Working at a restaurants is every bit as glamours and every bit as sucky as you think it would be. I get to talk with the owners. THE. OWNERS. You know, the ones who worked with Wolfgang Puck and everything. And they are awesome, loud and obnoxious, and totally fun. Of course, the phrase "too many chefs in the kitchen" comes into play a lot in my world when everybody tries to huddle into the broom closet that is my office.
I can see my rib bones now and I don't think I like it very much. I mean, I like it because hey! I'm losing weight! Hooray! But I don't like it because it looks kind of gross. I think I need more muscle definition because seeing the skin move across my bones? Ew. Also - I am realizing that my thorax is huge. Perhaps this is why I'm naturally loud - there's a lot of space for sound to go resonating in.
There was a shooting about two blocks away from work today. I found out about it only when I got home and checked my flist and it was posted on one of the sf bay communities. I totally didn't hear anything about it and nobody talked about it either at work. But then, my office is down in the catacombs, the labyrinth, the dungeon of the building, so who knows.
I haven't heard from The Sak yet, but it's only Monday. I did get a call from a place saying they got my resume and would like me to come in for an interview on Wednesday or Thursday, so I will call them tomorrow and hopefully will be able to set something up on Wednesday morning so I can still get down to Davis to hang out.
The problem with working part time is that you work odd days in a row. I worked Sunday, today, then tomorrow, then not until Friday. Days start to lose all meaning. I caught myself from asking Kevin how his day at work was on Sunday when I came home from Salt House. My weekend now usually falls in the middle of everybody else's week, which makes hanging out a little difficult.
More tales of the muni: Today I was late for work because my train was late arriving and then was, quite possibly, THE SLOWEST TRAIN IN THE WORLD. Then they made us get off the train right before west portal, telling us to get on another train (one that was completely packed and I couldn't get into the doors) only to pull up to west portal itself and have everybody who was originally on that train get back on. It was fine for the rest of the ride.
Also - coming home on BART last night, this guy had a DOG in the train. And this dog? Took a huge and smelly dump on the seat. It was only about three seats up from me and holy god. So the guy somewhat cleans up the mess, shoves his dog into a large backpack to smuggle her off as he gets off at the next stop, leaving behind a disgusting aroma. I vacated to the other side of the train where you couldn't smell it and counted down the stops until Balboa.