Farewell, my lovely

Okay, this post is about a month late, I know, but with all the festive business and settling back in I couldn't bring myself to make a farewell post. Maybe I'm just in denial about being back in cold and wet Scotland.

Pretty much everybody who reads this will know everything in this post, but I need some closure on this blog, so here goes nothing.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving my hosts had an excellent Thanksgiving party. I won't go into too much detail on the party (you know the deal) but there was some fabulous food and banter going. And fishing, which is very relaxing. But during the night after the party disaster struck. Food poisoning is my best guess, but I'm not a doctor. Again, y'all know the deal here so let's skip the two days of suffering (the first canceling my Six Flags trip, the second cutting short a day up north).

The drive was long, straight, and boring. I got on the 5 North less than a mile from the house and sat on that road for about 350 miles or so. The first part of the drive had the city and the mountains, which gave the road some character, but then the latter sections were in the central valley and were straight, flat, boring. And there was a mist obscuring any view there might have been. I made amazing time up the road (even going slower than most of the other drivers due to my great respect for the law), listening to the audiobook of dune and chugging sickening amounts of blue Gatorade to rehydrate my weakened body.

I arrived in Santa Clara in the early evening for a lovely meal with some old family friends. Afterwards we went to a 'British pub' nearby. British my ass. The decor was about right but far too clean for your standard British pub. It was also spacious, didn't smell, had staff welcoming to outsiders, ice hockey on the tv, and just generally didn't feel British. It had some British beers on tap though. Just a quick note here - I love the style of American barmen. Not only is flair actively encouraged in the making of ones drink, but no measures are used so good banter with the barman can get you some generously boozy drinks. If beers and bottles aren't your preference, of course.

The next morning I was away sharp, heading north again. I had lunch with my brother's godfather, a Pixar employee, who then gave me a tour of the building. Just like what is shown in the DVD special features, but better seen in person, especially if you're meeting some of the folks who work there. Then north again to the godparent's house for a lovely dinner and Wall-E on blu-ray.

The day after was a trip down memory lane (until lunch, that is). Starting with visiting my paternal grandparent's old house, then the church where the paternal grandfather preached for many years (yes, that does make my father the son of a preacher-man), with a hall dedicated to him and the memorial doors my father produced. After that I headed to the old neighbourhood. The old house (pictured) minus the big ol' tree that made is so nice in the summer, the ivy people down the street, the park where I used to play, my primary school. All different and yet so much the same. Memory is such a funny thing. After all that I decided to go visit the cheese factory that I loved so much as a child. This was a bad idea.

The cheese factory is a ways out of town by the back road. There's some lovely scenery, but not much else. At the cheese factory I had a delicious lunch of cheese and fresh sourdough but the pond which is exactly as I remembered.

 Fed and sunned, feeling full of cheer and cheese, I headed back to town. On the way I stopped to take a photo of this very northern California landscape and locked myself out of my car. Now there's a hard pill to swallow. 500 miles from the spare key, without mobile reception, miles from the nearest phone. Crap. I hitch-hiked into Petaluma (I'm so glad somebody picked me up. So many drove by. I don't really look like a shady character, but you can't be too careful these days, eh?) and called the AAA and local locksmiths. No one would help me as I wasn't on the registration document. $25 for the taxi back out there, a lump of concrete from the side of the road for the window ($110 for a self installed replacement, with a employee discount. Sigh...), and I was away again.

Heading south now, to a wee town called Morgan Hill. It's near Gilroy, the garlic capital of the world, with it's famous garlic festival. The next couple of days, whilst staying with my godmother in Morgan Hill, I went to a Christmas concert, spent lots of money at the outlet malls, spent time with my Sister, and cleaned the glass from all the nooks and crannies of the car, taping a bag over the window.

Then it was back down south for me, with my sister and her gear in tow. Another uneventful trip (thankfully), made more bearable by the company of my sis and the bottomless coffee served in Denny's (take note Brits, please).

The last days in the country were spent in a flurry of activity. Shopping, packing, getting my sis on the plane, getting myself on the plane.

The plane. Is it really too much to ask for a peaceful trip through LAX? I was there two and a half hours early (having learned from my last solo through the airport). My flight was not as punctual as I was, leaving me to stand in a huge line of passengers to be transferred. I feel sorry for these check-in attendants having to face angry and abusive asses 'cause there was some serious rain over Newark. Not really their fault, is it?  For the most part people are nice, but airports seem to collect mean people as customers. Anyway. After 2 hours I got rescheduled from the 10.25am flight (running 2 hours late) to the 8.25am plane (running two hours late). So effectively the same departure time. Except that I had to queue forever (and remove half a pound of luggage from one of my bags to make the limits) and now had to high-tail it through the airport. Again. So much for duty-free. And breakfast.

They'd changed the movies available on the flight, which was nice. And they turned the TVs on before take-off to keep me busy for the additional hour and a half sitting on the tarmac. Got through Bullitt, Philadelphia, and Catch me if you can before touching down in stormy Newark.

Off the plane, I see that my connection to Edinburgh was delayed by an hour and is still on the board. 5 minutes. The exact opposite end of the terminal. Worth a shot. Or not, as it turned out. Sweating, breathless, and desperate, I reach the gate.

"The plane is gone sir"

I should've known. Off to find an info point to discover my options. Another queue (only half an hour, this one!).

"We've booked you onto the same flight tomorrow sir"

"Tomorrow?"

I guess I sounded downbeat enough for her to look again.

"We can put you through Manchester, but it's tight. Your bags might not make it"

Fine. Risk my bags, long stopover in Manchester, get into Edinburgh on the 12th as planned. I can deal with that. Rush through the airport (not that anything was open anyway) and I'm away again. On a punctual flight.

Boring flight again, can't remember what I watched or ate. Mind on other things, one would assume.

Manchester Airport. I'm surprised people complain about Terminal 5 at Heathrow when there's Manchester sending innocents to different terminals from their bags then suggesting they check their bags aren't magically in that terminal. The bags man (perhaps the single most effective person in the airport that day) informed me that, "If you didn't lose your bags in Newark, you've definitely lost 'em now. Just file a claim in Edinburgh".

At least he was straight with me. Had to spend a long stopover in one of the most boring airports I have had the displeasure of passing through before finally getting a stupidly short flight to Edinburgh where I was met by my lovely, charming girlfriend and my journey was over.

Some quick final thoughts: 

Brits - be friendlier, especially when you want someone to buy something from you. Customer service is a positive force. 

Bring in the bottomless coffee/soda. How many people can actually manage enough for you not to turn a profit?

Swear less. The Americans seem to be able to do it, even the rougher ones.

Take pride in your country. Properly. Not just for the football.

Americans - does high-fructose corn sugar really have to be in everything you eat?

Do you really need servings that large? I'm not exactly what you'd call a light eater (or a light anything to be honest) but your small sizes were fine for me. I feel sorry for small people trying to get small food.

Go on, be a little more socialist. Just a little.

There's probably a lot more to add to these lists, but it's always better if you find out for yourself, no?

Go on, you know you want to.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I'd love to post a picture of piles of food being shoveled into my fat, happy cheeks but there isn't one to be had. This household is saving the food binge for a party on saturday. I rustled up a pot roast with mash, green beans, bacon, and gravy. I was fashioning a turkey tail for the roast with the bacon and decided it wasn't worth the effort as the mash cooled. It was a delicious piece of cow.

In the spirit of the holiday, I'm going to be thankful. I'm thankful for all my family, all my friends, and all the people I have shared good times with. I'm thankful for the food I eat, the strength in my limbs, and the ease of life I have enjoyed.

I could carry on, I'm a thankful guy, but I can't share all my thanks via such an impersonal medium, can I?

I hope you've all had a great day that remind you of all there is to be thankful for.

And the Heavens Wept

Yeah, so I haven't posted in a while. I've been sick. Busy.

You know what? I don't have to justify myself. This is my blog. Yeah.

Anyway...

So, the cold. Al's clearly wimpy immune system got taken down by a crappy cold that sapped his strength, gave him a runny nose, a sore throat, a cough, and a sad tendency to talk in the third person. Actually the last one might be a sign of madness. Who knows. It was rubbish having the cold, especially in the sunshine, and even more so at work, but it's never a walk in the park, is it? It's my cold season anyway. Every year I get at least one, normally around thing time. Given to me by one of the zillions of people I come into contact every day (okay, an exaggeration, but you know what I mean). Enough about that.

Work wanted to squeeze every last drop out of a swell guy like me during the last days of employment, especially with the upcoming food holiday. I worked hard and I worked long. There were drama-queen customers, mysterious oil-spills, and other crazy goings-on that just aren't interesting enough to get blog-space. I guess it was a good experience to work in a food store in the land of food before the festival of food that is Thanksgiving. So many turkeys died and were frozen and wrapped in plastic for this day of feasts. Pies, cranberries, sweet potatoes, marshmallows, whipping cream, ice cream, green beans, potatoes, squash, and corn all piled through the tills day in, day out. Recipes, family stories, and plans were shared between all and sundry.

My last day of work was today (the 26th November), the day before turkey day. It was crazy. Start to finish nearly all tills were going, and even then the lines were backing up. Two members of our dedicated team were no-shows. I hope they had good reason. Another didn't come in due to being drunk. This meant that I was the sole bagger for multiple tills (starting at 6 and ending at 3) for two hours. I did my best (and was on form), but I can't be everywhere.

It was raining. For my first of 3 hours collecting carts it rained the whole time. A medium drizzle is what I'd rate it, but the Southern Californians seemed to think that it was a torrential downpour. I bet El Nino would only be considered a wet weekend in Scotland (I'm sorry, I shouldn't joke about events that can have such devastating consequences).

The rain, the birthday of a fellow bagger (including a humorous cake that turned had her blushing furiously [tasty looking it was, too]), and the general madness of the day meant that my leaving was very low key to my relief. Most people didn't know - I kept it close to my chest - and so I explained myself a lot when there were opportunities for them to enquire. Some of the managers took a minute to thank me for my work and say how they'd miss me and my hard-working nature. I blushed. I'm never good at receiving such flattering comments. Might just be a new experience (kidding people - I do get compliments from time to time, believe it or not. Never for my writing though, but you knew that). My final act as a Ralphs courtesy clerk was to strike the American flag and take in to the manager. For real.

It had been out in the rain (bad) and the dark without proper lighting (very bad). I probably shouldn't bring attention to that. Pretty much the only way to make it worse would be to rub it on the ground, run it up upside-down, and burn it whilst singing anti-America, anti-Christian, Communist songs. I'm sure there are some. I enjoy the respect Americans have for their flag and their country. But they haven't been fighting each other since the dawn of time like the countries in the United Kingdom. And the Union Jack isn't as nice as the Stars and the Stripes. The Saltire is good though. Anyone seen the ideas for the new, more inclusive Union Jack? They will haunt my dreams for years to come.

I apologise for my wandering, mostly incoherent rambling in this post. I'm weary and have the attention span of a peanut. I know that the previous statement is a senseless mish-mash of  the cliches 'the attention span of a goldfish' and 'a brain the size of a peanut', but it's what I like to say, so let me be. It's harmless.

That little tangent just proved that I should probably just abandon attempts at a post that anyone can follow. It doesn't even have pictures for those 'put off reading by reading for their degree'. You know who you are. Go and feel shame. Then be free!

To sum all this up: I had a cold, I worked, I finished work, it rained. Happy? I am.

Finally, happy Thanksgiving to everyone who is reading this on the day (which is pretty much everybody - there's only an hour left to the date as I write this). I hope you fill your bellies and are thankful for all that is true and good in this world. I've stuck a wee picture of the last Thanksgiving I have any photos from for a bit of pictorial relief. Have a good one!

C.S.Al Los Angeles

Events and photos together at last!

Chris and Sienna were kind enough to pay lonely me a visit en route to the frozen wilds of Canada. The weather was hot and dry (quelle suprise) and marred only slightly by the smoke lying over the city from the unstoppable fire that was mentioned earlier in the blog. So cruel to warm the travelling (two ls you damn American spell-check!) couple before plunging them in the deep freeze.

Sunday was spent at the Universal Studios theme park. Not much of a roller-coaster fest, more an experience thing. We managed to get around all the rides (thank goodness it was a quiet time of year) we wanted to see, and had an all-you can eat pass for food (all overpriced and not so good, thank goodness the pass was relatively cheap).

The studio tour was the usual cheesy experience. Saw the outside of the sound stages where some CSI filming was going on, some of the built sets (with clips of films they'd been in), some tour-gone-wrong set pieces (so cheesy), and passed by the set where Desperate Housewives was being filmed (apparently the tour usually goes down Wisteria Lane when filming isn't underway). Was fun, but I'm sure the VIP pass (which gets visits into filming sets and other backstage stuff) would've made it an excellent tour but I don't have an extra $100 or so to burn.

The Simpsons ride was a fun simulator ride, but not great enough to tempt us back.

The Jurassic Park ride was Universal's answer to Splash Mountain. A bunch of fairly pointless floating about, enjoying the scenery, followed by the usual 'boat took the wrong turn and everyone is now in danger' scenario ending in a steep drop to end the ride.

The Mummy ride was the only rollercoaster in the park. It was very much like Space Mountain, with a short whizz around in the dark. No upside-down sections on the ride, but a fairly pointless backwards travelling section. I believe that the backward travelling rollercoaster sensation only comes into its own when there's a stomach-lightening loop or corkscrew. This was the most exciting ride in the park and warranted a few return visits.

Backdraft was a look into the pyro-effects that can be used in films. It was impressive, to be sure, and hot too. I hate to think how much fuel is burnt by this show on a day to day basis.

Waterworld was a live action recreation of the film of the same name. We decided to sit right at the front. In the 'Soak Zone'. I figured that we might as well go the whole hog instead of being timid and sitting in the 'Dry Zone' or 'Splash Zone'. They certainly didn't lie. The warm-up to the show had a few of the team working the crowd, getting them to cheer, conducting them. If the crowd were half-hearted (which it always is to begin with), those in the 'Soak Zone' got buckets of water thrown on them. Repeatedly. Then big ol' water pump things squirted at them. I was lucky enough to get singled out when the pump came out. I seem to be a target at these audience-interaction shows. So honoured. Thoroughly soaked before the show even started. It was a fun little show with jetski jumps, fire effects, pantomime acting, fights, jumps, and a highly impressive plane crash at the end (cue large wave for us lucky folks). The jetski riders pulled tight turns to send huge waves of water over us. Late afternoon was not the best time for it, when it was getting cooler rather than warming. You live and you learn.

Soaking, we made our way over to Terminator 2: 3D. A mix of live action and 3D film effects, it was passable entertainment. Some of the 3D effects worked better than others. It was just a bit too air-conditioned poor, wet us though.

The House of Horrors was better than most as the things jumping out at us were humans rather than machines so had a more menacing feel. A bit too menacing at times - one rushed at me and I almost had to brace for impact, another tried to get Chris' food - but rarely surprising for a jaded rider (walker in this case) like me. Got some of the folks ahead and behind pretty well though. And me when there were two in the room. Wasn't expecting that.

The tail end of the Blues Brothers show we saw was fun enough, just a stage working of the film songs, really.

As a whole, the park was a good size. We managed to cover everything before the close as 6pm, and went to some things repeated times. Small queues helped this, of course. It was annoying being herded past the photo stands (some of our pictures were hilarious - Si pulled some good terror faces - but not worth $25 for a minimum of 3, especially when we weren't in front) and the gift shops coming out of each ride, but that's how these things work. I was suprised at the amount of booze available in the park. I guess I'm too used to Disneyland. Plus this park didn't really have anything to empty a tipsy stomach. A good way to spend a day in LA. For $67 + $20 food.

Swam in the hotel pool in the evening, had a margarita at the hotel bar. Chris and Si had a swish hotel and, as such, any purchases were pretty steep.

Monday had no plan. After some calls back home from the couple, and an email from me, we headed out to Hollywood. We ate a brunch at the International House of Pancakes on Sunset. Gotta love American breakfasts. Fatty, sugary, zillions of variations, and unlimited coffee. We left fat and happy to hit the sites. Hollywood isn't a very nice area. Let's be honest. The touristy open-fronted shops and cracked roads put me in mind of Tijuana. We wandered along the stars, loitered by the hand and foot prints outside the chinese theatre, took pictures of the Hollywood sign, and slowly wilted in the heat.

Then off to the nearest Costco (thank you, helpful tourist information person). There we also went into Toys'r'us and Best Buy (of TV show 'Chuck' fame) looking for a digital camera. One was procured and he headed for the hills. Literally. We headed up to Griffith Observatory to watch the sunset (thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Hollywood-local-who-was-listening-in-on-our-musings-on-what-to-see-in-a-big-city-like-LA-which-we-didn't-know-enough-about). It involved waiting for an hour and a half or so, then occurred in about 2 minutes. Banter was good, but view of city was lacking due to smoke/general smog over LA.

We then grabbed some expensive, over-sized, fairly tasty mexican food and headed back to the hotel. There Chris and Si sorted themselves out and we went for another wee swim. There was a roaming plaster in the pool. Gross. A quick aside - I reaffirmed my guess about why skin wrinkles in the pool. The upper layer of skin is absorbing water whilst the lower is remaining taut, causing wrinkles. The reason that only hands and feet wrinkle is that the absorbent layer of skin is thicker on the feet and hands. Just makes sense, doesn't it?

Then I cruised back home along the 101 and the 5, which were pretty busy for 10-11pm on monday. It is LA.

Fire in the Disco, Fire in the Anaheim Hills

Nothing to blog about (swimming, studying, reading, watching TV) for a few days, then today. Plenty to talk about today. I thought I might take my camera but decided against it. Silly boy.

I set out to Chino Airfield early(ish), driving the Mazda 6 along the freeways with the Godfather directing me. On our way we saw a fire that had just started off the side of the freeway. This grew and grew throughout the day to become a massive fire, smoke visible for miles. Homes destroyed, people abandoning cars on the highway because of smoke inhalation. It was crazy seeing it grow after what I passed in the morning. The wind is so dangerous here.

Wandered about the airport museum lot (not the museum itself, just the field where they were fixing up the planes or storing them with a running commentary from the Godfather. Much better than the museum, no doubt. It was lovely, sunny, interesting. I just wish I had brought my camera to take some photos), had breakfast at Flo's (the previously mentioned traditional diner on the airfield grounds) with the flyboys (as I believe they should be called - an amusing bunch), then drove to John Wayne Airport to drop a few things off at the Godfather's hangar.

Here my troubles started.

When we pulled away I checked the fuel gauge. Empty. I had missed the fuel light. I said "We're low on fuel". Damn British understatement. We were not low, we were on fumes. The Godfather took this statement at face value and suggested Costco for a refill. I swear that Costco was closer last time. Cruising along, just transferred freeways, and the Godfather mentions that I can now speed up again.

No can do, sir.

I pulled over to the side, tank empty. So empty that it won't even start again. Not even dregs. Those who have felt the car die beneath them know the sadness, the dispiriting feeling as it dies in your hands. Try it on a freeway. You get fined for that. Luckily our exit wasn't too far away - recounted as half a mile, but I'm sure the truth is less - and I'm a hefty lad.

So hefty lad pushed the hefty car.

The Godfather (amazingly upbeat) helped when not steering. It was hot. 33C hot. And dry. So dry. Not being in the best shape, it was hard going. I didn't feel like I was using my muscles much, but it felt more tiring than jogging in a cardiovascular sense (I know they are muscles too, please don't be pedantic. I'm just saying it had me out of breath fast, despite only progressing at a stiff walking pace). Luck had it that there was mostly gentle downhill from where I coasted to a stop to the closest parking lot (via the exit and a set of lights). The hills that I did traverse were hard work, especially that last slope up into the lot, when my tank was running on empty (I'm a drama queen [male equivalent of] when it comes to exercise, so what, wanna fight about it?). After a phone call, a pick-up, a filling of a lidless petrol container, and a drive back (with a few wrong turns), the Mazda 6 was revived. I felt - still feel - stupid/silly/sheepish and now the Protege reeks of gas (petrol) just to remind me.

The rest of the afternoon was frittered away tinkering with the electronics around the cigarette lighter in the Protege which was stopped working after a car maintenance mishap (reconnecting the newly cleaned battery terminal with a tyre pump trying to suck electricity through the socket). It was quickly shown to not be the fault of the fuse box by the steering column, and (after some fidgeting by the Godfather) not the fault of the wiring behind the lighter. So it was the unit. Problem solved, right?

Those things are hard to get out. Seriously.

We even tried to remove the panel to get better access. Don't bother, kids. It was eventually coaxed out by the ever patient Godfather. Brilliant. Just grab a replacement and all will be well. I wish.

The closest model at the auto store was slightly different in plug configuration. So the Godfather (eventually) split the plastic unit joining the wires to allow the new model to fit. But it didn't quite fit the hole. So the Godfather widened the hole with a power drill. Then altered the plug ends to fit. One snapped off. Back to the shop. Alter new unit. Install. Test. Terminals connected the wrong way, so the current wouldn't power the electronic devices (would've lit cigarettes fine and made the aforementioned pump suck instead of blow). Cue more socket alterations. Fidgety installation. Luckily yours truly was only the light man (it was dark by now). I would've thrown a hissy fit by now and called a mechanic. The Godfather finally sorted it only to find a previous test had blown his in-car GPS system charger. His patience and upbeat nature is truly awe-inspiring. Sorted. For now.

A quick shower and change saw me off again to a dinner party. The food was amazing. Having been in America for a while, I realise how bad I am at cooking (and blogging and swimming, but I'm not talking about those).

Pre-dinner nibbles: Crackers and cheese. A firm favourite. One cheese was like a mild leicester with nuts and dates in it. Strange but tasty and crumbly to the point of impossible.

Starter: Pea and pesto salad. Al loves peas. Al loves pesto. Al loves spinach and pine nuts. Al love having hot ciabatta on the side. 'Nuff said.

Main: Steak with potatoes and asparagus. Beautiful steak. A masterpiece. Marinated and cooked in such a way that yielded seared outside and beautifully pink inside (no red bloodiness, Brits, so you should still be salivating!). Apparently ceramic burners are the key. And good meat, naturally. Salty skinned baby potatoes with oninon strips baked crisp on top. Soft (not stringy or soggy) asparagus with some sort of Balsamic (I guess) dressing and caramelized (forgive the z) baby onions. Mmm... Baby vegetables. Just can't wait to get the full bang-for-the-buck from the crops. Delicious. Seconds worthy. Thirds worthy if I weren't saving room for another round of delights. And if I were shameless enough to do it after my seconds had already had the table waiting on my finish. It was all the talking I was doing. Really.

Dessert: Ginger and macadamia tart with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce. Damn. This desert made me feel like a terrible baker. Mild, fruity ginger. Light, crumbly, sweet pastry. Crunchy macadamia goodness. Vanilla ice cream (needs nothing more said about it, since it was good stuff and not the awful chemical own-brand guff that has sometimes passed my poor lips and lower intestine. [Couldn't resist]). Chocolate sauce, home made from good chocolate. The type that is so rich and goopy and delicious that it shuts you up and stops your from having too much of its calorific goodness. Brought a tear to the eye.

Drinks: Ice water, Perrier (sparkling water, for those in the dark), wine (white and red), and tea (milk, no sugar). Perfect to wash down the treats listed above. Sparkling water for a touch of class. Wines light and refreshing. Tea - not quite what I'm used to (damn you Les and Mike for upping my tea standards!) - but a welcome hot beverage to was down the dinner and sugar cookie. Also I don't think a 5th cup of coffee would've been good for me (these free refills in diners are deceptive, thank you Flo's!).

Company: Good banter.

You can just tell that the food was the high point of my day, can't you?

My final thoughts concern my lunch. A lasagne (as the dish is called in Italy and anywhere that respects the mighty dish, rather than lasagna which my American friend, Spell-Checker, prefers) wrap. Or a lasagnwrap if you will. It, unlike its cousin, the lasagnwich, is better eaten hot. This poses a problem as the filling will undoubtably burn your impatient mouth. The clever man plans ahead and allows said filling to cool unwrapped to an edible temperature, then wraps and consumes. Nice, but clearly inferior to the lasagnwich with or without bread. Indeed, the lasagnwich sets a high standard to which all other pasta based left-over dishes must aspire.

I urge you all to go a rediscover the lasagnwich lover within yourselves.

Courtesy Clerk to Aisle 15 Please...

Last few days have been the usual (except swimming 'cause it's cooler and the one day I went to soak in the hot tub it was closed and it was too cold to go for a swim in the cold pools) so I haven't been posting. Perhaps things will become interesting soon.

Today work was okay for the most part. What made it special was getting called (as the title suggests) to clean up an impressive technicolour belch. I use that disgusting terminology because of its aptness here. It looked something like a dart board, liquid, with lumps. What am I supposed to do about that?

Out come the 'Caution Wet Floor' signs to surround the obvious mess in front of the milk section. Cover the legal aspect first, eh? Then I glove up and collect my tools.

Mop + Bucket. Check.

Broom + Dustpan. Check.

Plastic and Paper Bags. Check.

SpillMagic. Check.

I'd never had to use the super-absorbent powder that is SpillMagic until today. The idea is that you sprinkle it on, watch it suck up all the moisture, then just sweep it away. The reality it that it makes a sludge that smears along the floor and sticks to the broom. Great.

After thoroughly sterilizing the floor I returned to bagging. Here the till person at my till was called by the manager (managing another till) and instructed to tell me to bag faster. I bag as fast as the groceries and bags allow me. It's not exactly my fault that not enough baggers are on to cover the monday evening rush (people don't like shopping on the weekends so they shop after work on monday, making it one of the most busy times in the week) and some are on break. I can't be in more than one place. I don't like to mistreat the food people have just selected and are about to pay for. Granted, I'm not a light speed packer, but big animals are usually slower, right?

Shortly after I got chucked out to collect carts. Fresh air and exercise. Making bucks. F***ing A (See Office Space).

Then Mexican for dinner. Gotta love it. I decided to try fish tacos, which seem to be a big thing. It's what it says on the box, folks. It's a taco. With fish. Was pretty damn tasty though...

Factotum

Went to a Japanese mall for dinner yesterday, had pork-egg and soba noodles. It was very, very Japanese. It's always nice to see these pure pockets of foreign culture in cities. Otherwise it's been work and rest. So let's talk about today's shift. I'm sure that'll enthrall y'all.

It was a 4.15-10pm shift - just short enough to deny me a lunch break (but they don't pay lunches, so it doesn't really matter). This was changed to a 4.15pm-12am shift. Then back to the original 10pm finish. Then back to the midnight finish where it settled. I was then coerced into helping the (service) deli clear out their display 'cause it was faulty and the meats and cheeses and salads had to spend the evening (and night) in the walk-in fridge. I have never handled so much meat in my life. Beef, porks, everything, you name it. They went on the bottom 'cause they were liable to get their juices all over the cheese if they went on top. Then all the salads on their stands. Except the olives. The poor olives were left behind. They're a hardier fruit I suppose.

Back to bagging until dinner break (BBQ chicken salad wrap in tomato wrap - yummy!) then got sent to the bakery section where I helped the bubbly young baker to ice her cakes, frost her cupcakes (and decorate them with stupid plastic things that totally cheapened the whole effect in my humble opinion), get cookies in and out of the oven, label, and set out the display. Just as we were finishing (talking about our nationality - more british [Irish, Scottish, English all mixed. Nobody seems to remember Wales here. But then nobody comes from Wales. Except Rhys Jones. And Tom Jones. And Catherine-married-that-old-guy-who-was-fun-in-those-films-that-totally-tried-to-be-Indiana-Jones-Zeta Jones] and german and native american. That's one person, not going to mention the Deli guy. Can't be bothered typing it all. You have two parents, figure it out. Anything less than a quarter and it stops counting.) a really confused (trying to be nice) woman comes and demands to have one of the display cakes. The ones for tomorrow. And refuses all the zillions of cakes on the racks. And takes ages with the bakery girl, sending her 'round the bend. Bakery girl relents, gives her the type she asks for. Then she asks me about it - she didn't get the one she pointed at, maybe this one is not chocolaty enough. I assure her that all the cakes are the same and even take the time to point out the chocolate layers in her cake. She asks if it is delicious. I tell her that, although I have not tried it personally, I hear it is top-notch stuff then head out to collect trolleys from all over the car park where the ever lazy Californians dump 'em. When I come back in, said cake is sitting at a till to go into the not-for-resale box. With a hand scape out of the side and a finger swipe in the icing. I will not describe the bad feelings I then experienced. Wasteful people annoy me. I know that I'm not perfect, but I try. I try not to do really stupid things that cost other people money too. She didn't pay for that. And wasted a whole cake that she forced the poor bakery person (who just wanted to get off her shift and get to a party, she was already well into overtime) to get. In fact, this reminds me of something...

A disease ravaging America. A horrendous crime spree. A depressing social comment.

The eating of food in the supermarket before paying.

Can you people not wait until that food is legally yours? What are you teaching your kids? Who the hell taught you that it was okay? Why do you do it? I know you pay for it eventually (not always though, see above) but until then IT IS NOT YOURS! Argh. This is making me angry. Enough.

The shift then finished out in usual style for a late one - good banter with the work mates and customers (including one that I recognise as a regular now 'cause he's funny and always good banter) and the odd jobs that get done at the end of the night. Interesting shift for me, probably not for all of you who have better things to do than read my blog. Yeah, you. You know I'm right. This reading has no literary merit. Go read a book.

In other news, my driver's license finally came in the post, in all its yellow glory. The picture is pretty bad though. Not as bad as my Costco, but worse than my recent passport photos. I look like a bum. Not that I don't usually look like a bum. You know what i mean.