Trouble by the Bushel

So here is a fun story...
I needed apples. The kids love apples. I called my produce company and ordered Gala apples, 113-125 count. Now, the "count" refers to the number of apples in a bushel, which is the case size. So 113-count means there's 113 apples in the case. It's a smallish apple, so it's great for my little kids.
The next morning, the delivery guy comes in with my apples. I look at the outside of the case...Red Delicious? Ru-roh, Shaggy! Those are not the droids I was looking for. I send them back. That afternoon, I call the produce company and talk to a person, order same apples. Gala, 113.
The next morning...Red Delicious. SERIOUSLY?! Did I not just send these back yesterday? Can they not read or do they not know a Red Delicious from a Gala? And if that is the case, why do they work for a produce company?! Delivery guy calls warehouse, they say they don't have Galas. I say, "You couldn't have told me that before I ordered them? I would've changed my order." I order Granny Smiths, 125 to be delivered that afternoon. They show up, with Granny Smiths, 77 count!!! These are freaking HUGE!
Call produce company, ask why the hell my apples are wrong, for the third time. Then order my granny smith apples for the next day, vowing that if they come in wrong this time, there will be a ruckus.
The next morning, I have a case of Granny Smiths, 125 count.
It took four days to get it right. *facepalm*

How bout them apples?

Maybe...

In the end, maybe none of it matters. When it all comes down to it, no one cares that you tried to feed them healthy stuff or that you tried to stay on budget. All that shows is numbers and bottom lines, and yours is bleeding to death. Because everyone wants an "upscale" dining experience but no one wants to pay for it. And everyone has an opinion, but no one will tell you to your face. In the end, all you get for caring so damn much is a constant headache and an ulcer. And no job is ever going to be worth that.
So maybe next year they'll have a new chef, and hopefully I will have moved on, and maybe that chef will have better ideas, more enthusiasm and then maybe that chef will learn what a soul-vacuum this place is.
Maybe...

The Hard Way

Some things you have to learn the hard way. How to squeeze a dollar from a dime. How to stick up for yourself. How to say you are sorry. So here are things I have learned so far.

1. Don't let anyone make you doubt yourself. Take a closer look at what you've been doing, and if it stands up to scrutiny, ignore those who would just say stuff for spite.

2. Some time you aren't just wrong, you're wrong at the top of your voice.

3. One person is a complainer. Two, three, four or more and maybe you should re-visit your decisions.

4. They don't pay enough to stress me out.

This year I'm starting a new quest to find a better position in my company. I'm going to apply to anything they will let me. Because I've been hanging on by my fingernails for long enough. It's time to let go.

Had to learn that the hard way too.

The Sum of All Things

There is a limit past which one cannot be pushed. There is a line in the sand. Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further. There is nothing more to learn, no mountain unclimbed, where you simply hold the line and wait for rescue that, most often, never comes.

They will tell you many things. Things you take on faith, things you want to believe. That you would be rewarded, that you had earned your place. Only to have those rewards evaporate and the place go to someone else. Sometimes you feel like you live on a chessboard, and people move you around, but because you cannot see the board, you don't where or why.

I'm tired. I'm tired of alot of things. I'm grateful to have a job at all mostly, but I'm tired.

In the Paint

It means that you are in the crucial moments. That all your planning and such can only bring you so far and after that, you have to perform. It can be a wedding that you cater, where you walk into an unknown kitchen, blind, and learn to work without a large pot or enough sheet pans. When you are up to elbows in hot soapy water, trying to scrub the upc code stickers off the shot glasses you bought, because some maladjust thought that it would be cool to put stickers on every.damn.glass.

Or it could be a day like any other, you've got kids to feed, paper to chase, yadda yadda. But then you get a monkey wrench in the form of one of your staff calling in sick. And while you may think to yourself, the next time, they had better be calling in dead, you know you don't mean that. And there is no second string. You are the only string on this violin, so you better tune up and play.

You are in the paint, you have to make your presence felt.

Requiem

We learned not to trust blue skies that day...

There are no words to make the people who were not there understand the fear and confusion of that day. No way to show them the absolute horror of 102 minutes that made you forget your fear of Hell, because you were almost sure Hell was here on Earth. The agony of watching people jump from 80+ floors, wondering how awful it must have been in that building that made them think that quick death was the best choice.

I watch the coverage. I see it every year. It has been a decade since I saw it for the first time. But I can tell you, every year it is just as hard to watch. Every year I cry for those who never went home that night. We have a memorial now...two lovely waterfalls that help us remember the people, the heroes, the courage and the generosity of people who helped people. Even when it cost them their lives.

As if we could ever forget.

Me and My Shadow

My shadow would be the month of August financials for my unit which will not go away. I try to close the month and get numbers that look like I'm breaking the laws of physics, never mind accounting. So this past month has been dogging me, with start-up issues, useless vendors, and a kitchen that, despite all my best efforts, refuses to get below 90 degrees. I just keep telling myself to focus on the food, breathe and relax, but every time I do that, something else happens. So I'm cooking with one eye open for now, until the pressure gets down to a bearable psi. And if I should happen to drop my guard I know that my shadow has got my six.

Just breathe.