as well. For now, they're trying to limit the clients to 2 drinks only with no refills. So far, there hasn't been a whole lot of cooperation with the program. The clients seem to feel they're entitles to take as much coffee and juice as they please.
An upshot of this occurred the other day when a skinny guy in his 60s with a vacant expression on his face came up to request more coffee, as the outer pots were empty. I saw him earlier with two cups of coffee and asked if he drank them. When he said yes, I told him I couldn't serve him any more. He said, in a slurred voice, "I wanna see the manager!" The manager, standing within earshot, upheld my decision. The old man, one of the veterans who stay at SA, did a slow burn and started muttering, "What the hell is it with the coffee ... Dammit, I just want a f**kin' cup of coffee, Jesus ..." He doddered out of the kitchen but that wasn't the last of him.
Another customer came to the counter requesting coffee, and because they hadn't already been through the line, I granted the request. A moment later: "Oh, so that's how it f**kin' is, huh?" The old vet re-entered the kitchen, this time with a spring in his step and some fire in his belly as he walked toward the counter. "I can't get any goddam coffee, but they can? That's bulls**t! All I wanted was some coffee!" About that time the manager and several workers confronted the vet and told him to leave the area, but the old man would not be dissuaded. "You don't let me have the coffee? You guys are f**kin' assholes!"
I was ready to call security when, as if by Providence, a guard entered the cafe en route to his rounds. He soon took charge of the situation and things quieted down. There were a few customers in line who watched the proceedings with bemusement; such outbursts were not exactly uncommon on a campus filled with so many people with various mental impairments who take potent prescriptions. When one of the customers looked back at me, I shrugged. "Another satisfied customer, I guess." The workers involved with the argument had to fill out reports for the security guys. The old vet was told to leave the SA campus for 24 hours. Last I heard, he did return. Hopefully, he got some coffee during his brief exile.
Well, my time is winding down, meaning I'll have to exit the library and enter the wind once more. Next week, I'll give you some updates as to my first day of school (we even get sack lunches to take with us; don't know about lunch boxes). Also, a possible romantic interest or two -- yow! Either my standards are slipping or the women's standards are lowering. Hopefully, I'll be able to shed some light on the situation in upcoming installments. In the meantime, that's a wrap!
Oh yeah. One more thing in keeping with my earlier Latin phrase: Sicut antiqui romani dicebant quomodo tuo hodie?
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