Not really sure about the picture...

If you're wondering why every post lately has been about the trials of waitressing, it's because starting Boxing Day BP has had me working every day, all day, until I go back to school on the 7th. I get exactly one day off in that two-week period, and I'll probably be too tired to enjoy it.

I haven't even had time to play with my Christmas presents (new record player, Sega Genesis, CDs, Care Bear - they all look so lonely.)

Sad panda.

close-open

I got to work today to discover that last night's closer didn't do any of her closing duties, and thus I had to clean up after her even though I had closed UFC seven hours earlier. I'm sure it must have been out-of-control busy, but if I could have managed to get my store clean after UFC (I closed at the other location), then there's absolutely no reason that she couldn't.

When she got in (at 12; I started at 10:20), she complained about how busy it was the night before, and spent two hours bitching about other coworkers. I felt like I was babysitting.

I convinced the manager to let me leave at 3:00 instead of 8:00 (they didn't need me), so I crawled into bed and have been watching the first season of Criminal Minds ever since. Clearly, being a likable and reliable employee pays off.

The downside is that my parents aren't home and after 7 hours of watching Criminal Minds, I'm now certain there is someone outside my house waiting to kill me. Is there a BAU in Canada?

3:16

I just got home from work, and I have to be back in 7 hours to work a 10-hour shift.

Fuck that.

Customs of tipping

Today at work, we had an explosion of people. It got so busy that I actually forgot about one of my tables. 100% forgot. I put in their order and then didn't talk to them again. My manager at one point asked me if the table was mine, and I told her no. I didn't bring them their food or refill their drinks or say goodnight or anything (I did make them some killer hot chocolate, though.)

They left me a 20% tip.

When I realized what I had done, and what they left me, I was so upset. I felt like the worst waitress ever, wanted to cry and tried to give the five bucks to my manager, who had been taking care of the table (she refused.) How does stuff like this even happen?

Moreover, I have come to the conclusion that everyone has their own opinions regarding tips. People, I've decided, learn at a young age what is appropriate to tip (probably from their parents) and stick to that, and it will apparently take a lot to change their mind. I'll get some tables that, no matter how stellar my service is, they don't feel they need to leave me more than 3%. On the other hand, I'll get people like I had today, who (other than the killer Hot Chocolate) got the worst service ever, and they still left me a generous tip.

Then I thought about how I've always been a firm believer that it's necessary to leave a solid 15% tip, and what it would take for me to leave less. I could only come up with two things that would cut a tip: 1) If the server was rude and 2) If the server was ignoring me, and very clearly doing nothing productive (ie. "I need a refill and she's been talking with the hostess for 20 minutes," not "I need a refill and she's tornadoing around the restaurant trying to maintain her other 7 tables.") I would never penalize a server for being too busy, or if my food was made wrong, but I know a number of people who would.

The custom of tipping is interesting to me, mostly because it seems like such a cut-and-dry issue and yet people get so worked up and set in their ways regarding it.

We still haven't decorated our tree

Sweet

My main goal this year was to finish just one class with a mark in the A* range, because I've never done that before (discounting Info and Vis, which a chimp could have aced) and I just checked online and I scored an A- in TWO of my classes.

I totally kicked some English and History ass.

yumm

Hannah made orange chocolate brownies during our baking day and I have pretty much been devouring them for the past couple days. I should probably stay away from them for a while. I'm eating the last one for breakfast right now.

I think if I'm ever on Death Row, I'd like these brownies and a glass of milk to be my last meal.

three sleeps

I went to my Uncle Bob's for Christmas dinner with my family (mom's side) tonight, which is always my favourite part of the holiday season, and until tonight it definitely didn't even seem like Christmas.

Normally, I am always really excited about Christmas. When I was younger, I loved it, and even after I learned the truth about Santa, I still loved the time of year. All the cheeriness and the giving and family getting together, not to mention the ridiculous amounts of holiday kitsch makes me exceptionally happy. Seriously, the tackier the decorations, the better. I don't care how nice you say the Canadian Tire trees are, with their themes and their colour schemes, I still say a tree isn't a REAL Christmas tree unless it's adorned with dozens of Popsicle-stick ornaments made by little kids. When I was about three, I made an ornament out of file labels and lick'em stick'em stickers...we still put it up every year. I love Christmas.

However, this was the first Christmas where getting ready for it all actually seemed like work. I only have six presents to buy but I still haven't managed to finish. Between the half-dozen functions I have to attend, stressing about getting through my exams and getting just raped by shifts at the restaurant, I feel like I haven't had a chance to sit back and enjoy Christmas. We haven't even decorated our Christmas tree yet (unless you count the tinsel that is still stuck to it from when we packed it away last year.)

Is this what growing up is like? Things you love to do suddenly take a backseat to things you have to do. I'm 20, but I still feel like I'm too young to not totally revel in the Christmas season. Maybe things will pick up again when I'm married and I can share the magic with my kids. Christmas just doesn't seem like Christmas this year, and for no other reason than I seem to be just rushing right past it.

I think my new year's resolution will be to take time to enjoy the things I used to love, before I got too busy for them. I haven't even read a book for pleasure in months. I used to read constantly, and now my bookshelves are filled with dozens, if not hundreds, of books that I haven't gotten the chance to read. I guess they have something in common with the still-in-storage Christmas decorations.

post script: I will be 21 in exactly one month. My life is going by too fast.

The Next Generation

Today, I fought through ice and snow to get to work fully expecting that no reasonable human being out go through all that just for pizza. Surprisingly, it was quite busy. I was serving this family with three adorable kids, aged probably 6, 4 and 2. After they were finished, I was cleaning up their table and found this left for me by one of the kids:


If you can't read the purple at the bottom, it says: "On the other side of this page is nature in the future if we all stop polluting."

On the other side was this:



It was so freaking cute, I wanted to cry.

Bottom line is this: if a six-year-old can take action to help the environment, so can you.

BP

In the restaurant biz, there are a lot of shitty things that can get you down (lousy tips, incorrect orders, fights with the kitchen staff, lunatic customers, etc.) I usually try to let it roll right off my back because I figure if I didn't stay positive, I would end up just miserable and bitter all the time. Plus, most of the time there's nothing I can do about it anyway.

Today I was talking about this with my manager, who has a similar outlook, and I told her about how I served a party of 8 and they all left me just horrendous tips, but it didn't bother me too much because I was pleasant and polite and nothing went wrong with their food. I figured these people are just cheap by nature, and there's nothing I could have done to change that. She agreed, and said I'd probably make awesome tips on my next table, and it would all work itself out in the end.

I only served three more tables after that and each one of them left me at least 20% (which is definitely not the norm.) It was the nicest thing ever. It's reassuring when stuff like this happens, mostly because it helps me deal with the really awful things that sometimes happen (ie. being left a handful of pennies as a tip because someone's lasagna "was weird"; being screamed at in front of the whole restaurant because the kitchen made a plate of nachos wrong (after having apologized profusely and offering to have them remade and the bill taken care of); working a nine-hour close shift to find that all of the other servers slipped out without doing any of their side duties or even cleaning their section...you get the picture.) I just wanted to share my nice day.

In a slightly less nice, but more hilarious story...

My restaurant is about three minutes away from my house, but they decided this weekend they wanted me to work at the other location, which is all the way across town. Yesterday, my first day there, I was crouching down to get something and one of the other servers dropped a steak knife on my face. I still have a mark on my lip.

What a warm welcome I received.

With this blog, I can record my every thought...

I can't sleep. And my Mighty Mouse is acting weird, which is interfering with my Solitaire.

They aren't all winners.

Mine takes pictures, plays Millionaire, and can record my various rants - What can yours do?

So, as inspired by Derek's talk of blogs, I've decided to make more of an effort to write. As a means of forcing myself into it, I've even made Blogger my homepage, so we'll see how it goes. I'll try to keep the useless rants to a minimum. Starting tomorrow.

So I was driving home today in the parking lot that was the QEW and flipping radio stations trying to find something decent (Okay. I was looking for the new Fergie song. I'll be honest.) and I stumbled across The Strombo Show, which was quite entertaining, as far as Edge personalities go. Anyhow, Bob, one of the hosts, posed the following question:

Is it rude to talk on your cell phone while riding the bus?

He thinks it is, but this guy was met with a ton of opposition. All but one person who called in told him that he is wrong, and chatting on your cellie while riding the TTC is, indeed, okay.

I felt the need to tell the Internet that I'm on Team Bob and all those callers are wildly incorrect. There are few things that irritate me as much as a poorly placed cell phone call. (Irritate is too light a word - listening to Random 16-year-old talk about this week's crush sends me into a blind rage.) When I am on the GO train, I just want to sit in silence, do my crossword puzzle, occasionally crack open a school book and mind my own business (see previous entry on GO etiquette.)

It all comes down to the fact that GO and TTC riders are sharing a very small common space, so the personal bubble becomes a huge issue. Not only do I not want people touching me, or really making eye contact with me, but the sound waves emitting from the extremity attached to their cell phone are invading my personal space. I feel a mild sense of violation, which often leaves me with a scowl on my face.

I can accept that if one is riding the train with a friend, it's unrealistic to expect them to sit silently for an hour, so a quiet conversation between two people is only mildly disruptive, but what has the world come to when someone can't sit still for an hour (or, in the case of bus rides, 10 minutes) without feeling the overwhelming need to talk to someone they likely saw no more than 12 minutes ago.

While we're at it, I have taken the time to compile a list of places that Emily Post would deem cell use unacceptable (excluding obvious places, like classrooms, churches and movie theatres.)

• Buses, Trains, Streetcars, etc.
  
• Restaurants
  
• Stores (exception being if you're walking quickly through a mall)
• Checkout counters
• Libraries
• Anywhere where you're sitting/standing within three feet of another person
• Anytime when you're in the company of another person (you should be paying attention to them, not a piece of plastic.)
  

As Bob pointed out during his rant, unless it's an emergency or a pragmatic call ("Okay, I'm almost here." "Hey, I'm leaving now - want me to pick up anything from the store?" "Hey man, I just drove past your house and it's on fire. What's up with that?") it probably isn't necessary for you to be talking to them at that very second. If you absolutely have to, you should excuse yourself to a more secluded area, and finish the call as quickly and as quietly as possible.



For the record, I do own a cell phone. I'm pretty certain I couldn't get along without it.

There go tomorrow's tips

I went to an Office party in a sketchy area of downtown Toronto, and upon returning to my car, I found a parking ticket on my windshield. The infraction? Remaining in a "two hour free parking zone" for two hours and nine minutes.

Now, I'm not denying that I deserve the fine, but really - don't cops in downtown Toronto have better things to go at 10:30 p.m. than issue parking tickets for a nine-minute infraction? I'd expect something like this in Burlington, but I'd think Toronto police would have more to do to keep them busy.

panda cam

I am watching a baby panda toss and turn in a dark room all by himself. I think he wants his mommy, but she's no where to be seen. He doesn't even have a pillow or a blanket.

It's the saddest thing I've seen in a while.

Commuter Blues

10:52 a.m.

After my less-than-luxurious experience living in Toronto’s more appropriately priced accommodations (ie. Fruit fly infested student co-op for the low low price of $499.99/month) I decided to move back home to good, clean, never-done-me-no-wrong Burlington and commute. I grossly underestimated the intricacies involved with commuting. It’s no walk in the park. Considering never in my childhood did I even have to endure riding a bus to school, I was terribly uninformed of the seedy world of commuting. It’s been six days (plus weekends) of commuting and here are my findings:

Day One: Upon arriving at the Appleby GO station a smart 20 minutes before the train was due to depart for The City, I was saddened to realize that no one had informed me of what I’ll call the “First of the Month Riot” in which everyone who commutes lines up at 4 a.m. (similar to a U2 concert or the opening of the Harry Potter movies) to get their monthly passes. I had no idea. I waited in line for 35 minutes and missed my train, waited another half-hour for the next one and arrive in The City approximately five minutes before my first class of my first day of Second Year started. Then I was herded onto the subway, tunneled four stops and then resorted to sprinting to campus and then to my classroom which, as Murphy’s Law dictates, was on the fourth floor of a four-floor building and the elevators were no where to be seen. Next, just like in the movies, I burst into my classroom out of breath, beet red and being stared at by all the prudent students who had arrived on time and were not foiled by the Greater Toronto Area transit system. “I missed my train,” I stammered sheepishly as I took my walk of shame to the back of the class and tried to pretend that I was not there.

Day Three: It’s a Thursday and I have exactly one hour of class and, because the GO schedule is not conducive to a university student, about 3.5 hours of potential commuting (I am including wait time in the commuting estimate. ie. Time spent waiting for the train, waiting for the subway, walking to class and waiting outside said classroom because the train deposited me there 45 minutes before class actually started.) Being the problem-solving go-getter that I am, I decided that I would drive in; assuming that most of the traffic would be over by the time I left at nine (most people start work at nine, right?) Just to be safe and appease my mother, I left my house at 8:30 figuring I would have plenty of time to get there before my 10:10 class. I was wrong. I didn’t get off the Gardiner Expressway until 10:10 (presumably when my 19th Century Literature professor would begin handing out the course outlines) and it took me another 15 minutes to get to campus (about three blocks, two kilometers at most) and another 10 minutes of looking frantically for a place to park. At this point, I knew I had at least a five minute walk to class ahead of me and another day of shame from walking in inexcusably late, so, frustrated and cursing, I turned my ’97 Lumina right around and drove right home, a drive which took me less than 25 minutes. Next Thursday, I will be taking the train.

Day Four: Monday. I manage to fool the train into not sabotaging my efforts at a post-secondary education but somehow get lost in the underground PATH. I ended up in the TD Canada Trust building. Did, however, manage to reroute myself and arrive at class on time (early, even!)

Random observations of commuters:
- The “veterans” seem to know exactly where the train will stop on the landing, despite there being no written sign, and cluster in groups (approx. fifteen feet apart) where the train doors will halt and open. They are always right. How do they do it?
- Everyone listens to headphones or sleeps, thus not hearing the conductor announcing stops, and yet all seem to know instinctively when to rise and get off the train (more interesting on the return trip, as it’s pretty obvious when the train hits Union Station but not so at say, Port Credit.)
- Extreme measures are taken to not come into contact with anyone else on the train. If possible, you find a four-seat bay that is completely empty and claim it for your own, sitting in the seat closest to the aisle (thus, people would have to step over you to get to another seat, which is deterring. Note: Many move to the window seat once the train begins to move.) and if possible, fill the surrounding seats with your personal property, to act as a deterrent to potential seatmates. If an empty bay is not possible, then find one with only one other person and sit diagonally across from them. Avoid all eye contact. In the unfortunate event that you must sit directly across or next to someone (or worse, both) you compact your body into the smallest possible size, put on headphones and again, avoid eye contact.

Day Six. Today. Wednesday. As Ryerson decided to give me a four-hour break in between my classes, I am currently sitting in a Starbucks (stereotypically updating my blog, or rather, a temporarily placed Word doc) waiting for both a bookstore next-door to open so I can spend even more money on my education and for Anna to call so we can meet for lunch and I can have some of the human interaction that I lacked on the train.

Random thought: I must learn how to hack into others’ wireless networks. There’s only so much I can do in this Starbucks without being able to tap into Facebook Scrabble and the 905 board. I can’t even update my blog in a timely manner. At least I have Macbook with me. I suppose I could always do some reading, but how fun is that?

Random thought #2: The Village is a really nice area. I wish I lived here. It’s safe and clean and there are rainbows on the street signs.

There's no turning back now...

I like wearing high heels to work because the click-click-click of the heel sound hitting the tile floor makes me feel like a grown up.

What makes me feel less like a grown up is the fact that I've been too busy to mend tearsin my clothes, so currently every piece of clothing I'm wearing has a hopefully unnoticible, but still very much there, hole.

vows and such

So I was checking the classifieds on thespec.com looking for a new job and for whatever reason decided to browse the personals (to mock, obvi.)

Of course I found the usual "M 50s seeks bride" ads, but there were also a ton of married men seeking married/single women for a "discreet" relationship. Is this what monogamous relationships have come to? I had long given up on the idea that when two people get married they live happily ever after, free of problems and hot secretaries, but this is too much. Shouldn't people have to work to have an affair? Is it so difficult to find someone to cheat on your wife with now that you just put an ad in the paper and take whatever lonely spinster comes along?

Why not just go see a hooker?

Microserfs (home building edition)

Working in an office full of cubicals really does a number on your morale.

This morning I relocated to my fifth desk in three months. I've given up even making myself comfortable and am not living out of a banker's box containing my meager posessions (file folders, grapefruit hand lotion, sweater, water bottle, apple sauce, pens, etc.) topped off with a turquoise origami mouse welcoming me "Home Sweet Home!" with a origami word bubble taped to his right ear.

You'd think I'd be frustrated and melancholic, but today I get to use the label maker, so things are looking up.

In the car, on the way to work

Steve: (driver's seat, on the phone) Yeah, I'm just heading over to the office to drop off some paperwork and crap, I'll be at the site soon.
Melissa: (passenger seat) Am I the paperwork or the crap being dropped off?
Steve: The crap.
Melissa: Nice.

Oh, family.

Lord of the Fruit Flies

Fruit flies have completely taken over my house. I'm thinking of moving into a Motel 6 and signing the house over to their King.

Big Girls Don't Cry Over Bad Grammar

I really enjoyed the new Fergie single until I noticed a glaring grammar error in the chorus. The same, terrible faux pas repeated several times until by the end of the song I could think of nothin else. (Bonus points if you can name the mistake.)

I really need to get back to school where I can surround myself with people who, by nature, obsess about grammar.

Nothing Ever Stays

There's something nice about coming home from a long day at work to find a package addressed to you, especially when it's something you'd forgotten you'd ordered, and are thus even more surprised.

Eating mac and cheese while listening to the CD contained in said package is even nicer.

I move to abolish email and facebook. Especially facebook. I miss the days of getting actual mail. Granted, I'm not too old, so my memories of receiving mail are mostly of Hello Kitty stationary, lick'n'stick stickers and pen pals. I still miss it.

Surfin' USA

In approx. 34 minutes I will depart to Sunny California for one week's vacation, or as I like to call it: Operation World Takeover (colon) The Golden State Episode; Surfing, Bridges and Seth Cohen.

In preparation, I have taken all the necessary precautions. Behold, the California Survival Kit, containing:

- Seasons 2-4 of the OC, fitted snuggly in my iPod.
- Various California-inspired reading material (the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Microserfs, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, etc)
- Dozens of songs about California, to be arranged on the plane, to create the perfect sunshiny road mix
- Camera and new batteries, to document any important events (Golden Gate Bridge, Venice, meeting Zach Braff (if only))
- The magic pink sunglasses
- Sunscreen (SPF 55), to be reapplied continually
- Numerous "hip" guidebooks (including two issues of Spin) to charter me through the cities
- A teddy bear (to protect me in South Central)

Hopefully I haven't forgotten anything.

three weeks in

I am an envelope stuffing machine

paper mooning it

Upon learning that my little iPod (Lucky, 11 months old, white 60GB video) was sick, I promptly wrapped him up and brought him in to Costco for a full refund. I used my winnings to buy a brand new black 80GB iPod (which I have named Moesha. I'm still deciding whether or not that's hilarious and clever, or just a little racist.)

And, since iPods have gone down in price since I bought Lucky (who, since we're being totally honest, was a trade in from a 60 GB photo) a year ago, so now, not only did I walk out with a brand new iPod, but with $70 in Costco credit that I put towards a gorgeous new 22" flatscreen monitor (My 6-year-old 15" CRT monitor is sitting sadly on my bedroom floor, awaiting his fate.)

I have totally got this whole Costco thing figured out.

It's beautiful outside, from what I can tell in here

Anyone have a job so terrible that it reminds you why you chose to pursue post-secondary school?

I do. Enter Melissa's Summer Job, 2007. Hell for $12 an hour.

Okay, so it's not really that bad. A lot of my friends are doing things that are much worse, but a few of the tasks I've been given are so terribly boring I have actually started to blank out for an hour or two at a time. This makes me nervous.

Also, I've spent the last two weeks or so arranging by hand thumbnail sheets of about a zillion Illustrator files, and only today learned Photoshop can do this for me. I have three sheets left. Grrr.

childhood

For the first time in about a decade, the ice cream truck drove down my street, ringing its bell.

My sister and I got sprang into action, grabbed some change and ran outside like we did when we were kids to get some ice cream. Sure, we had ice cream in the freezer, but it's by far inferior to any ice cream that comes from a truck with a bell.

We reached the driveway grinning like idiots and watched the woman driving the truck look at us, smile at us, wave, and continue driving despite our attempts to mime "Yes, we want ice cream!"

We saw her a few blocks away, selling ice cream to some little kids. The moment has passed.

It was more disappointing than the time I mistook the knife sharpening truck for the ice cream truck. (sidenote: only ice cream selling vehicles should be allowed to ring a bell in the summer.)

one down

Dear First Year Journalism,

It's been a trip. Thanks for the good times. See you in September.

Love,
Melissa Wilson

p.s. Exams: I'm a nice girl, please go easy on me.

Maybe I'll just hide her rice

I might actually kill my roommate tonight.

How difficult is it to simply not leave open flame unattended? It's simple common sense, and it greatly decreases the likelyhood that I will come home one day to find the apartment has burned down and all that remains is a black, charred mess of macbook, panda and several dozen band t-shirts.

And yet today, after several polite reminders and even more snarky purple post-its, I still found three lit candles wobbling uneasily on top of the toilet, mere inches away from the ugly silk plant (that was there when I moved in.)

Okay so, I know actual murder is out of the questioning, but is bludgeoning really so bad?

What if I put her hand into a bowl of warm water while she sleeps?

irony.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday I was stuck inside writing an English essay. I had my blinds closed so I wouldn't be too depressed about the 21 degree weather I was missing out on.

Today my essay is done and it's below zero.

The game

I have written about three more lines for my essay, but I did invent a new game in which I sit in my desk chair, push off from the wall and slide across the room as fast as I can. Granted, it's a small room, so I can only slide about seven feet, if you include push-off space. Still, it was fun until I banged my elbow against the door.

I call it

Melissa Wilson's Pink Chair Game of Danger (colon) The Reason, Among Others, Why She Will Not Be Getting Her Security Deposit Back.

Wanna play?

And the hits just keep on coming.

I was up until 3:30 last night trying to finish my English essay (I did not) and got less than a cat nap due to the monstrous fan that had taken up residence in my hallway to try to dry the carpet following the Great Apartment Flood of 2007 that occurred earlier that day.

I pulled myself out of bed at 8:00 to attend what I like to refer to as "The World's Most Worthless Hour Whose Only Good Comes From The Fact That I Can Get A Semi-Perfect Attendance Record."

Upon returning home, readyto kick into full essay-writing gear when a friend of mine (naively) informed me of a, shall we say, SNAFU, regarding a show that I have booked for May. A couple hours, some choice curse words and several tears of frustration later, I had begun to straighten it out and was ready to start working on my essay.

Instead, however, I gulped down a terribly burnt tuna sandwich and answered numerous inane questions from maintenance regarding GAF 2k7.

Exhausted, haggard, an hour away from my night class and no further along in my essay than I was at 3:30 a.m., I reached into my refrigerator to grab a container filled with Redbull left over from the last time I'd pulled an all-nighter (this time, I'm planning ahead.)

Turns out I'd finished the Redbull, and all the container possessed was some apple juice from early last year.

Great.

The start of something big

I thought I would start a blog (for the eighteen millionth time) just as a way to write more frequently over the summer since I won't be forced to write story upon story about bar brawls and bad weather in school.

Entry numero uno: Currently I am putting off writing a paper for my Sociology of Crime class by customizing my profile on www.fitday.com. I'm also drinking a fruit smoothie.

Okay, okay I hear you. Next entry will be much better.