It's a funny thing about human nature. It seems that no matter how bad things get, or how good things get, we usually manage to adapt to the situation. I mention this because it's been nearly a year since I arrived in the Grand Canyon. At the time I wasn't sure if I could last one month, let alone an entire year.
As my readers (both of them) might recall, I was recovering from some major disruptions in my life: Major depression and, more seriously, the homelessness that resulted from said condition. Despite the sudden shift in lifestyle -- going from being a successful, self-sufficient professional voice actor to being cast adrift in the street and finally washing up on the shores of the Salvation Army -- I found that, somehow, I could adapt to the situation. To be honest, I admit this with a mix of pride and horror. Yet it might explain how many people seem to stay mired in desperate situations: Somehow they adapt, and eventually accept those circumstances in which they find themselves.
In my case, I knew I wanted to turn things around. So to an extent I couldn't accept certain adverse circumstances. I expect that's what led me to follow through with SA's rehab program and continue through with this gig at the GC. Still, I found myself settling into the everyday routines of SA and their classes. I seemed to adapt and accept everything that came with it. Indeed, Your Humble Narrator came to accept things which, in his former life, would have too extraordinary to fathom: Being friends with ex-cons, druggies and oddballs of all sorts would be an example.
And along with that acceptance came a kind of subsumption in terms of attitudes and emotions. When I first arrived at SA I was emotionally numb and oblivious to the 'personal static'' that surrounded me (and surrounds all of us in our own orbits). By that I mean the everyday interference of events ranging from the personal (dealing with friends or loved ones), to the professional (dealing with co-workers or deadlines) to the relatively minor (dealing with the asshole at the grocery store who insists on pushing a a full cart through the 10-items-or-less aisle).
At first I ignored all that stuff. Gradually, it seemed to filter into my awareness. Then as now, I find myself paying attention to all that static. Including but not limited to all the attendant gossip, petty jealousies, backbiting, hand-wringing, disappointments and other manner of distraction that goes along with living our everyday lives. In a sense, I guess you could call it a return to normalcy, as it involves a kind of social interaction and communication. Maybe all that distraction is necessary to function in our society.
Here in the GC there has been much to adapt to as well. The 7000+ feet elevation, the relative isolation of the park itself (nearest 'major city' Flagstaff being 80 miles away), and ... another collection of oddballs, weirdos and freaks who inhabit the dorms provided by Xanterra. It's no secret that many of these guys (and gals) exhibit any and all manner of social improprieties. This can be evidenced by maladjusted behavior ranging from profane and/or physically violent outbursts in public (one cook, when dealing with an elderly customer, called her a "sack of shit") to extreme partying in the wee hours or using their rooms as a toilet. Their social skills are so lacking you might say they have a social disease -- so to speak.
In the dorm where I live, we have a guy who apparently showers 6 times a day (while having loud conversations with himself) and another guy who takes around 45 minutes to rinse and gargle (again, several times a day). Another guy limps around with a hideously deformed foot (which looks leprous) and whose job description must include sitting around all day and blasting music as loud as possible, because that seems to be all he does -- and of course he's my next door neighbor.
Many of these guys like to bitch and moan about how unfair Xanterra is and how much they hate their respective jobs. Interesting, because most of those whiners have been there for at least 3-5 years. I and others have conjectured that many of these oddballs probably can't cope with the outside world. So they hole up in the GC where can find a community of similar eccentrics (to use a kind term) and where their quirks are tolerated, to a degree.
So I've learned to adapt to that as well. And to be honest it can be fascinating. Where else could I find such a collection of guys who look like they wandered straight outta Middle Earth?
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Canyoneering 9: Active Effects
No sooner did I title the previous installment "Winter in the Rearview Mirror" than we got hit with a late blast of snow and sub-zero temps. To be sure, Your Humble Narrator was not pleased at the prospect of digging through the white stuff and slipping yet again on icy pavements. Yet, the sudden storm lasted only half a day and all snow and ice were melted away within 48 hours. Now the Grand Canyon appears to be in springtime mode -- I think -- with high temps in the 60-70s range and clear, sunny skies. At any rate, the deer and elk seem convinced of nice weather; herds of the beasts are popping up everywhere I look.
Business has been picking up lately as well. In my capacity as a Banquet Steward I'm seeing many more tour groups arriving regularly for breakfast and dinner. The job basically entails setting up and breaking down eating areas for the guests. We also bus tables, serve coffee/tea, and refill water. I was recently cleared to run a cash register for the purpose of overseeing a cash bar run on the premises. Given that I've never run a register in my life and will be dealing with weary, booze-craving tourists, I'm curious to see what happens.
Being a BS (as such) isn't the most difficult job I've had. As far as day jobs go, it's fairly routine and sedate. There's a lot of detail work, such as setting tables, changing linens, restocking items, and so forth; simple enough but can be very time consuming. Preparations for the next days events are usually completed the night before. The work can be tedious but the gratuities help me maintain my interest. To be sure, however, there is a lot of manual labor involved with this gig.
We must carry large tables and chair up and down stairs. We must push and transport food and utility carts loaded with dishware and utensils to and from our serving area to the El Tovar Hotel where the items are unleaded and reloaded. In this higher elevation such exertion can take its toll on YHN. Indeed, I make no bones about the fact that I am no longer a young man. I figure such physical strain as this job entails would mean a year at most serving as a BS. After that, many of my favorite body parts may cease to function properly. Hopefully, that will give me the time necessary to reach my savings goal and push on.s
I admit that I have of late been thinking more often about leaving the Grand Canyon. The strange thing is that I have an odd sense of regret at the prospect of departing. You see, I actually do like it here ... well, sort of. The place offers some majestic scenery, to be sure. And I like the wide open spaces, the sharper air, and the sense of freedom such a huge national park offers. Still, the GC as a working/living environment offers some unique challenges. There are a number of, shall we say, unique personalities with which to contend.
The shorthand would be to say the employees comprise a lot of freaks and geeks. A fairer assessment might be that many of the employees here are lacking in the social graces. Such people seem to have trouble with holding casual conversations or managing to maintain their composure when dealing with higher-stress situations. Other people have a tendency to act unnecessarily rude or say inappropriate things (especially bad when dealing with the public. There's a lot of partying that goes on in the dorms, mostly drinking to excess, to the point where National Park Service rangers (the local police force or Barney Fifes as they're referred to here) are called to quell the disturbance.
I tend to turn a blind eye and/or deaf ear to a lot of the nonsense that goes on around here. After all, I've encountered many of these types of misfit personalities before, at Salvation Army. The difference was that the characters there weren't allowed access to booze. And there was much less tolerance for aberrant behavior than what Xanterra tends to exhibit. Still, to my employer's credit, they do have a zero tolerance policy on alcohol and drugs. If an employee tests positive during a random check (or upon any suspicion), that employee is summarily discharged on the spot.
If you recall the TV show Green Acres, and the town of Hooterville with all its oddball characters, you'll have some notion of the people you deal with here in the GC. And if you recall big city Oliver Douglas's (Eddie Albert) frustration and exasperation at dealing with the small town yokels, you might have some idea of how I feel when dealing with some of my Xanterra compatriots. All that's missing is Arnold the Pig (although we do have Bucky, a domesticated mule deer who roams outside our dorm). Now, if only I had a hot Hungarian babe, I'd be set!
At any rate, I do feel the desire for civilization puling at me ever more frequently. I do miss the voiceover work I left behind in Vegas. In a sense I've started a new career -- perhaps even a new life -- here in the GC. And you know something? It can be a good career, and a good life. But I don't know if it's necessarily my career or life. Were I a few decades younger, maybe so.
At this point, I find it rather late in life to make a true career switch into the food/restaurant industry. Sometimes it feels as if I've made a detour in my life, a temporary stopping off point. Maybe it's been necessary to gain some perspective; to take a breath, one might say. Interesting, because I seem to have garnered a rep here for being a good co-worker, easygoing, with a sense of humor. My performing background has allowed me to easily converse with guests and I've even thrown in a few celebrity impersonations (people tend to like my Sean Connery bit). I've met many people from all over the world, and made a number of friends in the process.
Yet I'm still chafing to get may to my real career(s). I've taken a small step, in managing to re-establish some of my writing contacts. The lousy Internet service here in the GC kind of puts a stopper on that, however. Still, it's been nice to resume some of my former work, if only on a small scale. Baby steps, I guess. But the time is coming for me to take a leap out of the Canyon. Funny, because I initially intended to stay here for six months, maximum. In all honesty, YHN finds that leaving the GC is a decision he is not so anxious to make.
Business has been picking up lately as well. In my capacity as a Banquet Steward I'm seeing many more tour groups arriving regularly for breakfast and dinner. The job basically entails setting up and breaking down eating areas for the guests. We also bus tables, serve coffee/tea, and refill water. I was recently cleared to run a cash register for the purpose of overseeing a cash bar run on the premises. Given that I've never run a register in my life and will be dealing with weary, booze-craving tourists, I'm curious to see what happens.
Being a BS (as such) isn't the most difficult job I've had. As far as day jobs go, it's fairly routine and sedate. There's a lot of detail work, such as setting tables, changing linens, restocking items, and so forth; simple enough but can be very time consuming. Preparations for the next days events are usually completed the night before. The work can be tedious but the gratuities help me maintain my interest. To be sure, however, there is a lot of manual labor involved with this gig.
We must carry large tables and chair up and down stairs. We must push and transport food and utility carts loaded with dishware and utensils to and from our serving area to the El Tovar Hotel where the items are unleaded and reloaded. In this higher elevation such exertion can take its toll on YHN. Indeed, I make no bones about the fact that I am no longer a young man. I figure such physical strain as this job entails would mean a year at most serving as a BS. After that, many of my favorite body parts may cease to function properly. Hopefully, that will give me the time necessary to reach my savings goal and push on.s
I admit that I have of late been thinking more often about leaving the Grand Canyon. The strange thing is that I have an odd sense of regret at the prospect of departing. You see, I actually do like it here ... well, sort of. The place offers some majestic scenery, to be sure. And I like the wide open spaces, the sharper air, and the sense of freedom such a huge national park offers. Still, the GC as a working/living environment offers some unique challenges. There are a number of, shall we say, unique personalities with which to contend.
The shorthand would be to say the employees comprise a lot of freaks and geeks. A fairer assessment might be that many of the employees here are lacking in the social graces. Such people seem to have trouble with holding casual conversations or managing to maintain their composure when dealing with higher-stress situations. Other people have a tendency to act unnecessarily rude or say inappropriate things (especially bad when dealing with the public. There's a lot of partying that goes on in the dorms, mostly drinking to excess, to the point where National Park Service rangers (the local police force or Barney Fifes as they're referred to here) are called to quell the disturbance.
I tend to turn a blind eye and/or deaf ear to a lot of the nonsense that goes on around here. After all, I've encountered many of these types of misfit personalities before, at Salvation Army. The difference was that the characters there weren't allowed access to booze. And there was much less tolerance for aberrant behavior than what Xanterra tends to exhibit. Still, to my employer's credit, they do have a zero tolerance policy on alcohol and drugs. If an employee tests positive during a random check (or upon any suspicion), that employee is summarily discharged on the spot.
If you recall the TV show Green Acres, and the town of Hooterville with all its oddball characters, you'll have some notion of the people you deal with here in the GC. And if you recall big city Oliver Douglas's (Eddie Albert) frustration and exasperation at dealing with the small town yokels, you might have some idea of how I feel when dealing with some of my Xanterra compatriots. All that's missing is Arnold the Pig (although we do have Bucky, a domesticated mule deer who roams outside our dorm). Now, if only I had a hot Hungarian babe, I'd be set!
At any rate, I do feel the desire for civilization puling at me ever more frequently. I do miss the voiceover work I left behind in Vegas. In a sense I've started a new career -- perhaps even a new life -- here in the GC. And you know something? It can be a good career, and a good life. But I don't know if it's necessarily my career or life. Were I a few decades younger, maybe so.
At this point, I find it rather late in life to make a true career switch into the food/restaurant industry. Sometimes it feels as if I've made a detour in my life, a temporary stopping off point. Maybe it's been necessary to gain some perspective; to take a breath, one might say. Interesting, because I seem to have garnered a rep here for being a good co-worker, easygoing, with a sense of humor. My performing background has allowed me to easily converse with guests and I've even thrown in a few celebrity impersonations (people tend to like my Sean Connery bit). I've met many people from all over the world, and made a number of friends in the process.
Yet I'm still chafing to get may to my real career(s). I've taken a small step, in managing to re-establish some of my writing contacts. The lousy Internet service here in the GC kind of puts a stopper on that, however. Still, it's been nice to resume some of my former work, if only on a small scale. Baby steps, I guess. But the time is coming for me to take a leap out of the Canyon. Funny, because I initially intended to stay here for six months, maximum. In all honesty, YHN finds that leaving the GC is a decision he is not so anxious to make.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Canyoneering 8: Winter In The Rear View Mirror
Well, I'm nothing if not consistent in my tardiness regarding this blog. Just noticed that the last time I posted was the end of December. At that time the Grand Canyon was in its Arctic tundra phase: Snow, ice, overcast skies, ice-cold winds whipping right through you. All the cold weather crap I've always striven to escape. Still, the months rolled over, the season changed and somehow I managed to survive the winter. Maybe that Midwestern hardiness got me through the tough times. Whatever, it seems that the GC has entered spring time mode, and not a moment too soon for Your Humble Narrator. Save for a last blast of snow and frigid temps a few weeks ago, winter is likely done. (Hopefully, this isn't famous last words concerning the cold weather.)
The GC has got spring fever; that is, we've been hit with a sudden influx of tourists thanks to spring break. After those winter months where the park was essentially deserted, it now bustles with people from all over the world. That means congestion: crowds everywhere and their kiddies running amok all over the damn place. It's really kind of a shock, almost like an invasion of our privacy; after all, we basically had the park to ourselves over the winter. Now we have to share it once more with these characters and put up with their crowds and noise and constantly asking us where the restrooms are? (I'm often tempted to answer, "Follow your gonads" to that last. Either that or suggest they go au naturale like the deer and elk and just do their biz in the woods) But of course we must tolerate them, because they not only bring their annoyances but also their cash.
YHN has been keeping busy over the past few months. Indeed, where many of my Xanterra brethren carp about the lack of hours during the slow season (anywhere from 5-10 hours a week is not uncommon; one guy got a paycheck totaling $20; it likely cost more to print the check) I've logged 30-35 hours per week and experienced a fairly minimal drop in pay. Much of this is due to my 'multi-tasking': In addition to working for the banquet/special events department, I also take advance dinner reservations and tackle hosting duties for the El Tovar dining room (which happens to be located in the fabled El Tovar Hotel, imagine that). Dinner reservations aren't bad since I wear street clothes; hosting duties require we wear the penguin suit: White tux shirt with bow tie and black pants. Remind me to post a pic sometime; people tell me I look like a maitre d'.
Even though banquets require a lot of physical labor, I prefer it to my other chores since the activities can vary. Sometimes I'm preparing room for various functions; other times I'm driving around like a delivery guy. Hell, I even deliver cakes around the park, usually only for corporate events -- they add gratuities in as well. The hosting duties can be interesting but I couldn't do it full time: Too much standing around. Plus, when they get busy -- as they are now -- the restaurant managers call me in to help the bussers prepare tables. I can do it, but he bussers can be a surly lot. They often view my assistance as an accusation that they aren't doing their job fast enough. But I'm diplomatic about their often-resentful attitudes: Fuck 'em. If you don't want me around, then do your goddamn job better.
Like all restaurants, the ET dining room assigns numbers to all their tables, and each are has a section number. It's incumbent upon the servers, bussers and hosts to know all these numbers and locations. In the beginning I was so turned around it's a wonder I didn't seat people on the roof. Nowadays YHN has a pretty good grasp of all these tables and sections. Even so, I can get turned around. Sometimes when I make a mistake, I simply blame the guest: "Oh, they should have gone to table 25? Well, they said they preferred table 61." (which is actually on the opposite side of the restaurant) The lead host, who actually orchestrates all the seating assignments, rarely takes issue. It's commonplace to take a guest halfway to their table before they complain for a different table.
You see, the ET dining room has 9 tables that are actually against windows that overlook the South Rim of the GC; these are the coveted view tables that everyone desires. Understandably, if people travel from around the world to eat at the ET dining room, they want the best view possible. Curiously, this attitude holds true at night as well. I say 'curiously' because at night you cannot see the canyon at all. All you can see is the reflection in the window of the restaurant. Yet, evening guests will still demand a view table when all they'll be able to see is their own reflection. Go figure.
Hosts will work either an early shift (6:30 am-2 pm) or late shift (4:30 pm-10 pm). Depending on the guest volume we can be cut loose earlier, which is often the case. I prefer mornings because the overall vibe is more laid back. Evening can get intense, due to all the dinner reservations creating a time crunch. (reservations aren't required for breakfast or lunch at ET) When someone arrives at 8 pm for their table and the guests from 7 pm are still lolling about, there's not much you can do but put that party @ 8 on a wait list -- which usually provokes impatience, annoyance and/or outright hostility. (They could always take my approach: Give the lollygaggers the bum's rush and toss 'em into the canyon. Bet people would finish their meals quicker then!)
One of the things I do like about my job is meeting so many people from all over the world. Recently we've had workers arrive from Ecuador, Thailand and the Philippines (the largest contingent). In the next few months the Europeans and Chinese will land upon our shores. A Filipina girl named L recently joined the host staff. While she's a bit sketchy on her duties, she's very nice, very cute -- and very young at a mere 19. Nevertheless, she and I are friendly and like to joke/flirt with each other. Indeed, YHN was getting some, shall we say, provocative thoughts about L after she complimented me: She said, "I think you must have many girls who like you. You are very nice looking." Ah, what a coup! I was feeling rather good about myself when she offered this follow up: "You are like my father."
It hit me like a spray of cold water on a pair of dogs humping. Ah, I guess it had to happen some day, a comment like that. Still, there might still be something salvageable here. I'm like her father? Maybe I'll adopt her.
The GC has got spring fever; that is, we've been hit with a sudden influx of tourists thanks to spring break. After those winter months where the park was essentially deserted, it now bustles with people from all over the world. That means congestion: crowds everywhere and their kiddies running amok all over the damn place. It's really kind of a shock, almost like an invasion of our privacy; after all, we basically had the park to ourselves over the winter. Now we have to share it once more with these characters and put up with their crowds and noise and constantly asking us where the restrooms are? (I'm often tempted to answer, "Follow your gonads" to that last. Either that or suggest they go au naturale like the deer and elk and just do their biz in the woods) But of course we must tolerate them, because they not only bring their annoyances but also their cash.
YHN has been keeping busy over the past few months. Indeed, where many of my Xanterra brethren carp about the lack of hours during the slow season (anywhere from 5-10 hours a week is not uncommon; one guy got a paycheck totaling $20; it likely cost more to print the check) I've logged 30-35 hours per week and experienced a fairly minimal drop in pay. Much of this is due to my 'multi-tasking': In addition to working for the banquet/special events department, I also take advance dinner reservations and tackle hosting duties for the El Tovar dining room (which happens to be located in the fabled El Tovar Hotel, imagine that). Dinner reservations aren't bad since I wear street clothes; hosting duties require we wear the penguin suit: White tux shirt with bow tie and black pants. Remind me to post a pic sometime; people tell me I look like a maitre d'.
Even though banquets require a lot of physical labor, I prefer it to my other chores since the activities can vary. Sometimes I'm preparing room for various functions; other times I'm driving around like a delivery guy. Hell, I even deliver cakes around the park, usually only for corporate events -- they add gratuities in as well. The hosting duties can be interesting but I couldn't do it full time: Too much standing around. Plus, when they get busy -- as they are now -- the restaurant managers call me in to help the bussers prepare tables. I can do it, but he bussers can be a surly lot. They often view my assistance as an accusation that they aren't doing their job fast enough. But I'm diplomatic about their often-resentful attitudes: Fuck 'em. If you don't want me around, then do your goddamn job better.
Like all restaurants, the ET dining room assigns numbers to all their tables, and each are has a section number. It's incumbent upon the servers, bussers and hosts to know all these numbers and locations. In the beginning I was so turned around it's a wonder I didn't seat people on the roof. Nowadays YHN has a pretty good grasp of all these tables and sections. Even so, I can get turned around. Sometimes when I make a mistake, I simply blame the guest: "Oh, they should have gone to table 25? Well, they said they preferred table 61." (which is actually on the opposite side of the restaurant) The lead host, who actually orchestrates all the seating assignments, rarely takes issue. It's commonplace to take a guest halfway to their table before they complain for a different table.
You see, the ET dining room has 9 tables that are actually against windows that overlook the South Rim of the GC; these are the coveted view tables that everyone desires. Understandably, if people travel from around the world to eat at the ET dining room, they want the best view possible. Curiously, this attitude holds true at night as well. I say 'curiously' because at night you cannot see the canyon at all. All you can see is the reflection in the window of the restaurant. Yet, evening guests will still demand a view table when all they'll be able to see is their own reflection. Go figure.
Hosts will work either an early shift (6:30 am-2 pm) or late shift (4:30 pm-10 pm). Depending on the guest volume we can be cut loose earlier, which is often the case. I prefer mornings because the overall vibe is more laid back. Evening can get intense, due to all the dinner reservations creating a time crunch. (reservations aren't required for breakfast or lunch at ET) When someone arrives at 8 pm for their table and the guests from 7 pm are still lolling about, there's not much you can do but put that party @ 8 on a wait list -- which usually provokes impatience, annoyance and/or outright hostility. (They could always take my approach: Give the lollygaggers the bum's rush and toss 'em into the canyon. Bet people would finish their meals quicker then!)
One of the things I do like about my job is meeting so many people from all over the world. Recently we've had workers arrive from Ecuador, Thailand and the Philippines (the largest contingent). In the next few months the Europeans and Chinese will land upon our shores. A Filipina girl named L recently joined the host staff. While she's a bit sketchy on her duties, she's very nice, very cute -- and very young at a mere 19. Nevertheless, she and I are friendly and like to joke/flirt with each other. Indeed, YHN was getting some, shall we say, provocative thoughts about L after she complimented me: She said, "I think you must have many girls who like you. You are very nice looking." Ah, what a coup! I was feeling rather good about myself when she offered this follow up: "You are like my father."
It hit me like a spray of cold water on a pair of dogs humping. Ah, I guess it had to happen some day, a comment like that. Still, there might still be something salvageable here. I'm like her father? Maybe I'll adopt her.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Canyoneering 7: Trays Of Our Lives
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!
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!
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Canyoneering 6: What a BS Job
In our last episode, I was relating how I've shifted from the position of cafeteria worker to the position of Banquet Steward here at the Grand Canyon ...
So far it’s interesting (albeit physical) work and it’s
giving me the chance to meet a lot of the higher management here at the
GC. Duties also include serving, bussing
tables, and some bartending (not until I go through TIPS training, though). FYI, the Banquet Steward is also recognized
as one of the best paying (non-management) positions in the GC. Consequently, it’s also one of the most
highly sought after positions; due to the higher pay, the stewards tend to keep
the gig for a long time. One manager
told me it was the first time a position had opened up in nearly 5 years.
There were many applicants for the position. As I recall, my interview lasted over an hour
(longest job interview in my professional life). I’m sure many of those applicants had far
more relevant job experience than I did.
Indeed, there’s a lot of stuff I told them I had no experience
with: Bartending, cash handling,
serving. My only previous experience in
the food service industry had been with SA and that was only six months, give
or take. I admit I was surprised to get
the interview; I was shocked to get the job.
 |
| A Winter Wonderland or a Winter Wasteland? |
Not to look a gift horse in the mouth but I sometimes wonder
‘why me’? I’d like to think it had
something to do with my aforementioned focus on the job at hand – my work
ethic, I suppose. I’d like to think it
had something to do with being recognized as a reliable, dependable worker who
eschews the petty bullshit found at any job.
Hell, I’d like to think it has something to do with the universe
rewarding me for surviving all the turmoil that engulfed me in Oct 2011. I’d like to think this is all part of me
working through a process.
The point is, I’ve tried to take a bad situation and turn it
to my advantage. I’d like to think this
new job is proof of that. I’m still
pursuing my voiceover/acting/writing careers; I could never abandon that. But it can’t hurt to gain experience in
things unrelated to those fields. It’s
nice to know you can succeed in certain endeavors you might never have
attempted, if not for something that seemed to be (at the time) an incredibly
negative event. Almost makes you believe there's a grand design behind my becoming a Banquet Steward.
Maybe I was always destined for BS.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Canyoneering 5: YHN, GCBS
So it's less than a week from Xmas and the Grand Canyon is looking like a winter wonderland. Just when I thought the snow would bypass us (out of consideration of Your Humble Narrator's disdain for the white stuff) -- BLAM -- we get hit with 10+ inches of the crap. And of course as temps begin to warm up enough to melt the snow we get another 3" last night. Snow is one of the primary reasons I moved to Las Vegas. I lived there for some 12 years without seeing a snowflake (just other flakes of the human variety); another dozen snow-free years would be more than welcome.
Not that YHN is a stranger to snow. After all, I grew up in the midwest so I'm somewhat used to inclement weather. But it has been difficult to readjust to maneuvering across slippery roads and treacherous black ice. I've slipped and fallen several times recently trying to navigate slick surfaces. I finally gave in and spent the $$ on some 'STABILicers' kind of like snow chains for your shoes. Happily, I've not slipped or slid since; hell, I can traverse these Arctic conditions like a giant penguin!
Perhaps it's due to the time of the season, but I find myself thinking about time and how it seems to constantly slip away. Curious, because approximately a year ago at the Salvation Army time seemed to stand still. It felt as if I'd never get out of there, like I could never break free of my circumstance. Now, at the Grand Canyon, time has seemingly resumed its linear flow. Yet even here, time can play tricks on you. Sometimes it feels as if there is no such thing as 'time' per se; at least not as something that can be measured or categorized.
Not that YHN is a stranger to snow. After all, I grew up in the midwest so I'm somewhat used to inclement weather. But it has been difficult to readjust to maneuvering across slippery roads and treacherous black ice. I've slipped and fallen several times recently trying to navigate slick surfaces. I finally gave in and spent the $$ on some 'STABILicers' kind of like snow chains for your shoes. Happily, I've not slipped or slid since; hell, I can traverse these Arctic conditions like a giant penguin!
 |
| It's very pretty ... Pretty damn annoying! |
Perhaps it's due to the time of the season, but I find myself thinking about time and how it seems to constantly slip away. Curious, because approximately a year ago at the Salvation Army time seemed to stand still. It felt as if I'd never get out of there, like I could never break free of my circumstance. Now, at the Grand Canyon, time has seemingly resumed its linear flow. Yet even here, time can play tricks on you. Sometimes it feels as if there is no such thing as 'time' per se; at least not as something that can be measured or categorized.
One could argue that this very location is
somehow timeless in and of itself. Or
perhaps it’s because we’re rather cut off from civilization; consequently, we
often aren’t up to date with all the latest news from the outside. Indeed, one temporal phenomenon that affects
almost every employee in the GC is this:
We often have a difficult time remembering what day it is. One day is essentially like the other within
the park. There are times when terms like
“Monday,” “Saturday,” etc. completely
lose their meanings. There are simply
days and nights that seem to steadily dissolve from one to the other without
regard for how we humans care to measure time.
What a roundabout way of saying it’s been a long time since
my last post. Here we are, very close to
Xmas and 2013 and Your Humble Narrator has been in the GC for approximately six
months. Odd, because when I originally
landed here from Vegas I intended to leave the GC sometime between Thanksgiving and
Christmas. Well, it looks like I’ll miss
that deadline. Indeed, I might be here
in the GC for the time being. So what
happened?
I guess I’m experiencing what is a fairly common occurrence
for many employees: The GC grew on
me. Many people who have spent 5-10+
years in the park tell a similar tale:
They come here planning on staying for months and end up staying for
years. They find careers here; they
marry and raise families here; they find a home here. While it’s too early to tell if I actually
want a career (or a family) in the GC, I think I have found a home, however
temporary.
Remember, when I arrived here from Salvation Army,
I was essentially homeless with maybe $75 to my name. I had lost almost everything I possessed,
found myself in situations I could never have anticipated; it was a classic
‘it-could-never-happen-to-me’ scenario – except that it did happen. At best I could say that when I had a
mid-life crisis, I had a mid-life crisis.
At any rate, I found myself hurtling through changes in lifestyle,
attitude, and circumstance that left me in a state of bemused numbness. And that’s pretty much how I felt when I
arrived at the GC.
While I initially planned to save up just enough cash to
return to Vegas and restart my former life there, something interesting
happened. I began to enjoy living in the
GC, something I could never have anticipated upon arrival here. I think it began with appreciating the immensity of the
landscapes and vistas. Then there’s the small community here with people
who are very friendly, helpful and outgoing.
And while I never imagined working as a ‘cafeteria worker’, I actually
did begin to take satisfaction from performing the job, regardless of how
menial and tedious it could be at times.
That’s something I find inexplicable; in the past I would
have laughed at the notion of me working in such a job. But while I was at SA I decided to use those
experiences – as unfortunate as they may have been – as an opportunity to learn
from my circumstances. That meant
learning the jobs, learning from bosses and coworkers and basically focusing on
the job at hand (no pun intended). I
tried to learn as many details as possible about whatever gig I was given. In a sense I was trying to focus on anything
other than my shitty circumstances.
So I think that philosophy carried over here to the gig at
the GC. Sometimes I actually looked
forward to work. I was content to be a
line-server, and slop food onto plates.
Along the way I learned as much of the operation as possible – not just
about the Canyon Café where I worked,
but about the entire Food & Beverage Department run by Xanterra Corp. here
at the GC. I found I liked talking with
the guests and learning about where they came from. I displayed a good attitude, never caused
trouble and have never been late or called in sick.
Why do I tell you this?
Because I feel like patting myself on the back? No, actually.
It’s because I believe these are reasons why I got the nod for a new gig
here at the GC. YHN has transitioned
from working in the café to the position of ‘Banquet Steward’. I’m now part of a crew that sets up a lot of
special events here. That includes
anything from Xmas and holiday parties to political town halls and
weddings. It's also recognized as one of the more coveted (non-managerial) positions in the park. I'll explain more about that in the next post.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Canyoneering 4: Sh*tfaced & Painless
If you couldn’t tell by the calendar, you can definitely
tell by the weather: The seasons have
turned and winter has arrived here at the Grand Canyon. The past few days have been overcast, cold
and windy; today is no exception. The
forecast has been calling for a 50% chance of rain/snow, although no
precipitation has fallen thus far.
Perhaps it’s because of the elevation here, but the winds seem
especially sharp and piercing, and it seems to hit from all sides. Then again, maybe I’ve been too spoiled by
the comparatively milder climate of Las Vegas, where I’ve lived for more years
than I care to relate.
Anyway, that’s the weather update. Since I live in a world-famous national park,
I thought I’d take a moment to let you know all the great things we employees
do to entertain ourselves here. Let’s
see … many people watch DVDs, drink, hike around the GC, drink, go for long
walks, take the area tours, watch TV, eat, drink, surf incessantly online, drink, engage in
photography, ogle tourists (females in my case), attempt to annoy the local
four-footed wildlife, and did I mention drinking?
Yes, boozing, partying, and getting completely shitfaced tend to be popular pastimes
here at the GC. And that’s because,
believe it or not, there’s really not a whole helluva lot to do here. Once the novelty of sightseeing and hiking
wears off, we employees – or at least Your Humble Narrator – are faced with the
reality of living in what is essentially a small, remote village that offers very
little in the way of diversion, entertainment, or flat out fun. Hence drinking and partying are there to fill
the need. Indeed, it’s no mystery that
AA has its own chapter here, and it is (reportedly) well-attended.
(Given the lack of activities here, I sometimes wonder
why the GC doesn’t experience a baby boom of sorts; making babies is one form of
diversion that never seems to go out of style.
Maybe the government puts contraceptives into the water here.)
Road Trippin’ to Flag
At any rate, YHN is neither a drinker nor smoker (of any
substance), so that puts him especially at a loss. It also leaves me with that above-mentioned
form of diversion as a means of entertainment; now if I could only find a
willing partner. The sad truth is that
civilization lies approximately 80 miles to the south of GC in the bustling
metropolis of Flagstaff, AZ. I say this
sarcastically, of course. While it’s a
nice enough college town, Flag is fairly small in size and provincial in
attitude. Normally I wouldn’t give Flag
a second thought. But compared to the
dearth of activities and products available in GC, this small town might as
well be NYC or LA
.
If you don’t have a car (like me) you can take a shuttle
from GC to Flag at the rate of $25 – each way, and that includes an employee
discount. The cheaper alternative is to
take advantage of twice-a-month shopping trips sponsored by the GC Rec Center:
$15 round trip. I’ve done this a few
times, but there are disadvantages. You
must abide by their schedule and itinerary; it usually involves stops at
Walmart, the Flagstaff Mall, and assorted grocery stores.
Sometimes your roadmates are less than desirable types who like to talk (or fart) nonstop. Sometimes you might get squished while sitting between two weight-challenged behemoths who refuse to shift position. On the plus side, I’ve managed to get haircuts and eye exams
during these trips. As you might expect
the attractive price makes these trips very popular. Since the van can only accommodate 10 people,
the trips fill up fast. And the trips
might not be scheduled on a day you can take off. Nonetheless, this is the most cost-effective
way for GC residents to do their shopping in the big city.
Another way is to simply travel to Flag with friends who
have wheels. I’ve also done this on
occasion. The driver will usually
request $10-15 from each passenger for gas money. My experience has been the following: I’m crammed into a small car with 4-6 people
making the trip. Most of the people are
chain smokers (another popular activity in the GC) and I have to hold my breath
most of the trip. My fellow passengers
are often, for whatever reason, of the nerd-geek variety. That means a lot of sci-fi/Star Trek/Star
Wars, etc. references. It also means a
lot of computerese techno-babble that sounds like a foreign language after a
time
.
Then there seems to be the requisite wigger of the bunch;
that is, a suburban white kid who has adopted a lot of urban hip-hop slang into
his vocabulary. Thus, I hear stuff like,
“Yo, when we gonna jet this bitch?” Or,
“What up with that, yo? Why you gotta be
a nigga about it?” or somesuch. Sometimes
it’s amusing, while other times it sounds hopelessly pathetic. Of course, there is something of an age gap
between YHN and his fellow passengers. I
might have a few years (okay, decades) on these guys, after all. But really … What is up with that, yo?
It’s not unusual for employees to spend a few nights in
Flag, just to get away from the confines of the GC. It’s odd to use the word ‘confines’ when
referring to a landmark that stretches some 277-miles but it’s amazing how
claustrophobic the park can seem at times.
And it’s not just the park, but the living arrangements which enhance
that discomfort.
Unless you’re in a management position here, you will have a
roommate. Rest assured, you will get
sick of seeing their face, hearing their voice, etc. Their very presence seems to be a violation of your personal space. In my case, I have a middle-aged roommate who seems to
love his room – he never fucking leaves the place during his time off. His leisure activities seem to be downloading
crap off the internet, blasting music, snoring loud enough to rattle the
windows, and of course drinking (mainly Fosters big cans, it seems). That's when he's not moping about his glory days or bitching incessantly about his job. Remind me to write a post on this guy: He redefines the term “Buzzkill”.
For my part, I spend very little time in the room. It’s too small, and like I say the roommate
is always hanging around there (which is weird because he actually has a
vehicle). During my time off I tend to walk a lot, go to the library, the
Rec Center, or do whatever I can to avoid that room. I
mainly need it for sleeping, shaving, showering and … well, that other essential bodily function..
Other options for employees escaping the park include
Williams AZ, about 35 miles away, and Tusayan which is right outside the
park. It’s also where many park
employees moonlight at local hotels and fast food joints. Williams is interesting because employees can
get a free train ride there from the GC; that catch is, you must stay overnight
before returning. Tusayan is interesting because ... well, nothing comes to mind at the moment. Anyway, that's some of the stuff we do to amuse ourselves here at the big bad GC.
And if all else fails, there’s always drinking. Or did I mention that?
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