Never have I been happier to see the ass end of a year than I was 2007. Breathe a deep sigh of relief, it's over. Thank God.

I finally quit the job from hell. Problem being the one I went into is part time -- as in one day a week part time -- which they didn't tell me about until last week. Oy. So, I'm looking for another one, and will be out following up on a few things later today. I start my teacher training next Friday, which I'm really looking forward to. Yay!

One of the few things that went right last year was my voiceover workout group. My instructor's sarcastic as hell, as am I, so we take immense joy in tormenting each other. To the point that almost everyone else in class thinks we hate each other's guts. Hee! He was nice enough to walk my demo into his agent's office; though nothing came of it, I'm thankful he was willing to do it. One of the other guys from group is going to take my demo into his agent's office next week; I'm cautiously optimistic that it will work out. I have to put another mailing together, to send out to agents. I didn't move out here to be a waiter, damn it. But with all the crap I've gone through this last year, all I want to do is stay home and read. Which I've been doing a lot of this month, due to the one day a week job. Which means I need to get the hell out of here for a few hours. There's one job in particular that I'm hoping to get, because it's two nights a week and won't interfere with teaching. Between those two and the job I have now, I'll be golden, and still have days free to try to get voiceover work. Makes me happy. Maybe I should hold onto that thought until I actually get that job, or another one.

Y'all know I'm not a big TV watcher, but I do enjoy some shows. One of my new favorites is Take Home Chef, hosted by Curtis Stone, on TLC. Now, I live in SoCal, and I have never run into this guy. Ever. I see some of the places he goes, and I can't figure out where they are, because no shopping centers where I live, nor close by, have huge open parking lots. So, I don't know where he's picking people up. I did, however, recognize the Santa Monica Farmer's Market. I love that place, maybe I should put some effort into going over there more often. The restaurant biz being as incestuous as it is, I'm sure we have some acquaintances in common somewhere -- I just have to find one. How's that for one hell of a daydream, meeting a sexy Aussie chef?

Time for reality to rear its head, and for me to go bug those people about that job. I'm certainly qualified, maybe I'll get lucky. Here's hoping.

This blogger is absolutely right. Where has courtesy gone? Manners? They must be in hiding on a remote island somewhere. Unfortunately, the holidays only make things worse. Ugh.

I'll post something worth reading in a day or two.

My neighbors were fighting when I got home from work this afternoon. They were so loud, I could hear them throwing things, and their little girl (who's 2 or 3) screaming with my door closed. FYI, there's a hallway between our apartments. The fighting got bad enough that I called 911, though I always wonder if it's truly enough of an emergency to bother with it. They apparently didn't think so -- no one ever came. I sent an email to the police department to ask if they got the call from the 911 dispatcher.
It's 7:53pm right now, just shy of two hours since I called. No one has come yet.

The moral of this story is, don't get hurt in Los Angeles--no one will come to help you.

What a sad commentary on the state of this city.

Courtesy of Waiter Rant:

New Void Codes

1. Inanimate Foreign Matter in food. (Staples, twist ties, hair, plastic shards, nails)

2. Animate Foreign Matter in food.

3. Customer threw up above mentioned voided item.

4. HazMat substance in food. (Bleach, hypodermic, MSG, blood)

5. Customer saw a “la cucaracha.”

6. Customer had a medical emergency. (Stroke, overdose, choking, heart failure, got the check.)

7. Manager gave hot babe free stuff.

8. Fixing server fuckups.

9. Fixing my fuckups.

10. Entrée didn’t look like the picture in the window.

11. Entrée didn’t look like how Emeril would make it.

12. Customer’s watched way too much Food Network.

13. Customer allergic to main ingredient but didn’t tell waiter until after the food was cooked.

14. Customer decided restaurant was too expensive and left after ordering.

15. Customer had a psychotic break.

16. Customer’s an asshole. (My favorite - covers most situations)

17. Waiter had a psychotic break. (Imminent, trust me.)

18. Customer wouldn’t know the difference between medium rare and medium if it bit him on the ass.

19. Customer intoxicated/wasted and screwed up order.

19. Server intoxicated/wasted and screwed up order.

20. Chef intoxicated/wasted and screwed up order.

21. Everybody must get stoned!

21. Customer didn’t take medication this morning. (Prozac)

22. Server didn’t take medication this morning. (Marijuana)

23. Manager didn’t take medication this morning. (Jim Beam)

24. Everybody must get stoned!

24. Chef busy talking on cell phone and burned food.

25. Customer didn’t listen to waiter’s recommendations. (The “I told you so” void.)

26. Customer said the fish smelled “funny” after they put cheese on it.

27. Customer pulled a hissy fit over the split charge.

28. Customer found a “floater” in the ladies room toilet and freaked out.

29. Customer found waiter overdosed in toilet and freaked out. (Actually happened at my first waiter job!)

30. The “shut the customer the fuck up” void!

Ideas and suggestions for new void codes? Leave them in the comments section.

Go check the comments when you've a moment, there's some good stuff in there. :)

My grandmother passed away this morning. Thankfully, I got to see her a couple of weeks ago.
I doubt I'll be going to the funeral, as taking time from work twice in one month is too much right now.

More in a couple of days.

There's a man who comes in for lunch every so often, who really gets to me.

His wife will drop him off around noon, settle him at a table with a view of the dining room, then rush out the door while assuring us, "I'll be back. "

In her wake, we store his walker so it's out of his way, then bring him his extra hot coffee and a lunch menu.

None of us are sure how old he is, but it hardly matters. His speech is slurred, barely comprehensible. He repeats his order three times before I finally understand what he wants.

"Crab cakes."

He points at the listing on the menu. I feel foolish, even stupid, for not understanding; he doesn't seem to mind. When his lunch comes out, he decides he wants to sit in the other chair at the table; the move takes 10 minutes. The foodrunner brings his lunch back to the kitchen to be reheated.

The gentleman doesn't seem to mind, almost as if he's used to all this fuss by now. He eats his once-again-hot lunch and drinks his coffee.

Around 1:30 one of our managers offers him a newspaper, and he gladly requests the New York Times. By 2:30 he's done with it; I drop the check on the table.

At about 3:15, his wife shows up with a credit card to pay the bill. She signs the itemized check before I can remind her I need to run the credit card, a rather frequent occurrence in a hotel restaurant. In the time it takes to run the credit card and return with the check to the table, his wife is gone again, who knows where. Not that it matters.

It's 3:45 or so when I check on him with a manager. He's signed the check; his wife still hasn't come back.

He's been looking at his watch for two hours now.

We close the check in the back and I gather glassware to reset the tables. When I go back onto the floor I see his table is empty, nearly four hours after he was seated.

I wonder what kind of person would leave their spouse alone in a restaurant for four hours. He's such a sweet man, yet his wife has no compunctions whatsoever about taking off without him.

It enfuriates me.

I hope, if I ever marry, that in my old age my husband doesn't take me out to lunch -- and leave me there.

The frustrating part of writing a book is when real life intrudes.

I'd love to be able to write all day today, but I can't -- I'll be spending the next 10 hours at work. Which means I'll be jotting down ideas in my little black notebook, which I'll have to sort through later.

There's one more frustrating part -- I write in longhand (and not so well without my glasses.). I have a better connection to the work, as it were, with pen and paper than with keyboard and laughable typing skills. The term "skills" used very loosely here. Which makes for much fun when the inevitable time comes to have to send the work to someone, or post a few paragraphs here. Maybe I should seriously consider spending a day working on learning typing skills. Wouldn't that be fun!!

A friend of mine is a former trial attorney who can type well over 100 words per minute. Thankfully, he doesn't hit me over the head with it. It's a skill I wouldn't mind learning though, because this "advanced hunt-and-peck" of mine is becoming rather irksome.

Off to work. Bleh.