If you've ever wondered why I seem to take a long time between blog posts, it's this: I have no home Internet connection. To update this blog I have to use the wi-fi here at the Grand Canyon Recreation Center (motto: Get Rec'd) where I've become known as one of the die-hards. That is, I make the app. 2 mile trek from Trailer Village where I live to the Rec Center whenever I have the time. As I often work in the afternoons, I usually wake around 5 am and am out the door by 7-ish. Part of the reason I wake so early is from habit; why, I don't know. It likely has something to do with my insomnia, which I've dealt with all my life.
The other reason Your Humble Narrator likes to get up early is because he cannot abide the tiny room he shares with a roommate. Really, it's like a coffin in the woods. Add to this my roommate -- R, a middle-aged overweight guy from Arkansas -- never seems to leave the room. He spends most of his time off hanging around downloading and watching videos. Often he's up until 3-4 am watching videos with a glassy-eyed stare, occasionally making a chuckling noise that sound like Beavis and/or Butthead laughing. When he's not doing this, he manages to snore loud enough to peel the paint off the walls. (I've found some great earplugs, Hearos, that really manage to block a lot of the noise.) Overall, he's okay but can be annoying at times. Like any roommate, I suppose.
At any rate, that's much of the reason why I don't like to spend much time in that room. I use it many for the 'S'-entials: Shaving, Showering, Sleeping and .... Odd, I can't seem to remember the other S-word. While I'd love my own place, the only people who have private housing in the GC are managers or people who have accrued a lot of seniority. And many of them still live in dorms with efficiency apartments.
Random Notes:
I mentioned my gig as a Banquet Steward and how it can be a lucrative position. True, but the BS crew falls victim to the GC's slow season as well. In order to accrue extra hours we are given various jobs in the El Tovar Hotel & Restaurant. Over the past week for example, I've worked as a dinner reservation operator, a host (basically showing customers to their seats), and as a busser. Bussing isn't bad except you're expected to carry dirty dishes away on a tray (or 'oval'). It's amazing to watch the bussers and servers glide and flit around hoisting trays full of heavy plates and delicate glassware like they were lifting feathers.
And how did YHN fare as a busser? Fine -- except I couldn't bring myself to carry the trays. Indeed, every time I thought about carrying a full tray, visions of the Hindenberg exploding flashed through my mind ("Oh the humanity!"). Whenever I was asked by the lead busser, "Wouldn't you like to try carrying a tray?" YHN would politely reply, No, he fucking would not. (I actually left out the expletive.) But I did learn how to change table linens, fold napkins, and arrange flatware. I can only marvel at the sheer amount of minutia involved with setting a table, and all the teeny tiny details one must observe in the preparation of fine dining.
For a person of my temperament and disposition, however, all the formality can become exasperating and boring. In the back of my mind I'm always asking, Why the hell is all this shit necessary? It seems so ridiculous ... Cups set at a 45-degree angle, salt facing in the direction of the restaurant entrance, knife blades facing to the right, whatever. Like they say, it's all in the details -- including ways to try my goddamn patience. At least it's given me something to write about.
And in case I can't post before then, Happy New Year!
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