Flashing Lights and Uniforms

Oh hello Mr. Police Officer! Are we breaking the law? Causing a disturbance? In need of assistance? Oh, what's that? You don't know. You didn't find out. You just kept shining bright lights at our car. Please, grow a pair and use those words you learned in elementary school. If you don't want to go to the bother of getting out of your car, then leave us alone, please and thank you.

The best part about is, I still don't know if I was breaking the law or not. I know that I wasn't causing a disturbance. I'm almost positive he ran our plates. And then he shined his brights at us for a while. Maybe as a sign that he wanted us to leave. But we were just on the street...right across from my apartment...and we aren't under 18, so there's no curfew to worry about...who knows. The police officer finally drove off, and I waved at him. Because I am THAT guy. In truth, I like waving at police officers. And I like talking to them. I think it's important to know the men and women who keep our laws. And I think it is a great tragedy that our cities have grown so big that it is nearly impossible to know the lawmen. 

Sometimes, I dream that I live in a movie. You know, the ones where bad people come to kill a random person, and that person and their significant other run for their lives and are forced to live life on the run. Or the spy, who gets burned by his country, and has to change his identity and hide. Because I feel like I want to run...but I suppose my fear of letting people down keeps me rooted where I am. So, I need a really good reason to run. Like bad people coming to kill me. My family would understand then, right? It would be easy to explain to myself. Sigh. But, I can't run, can I? I wouldn't be me, if I ran. The Piebald Penguin looks at a police officer and waves, confident that he can talk his way out of anything. I wish it always worked out that way. Actually, I wish a lot of things. But perhaps those thoughts are best not shared with random internet viewers looking for pictures of teddy bears. 

Isn't he so cute and cuddly??

ha! Oh, alright...I'll give you a real teddy bear

See, I can't even do what I said I would do. There are clearly two bears here, but I quite distinctly used the singular form of the noun. Sigh. I always complicate things.

I'm listening to a song, over and over. "I just wanna run". And sometimes, I fool myself into believing that that's what I want. But it isn't. I don't want to run. I want to stop running. I want to catch my breath, to curl up in a warm corner and sleep, to feel and be safe. I don't want to run. I will fight. Tooth and nail. Fight for it all. I'll give up all that I consider to be me. I'm just tired of running. 

Perhaps another sleepless night in seattle
~Piebald

P.S. I must apologize for the long post. It has been a while since I have actually felt the need to write. tl;dr : Life is difficult.

P.P.S. I also apologize for the small font. I don't know why it is so small (Bet you haven't heard that before haha), but it shows up normally in the draft editor. So...yeah...sorry....

Spin Away, Babe

butsometimeswespinoutofcontrolandthereisnothingtostopusfromgettinghurt

Confidently Crushing Crates Creates Cratered Crusts of Catharsis. Callously Copying Creation Chronically Curtails Calligraphy. Readily Rotating Reduces Random Rises in Rudimentary Ruthlessness.

Yawning, yearning yesterday
~Piebald

Tears and Jeers...and Overtime(ers)...

Day 14:
As the craziness continues into the third week, I have come to realize how flawed people really are. From manipulative managers to customers who don't know when to say when, I have had a first hand glimpse of the failings of humanity. It's hectic, stressful, exhausting, and decidedly unsatisfying. Yet, in all of that, and through all of that, I have managed to find some comfort. There are still some "good" people out there. At least, there are those who are willing to stand by me and lend a hand, or a shoulder, when I find myself in need. Usually just when I think I am about to be overwhelmed and collapse, a guardian angel descends and stands me on my feet, telling me that it will be alright.

I know that some people think that my restaurant is like this, and sometimes I want to believe that it could be...

But enough about me, the more interesting stories are, by far, from the customers who make my life a living hell. (Ha) I've met people who will point to a spot on the table and tap that same spot, waiting for me to place their food in front of them. And I've had people try to grab their plates of food from my hands even though I warn them that the plates are exceptionally hot. I've known children to say their pleases and thank you's, and I've seen adults greet me with scowls on their faces and an air pretension. The stress of the job has broken some of my coworkers, bringing them to tears. There are people out there who seem to not flinch when they tip poorly, even though service was, at the very least, acceptable. And there have been people who have tipped beyond expectation. In the end, it all seems to balance out, but I still wonder if it is worth it. Are the nice people, as few and far between as they may be, worth the degradation that comes from serving people who don't deserve service from an automated machine, much less a human being? I don't know. For now, that is the question in need of an answer. Until I figure it out, I struggle on, fighting against becoming a drone.

...but let's be honest with ourselves...it's really more like this...

~TPP

Would You Like Cheese With That?

What? You would like more? Free of charge? And you've had how many breadsticks?????

Day 1:
Hello! My name is [insert name here]. May I be your slave for the next hour and a half while you stuff your face full of food? May I run for you; dance for you; sing a song? Will you remember to tip me? Oh, just a dollar? Well, I guess it's better than nothing...

Ah, yes. The joys of working in a restaurant. It's great, you willingly become someone's bitch just for the hope (a fading mirage perhaps) that the person will like you enough to give you a little something extra [insert joke that's not really a joke about how this parallels being in a relationship with a woman...]. Serving can be fun. It pays the bills, and I don't like to complain about that. But...sometimes...just sometimes I have to come home and shower. Just to feel normal again. To wash the grime away. I wish the shower was just a physical cleansing, but it really acts as a symbolic cleansing too. Washing away the grime of dealing with a certain type of person. The type that feels entitled. They are entitled to be at the restaurant. They are entitled to have everything perfect. They are entitled to make you feel like any mistakes are solely the fault of others (in particular, you). They are entitled to not wait at all (regardless of how busy the server or the restaurant is). Please don't make the mistake in believing that I am promoting a lack of standards in the service industry. There should be standards. But some people just don't understand that they aren't the most important or sole entity in the universe. It is this type of person that makes me feel gross. I feel demeaned and degraded. Worthless. Just a drone.

I bring all this up tonight because today marked the first day in a ridiculous promotion that my restaurant runs every year. And it seems to bring in a very particular group of people. This promotion runs for the next few months, so I will attempt to document my thoughts at least once a week or so. I feel that, if I don't, I will surely go crazy (this is a joke. We all know that I lost my marbles a long time ago).

Note: Today, as I watched people consume more calories in a single sitting than I get in three days, I was sorely tempted to bring them a nutrition guide and explain that the meal they were currently eating was likely to cause a heart attack. (Oh! And a happy thought to give you the warm fuzzies! Last week, the paramedics had to rush to our restaurant and save a man's life. He had a real heart attack. At my table. He was alive when he left, so I hope that he lived through the night to tell his grandchildren the story)

We should post a similar sign in our restaurant

~The Piebald Penguin

Memoirs of an Insomniac: 11

Here I sit, the moment for wishing long past. I know not where this road goes, but I will follow it until the end. Street lights, car horns, warnings of danger and distractions from the mundane. My mind wanders like a lazy cloud. My desk bears the burden of empty cans and bottles, and my chair lacks padding, apparently. The window stays open these days, but my eyes seem closed to the obvious. Please let it not be so. Comfortable, I'm not. I can't be. I won't let myself be. I seek discomfort that I may know what it is to be without. My appetite ran away from me, although I don't spend as much money on food anymore. Both Goraxypox and I tried the cookies I made and found them lacking. But two score others thought they were amazing. How much better could they have been? People express disbelief or surprise when I do something that they can't do. It's a lack of application, I do believe. And yet, the cans and bottles still rest on my desk. Washed windows willingly wear wondrous woods waiting while wind wastes women. My body is sticky. So sticky. Sweat and grease and restaurant grossness. Do I like serving? I serve no matter what I do. I serve in life, and I will probably serve in death. Music comforts my soul, and water washes the grossness away. Until the next day. The next dawn. The next storm cloud, the next bump, the next week of work.

The Charge of the Light Brigade - Painting by Mike Western

This painting seems to fit.

Tired and confused in a world of wonders.
TPP

Memoirs of an Insomniac: 10

I was having a really bad day at work today. It's not that I was performing poorly (well, I was perhaps operating sub-optimally, but even so, I know that I am still better at my job than most people who work there), but I was troubled by everything tonight. What I mean is that it seemed that everything and everyone were out to get me and were hell-bent on getting on my nerves.

About halfway through my shift I stumbled upon the issue (rather, I stumbled upon what I perceived to be the issue, although my perception may or may not be accurate). The issue at hand is this: I miss my family. Now, those of you who know me will say, "Well, of course you miss your family, Piebald. You live more than 1500 miles away from them and have only seen them once in the last six months. You've probably been missing them for a while now." To which I reply that yes, I do miss my sisters and mother and father and brother and my niece and nephews and brother-in-laws. But this feeling was something else. Because I was yearning to be with the "family" of sorts that I have up here. There are three of us in our little family: Goraxypox, Sleeping Beauty, and myself. We may live in two separate homes, but we usually spend a fair amount of time together. However, this week, our schedules have been at odds. So, I come home from work late at night to a quiet house. Goraxypox leaves the hallway light on, when he goes to bed, so that I can see when I come through the door. Sleeping Beauty works in the mornings now, so she is also slumbering in the comfort and safety of her own home. Thus, I sit, staring at my computer screen, typing on a keyboard, waiting for my  laundry to finish, and missing my family.

I hope the hours of the night pass quickly; for I yearn to spend time with the people who make this world bearable.

~The Piebald Penguin

P.S. To anyone related to me by blood, I miss you all dearly as well and hope to see you all before the year ends!

Dinner Is Served

Ingredients for dinner for 2: $25

Linen tablecloth: $10

Candles + candle holders: $8

Using a cardboard box as a dinner table: $0

Enjoying a lovely evening with someone special: Priceless

If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that the truly amazing parts of life don't happen because you spent a lot of money. People come into the restaurant I work at looking for a "romantic evening". We seat them as far away from other people as we can and they end up paying $70-80 for dinner plus the tip. And that's mostly because they are simply too lazy to put effort into a special evening at home. The food was just as good, the atmosphere was way better and there were candles. Real candles. I strongly encourage everyone to give this a try. Whether you have a kitchen table or not, improvise and run with it. :)

~TPP