Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Single Breasted Warbler

I am gutted.....a few hundred grams of my best friend is missing! That’s a whole lot of goodness gone. Even though it was infected.

J looked resplendent in her pink plaid pyjamas perched up in Ward 20 at Public hospital, her image incongruent with the previous days harrowing experience. After being injected with something nuclear , she was then wheeled unceremoniously (no fanfare) into a room to await her fate. Small talking till she ran out of words she then awoke to a gap in her bra. No body bandage, no hallucinatory drugs , no bosom.
Like the true soldier she is, she wore her pain on the inside and presented her usual bright sunny disposition that draws people like moths to the flame, like sailors to the sirens, like bees to the get the idea.

Wheeled back to her ward and deposited into “Anita’s” position she was lucky she didn’t get anything else removed or added on as she was in the plastic surgery area. Once that wrong had been righted she then had to face her next battle....the food.

Metabolic mush played havoc with her tender constitution giving her more nausea than being sucked into a centrifugal force like water in a revolving bucket. Several anti nausea pills later and she was almost ready to face her cottage pie as opposed to salmonella on a stick aka chicken satay. What don’t they know about bland there and the recuperative stomach? AND the bowls they give you to catch the stuff are small and unstable as one other patient conveniently demonstrated in the night.

If the op doesn’t get you the post op care will.

Cafe Chic - pronounced Chick

My brief but fulfilling career as a waitress is over. I am pleased to report that nine days of subservience did me no harm. Serving whilst was pleasant enough is not actually my calling.

I have a new found respect for wait staff and the work they do. It is not easy juggling large angry mobs and even angrier ones in the kitchen.

The Green Room was my cafe of choice where I pretended to a large and loyal group of industrial area workers that I actually knew what I was doing. The beaded sweat and blank stare may have been a giveaway to the contrary.

My loyal and adept barista collaborator Maddie, taught me the ways of the youth and how to remain calm under attack. She handled the regulars with ease, whilst knocking out hot drinks at will and only dousing me with hot chocolate chocolate once! It was from behind and cold at the time and she did try to (unsuccessfully) remove it from my person which only made it look more menacing.

The kitchen staff/owners were so hospitable...until they got to know me....then all bets were off. We were on swearing terms by day four. As long as they had their cabinet full and their catering delivered they were other times when you may have mistakenly written an order wrong or forgotten one, they began baring their teeth and snarling with unusual amounts of saliva visible. That's not hygienic!

Having tested the waters of hospitality I can now tick that off the big lists of
"haven't done that" and move on to one of the many other options on the list. Am trying springmaking in early January for a week.

This work experience thing is working for me.....

Friday, December 4, 2009

Officially Old!

I am now the proud owner of an 18 yr old daughter! Jesus H old does that make me? Freakin ancient....if you believe their press. Of which of course I don't and to prove just that have taken up residence in a local cafe pretending to be a barista/front of cafe staff. I have the offical low slung black apron to prove it. Mentally tallying up coffees, muffins and chicken wraps in quick succession to ten plus long queues whilst simultaneously smiling sweetly and running my fingers fluently over the abacus beads.

Working a job, especially one you have no training in just two weeks before Christmas is not an experience I would recommend for the faint hearted. Adrenalin has been called upon in copious quantiites repeatedly throughout the day. Christmas tasks dreamily anticipated have taken on a frenzied fervour. A Christmas cake making expedition turned into a pressurized taunting task as dollars worth of pre soaked and chopped fruit lay about my pantry begging for four hours of baking. After a marathon effort of evenly distributing copious amounts of toxic fruit into baking trays and then pushed into a slow oven, whatever the hell that is....obviously not fast and not so obviously 150 degrees as I thought but maybe slower than that. Anyway, the festive treat maybe a little smoky in flavour and a little quicker in its step. Bah humbug.

That topped with a celebration of the eighteen years sinced the famed pushing of the first offspring via the birth canal at a rapid pace of knots made for a busy week. An obligatory sharing of raw meat on an outdoor burning instrument amid the clanging of a number of alcoholic beverages saw that celebration celebrated.

Second offspring calling now for me to attend to one of its every need so must away. In the meantime......If you are interested....
check this out... Awesome photo murals for your kids bedrooms etc.