A few days ago, it was a mighty strange time at my place of work. That is to say my mobile office with a big metal bin on the back.

The story starts with my name apparently falling out of the work schedule for some unknown reason. This resulted in the strange situation of being scheduled to work, yet not being assigned a position. I was rendered nomadic!

Anyways, since the day was shaded in grey, which indicates workage, I showed up at the office. Then, by some bizarre coincidence, one of the other drivers didn't! Some kind of scheduling mishap, as he was only then on his way back from his vacation.

That resulted in an empty driver position, which I was given. It was made weirder by the fact that the driver I was replacing was supposed to be certifying another new hire in the ways of the junk that day. So two new guys were rolling out for a regular work day, one of them uncertified.

Anyways, we're all cool and set to go, but we have no truck, because drivers are supposed to pick up their trucks from somewhere in the city in the morning and bring them in. So the truck was still sitting at it's parking spot, all far away and stuff!

In the end, we got assigned a truck parked at the office, designation: TOR1. The first truck to be used at the Toronto franchise, hence the oldest truck. Old Glory, they call it. There are stories.

Anyways we get our shenanigans together, roll out in TOR1, and book up to Vaughan, the "city above Toronto". I was about to exit the highway and hit up York Metal to do some good old fashioned recycling when Old Glory started giving me some trouble.

First, I couldn't steer. The wheel just wouldn't go, and I had to force it really hard to manage what could only in the loosest sense be referred to as "steering". Then my navigator Mike noticed all this smoke pouring out the backside. I managed to get that sucker off the highway and lurched to the Esso across from the metal yard, which is when I noticed the breaks weren't working either!

So I try my very best to slow and steer even though both are responding extremely sluggishly, and pull into the gas station, where I immediately cut the engine. We piled out and saw that Old Glory was leaking all manner of fluid, and popping the hood revealed that the engine belt had come off.

Neither one of us really knows shit about vehicle mechanics, other than how to open the hood and check a few of the simpler things, so we were scratching our heads about this development. I called it in and we were told to call up a cab to take us to another truck, which, ironically, was the one that was previously parked too far to get to from the office. They called a tow truck for Old Glory.

The cab finally arrives and we slide on over to TOR7, which gives us a decent ride for the rest of the day, despite the fact that we were running two hours behind. Oh, and at one point the load we had on was apparently too much for the hydraulic lift, and we had to hand bomb half of the junk before it finally got it's wussy act together and hoisted the rest of the shit off.

I'm now certain that I've picked the one job where each day is going to be full of wacky adventures.

Labels: live, work

It was really quite fun,
A month out of work!
But the cash equaled none,
A troublesome quirk.

So out I did go,
On the job hunt.
Searching high and low,
For work as a grunt.

Far did I walk,
'Til my feet were quite tired.
On doors did I knock,
Looking to be hired.

Employment bound,
I worried for my debt.
When none could be found,
I turned to the Net.

To my great joy,
There I did find,
Those who would employ,
And lift me from my bind.

It's manual labour,
A company with spunk!
Helping out our neighbours,
With their piles of junk.

It will be hard work,
And some hauling of trash,
But there is one perk,
A pocket full of cash!

Labels: work, write

No more lineups, no more SKUs.
No more coffee that didn't brew.

No more pitchers, no more spoons.
No more crazy afternoons.

No more shots, no more glasses.
No more whiny, impatient masses.

No more milk, no more steam.
No more empty whipping cream.

No more lactaid, no more soy.
No more customer whipping boy.

No more blending, no more Frapps.
No more requests for Tim's Iced Capps.

No more old grinds weighing tons.
No more twelve bag garbage runs.

No more mop, no more broom.
No more unclean, gross washroom.

No more service, it's time to stop.
No more working at a coffee shop.

Labels: work, write

Today a big bloody blot splattered on the otherwise pristine document of my day. It took the form of a small woman whose shrill vocalizations nearly took down my deflector shields (which are quite sturdy indeed).

Imagine, if you will, a busy coffee shop, where gratuitous amounts of un-caffeinated human meat units seek to end their current caffeine-deficient states and go about their jittery stimulant-assisted lives. It's loud. It's hectic. And I am making drinks at ye olde bar, a furious flurry of flailing limbs marking cups, pumping syrups, pulling shots, and of course, steaming and pouring bovine extract.

Into my ears floats the horrid sound of a customer trying to do something other than stand damn silently and wait for their drink before leaving my sphere of awareness.

Old Lady: "On the quad...!"

Me: "..."

Old Lady: "Oh, on the quad expresso!"

Me: "...what?"

Old Lady: "On the quad expresso, can I have it extra foamy? There's foam on expresso right?"

As I pondered her poor grammar, incorrect pronunciation and odd request, it occurred to me that I had no quad espresso in my drink queue. So I grabbed a short cup and quickly tapped the double shot button twice to pull her some shots and get her out of my face. As I did this, I explained to her:

Me: "Espresso has a crema on it, but I don't control the amount or consistency of it with this machine."

Old Lady: "I can't have it extra foamy?"

Till: "TALL LATTE!"

Me: "Tall latte."

Old Lady: "What?"

Me: "Look, would you like me to put some milk foam on top of it to make it more foamy?"

Old Lady: "Oh, I'd like that very much!"

Me: "Okay, no problem."

At this point, the shots have finished, so I take the cup down from the machine and start to scoop some foam into the cup.

Old Lady: "Is it decaf?"

Me: "...was it supposed to be?"

Old Lady: "Yes, I'd like it decaf please."

My eye started twitching at this point. I abruptly dumped the shots into the tray on the machine.

Old Lady: "Ohhhh...."

Me: "Don't worry about it, decaf coming up."

Till: "GRANDE CARAMEL MACCHIATO!"

Me: "Grande Caramel Macchiato..."

Old Lady: "What? I don't want caramel."

Me: "What? No, that's something else."

Old Lady: "Oh."

The decaf shots finished at this point, and I grabbed the cup off the machine again, getting ready to put some foam on it.

Old Lady: "Oh, it's a paper cup?"

Me: "What?"

Old Lady: "Do I have to have a paper cup?"

Till: "DOPPIO ESPRESSO!"

Me: "Doppio espresso..."

Old Lady: "No, I want a quad expresso."

Me: "No, that was something else! Look, do you want a for-here cup?"

Old Lady: "Oh yes, I'd like that very much!"

At this juncture I started wishing that I could slap customers in the face without fear of consequence. I silently left the bar to go grab a for-here short cup (which is like a little tea cup) from the shelf around the corner. Upon my return to the bar:

Old Lady: "Oh, is that the only cup you have?"

Me: "What? Why?"

Old Lady: "You don't have any mugs?"

At this point I did something that I've never really done before while at work. I openly glared at a customer. I stormed off to get a for-here grande cup (which is a mug) from around the corner, then came back to the bar in silence and poured the four cursed decaf shots into it from the paper cup.

Old Lady: "Oh, thank you!"

Till: "SHORT CINNAMON DOLCE LATTE!"

Old Lady: "Wow! It sure is loud in here!"

Me: "Short Cinnamon Dolce Latte..."

Old Lady: "I bet you like to go home after work and enjoy the silence!"

This was where I pulled out the deadpan gaze. I then started to put a scoop of 2% foam on the top of her quad espresso.

Old Lady: "Oh, can I have the foam in a separate cup?"

Literally seconds away from leaping over the counter and throttling an old lady, I think I did a pretty good job of diverting that negative energy to simple teeth grinding, as I scooped a bit of foam into a for here short cup and sent her on her way. I think I might have let out an ear-splitting howl of discontent should she have then asked for the foam in a for-here cup. Luckily, what little sanity I had left was spared as she wandered off, apparently pleased.

All because she wanted a for-here quad espresso macchiato in a grande mug.

Labels: live, rant, work