The President of Mexico

 So, like I said a couple of blogs ago, I have been at the new/old job now since early to mid/December.  The thing is, during that time I have already had three managers

, one when I first started was a relative new hire and was going through training while I was get reacclimated to the task(s) at hand, then he quit and we shared a manager with another location.  I am sure life sucked for him, trying to run two stores and the headaches involved with each, and finally our third manager who was promoted from assistant manager.  She stoped returning calls and texts on Sunday and up and quit.

Don’t get me wrong, it is a position I don’t want, I am content being responsible for myself without the added responsibilities of running a store and trying to get all of its employees on the same page.  Maybe if the store hired illegal immigrants I would be interested, but it only hires Americans and all of the headaches that goes with American workers.

Yeah, I said it, illegal immigrants are harder workers than their American counterparts.  Just sit down at your dinner table and think about who picked the crop(s) you are about to eat.  Americans believe that Manuel Labor is the president of Mexico and that some jobs are beneath them.  When you need money, there should never be a job beneath you.  Certainly one can aspire to better and more well paying jobs and positions, but the idea one is too good for a job is ludicrous.

Normaler than normal

So, Saturday I did something that I haven’t done since the pandemic days began, I did a Saturday morning breakfast in the Strip District.  Since I got off work at 6am, breakfast at 7 seemed like a good idea.  I had tried a Strip District breakfast a week or so earlier, but I chose a weekday and places weren’t opening until 8am.  I don’t mind meandering around to kill off less than an hour of down time, but once I clear the hour barrier, my desire to do something wanes considerably.

That attempt led to a breakfast at Eat N Park, which, while the food is serviceable, that early in the morning it is like being in death’s waiting room.  I say that realizing almost how true it is in my own life.  Eat N Park is a local chain with multiple locations round these parts, and as it happens, it was the last place I went out to eat with my mom.  What a sad experience that was, my mom just getting out of the hospital following a heart attack and on the trip home he decides to stop there.  She was so addled, whether it be the meds she was on or brain damaged suffered from her heart attack, couldn’t even read the menu.  It was a saddening experience, when you are witnessing a parents’ cognitive abilities just slipping away.

The last couple of trips to Eat N Park, including a week or so ago, albeit different locations than the one I was at with my mom and her husband, were equally sad simply because at 51 years of age, I was the youngest person there.  As I was eating I thought to myself, “is this it?” “Do I now go hang out with old people, as the last moments of my life just tick away?”  “Should I ask if they have a seniors discount, and do I qualify if they do?”

This past Saturday I opted for the Strip District instead.  It was an added sense of normalcy, people my age (and younger), eating in public (with some social distance spacing between tables, but public nonetheless).  The only difference was that I did feel a little rushed, what with a line of people waiting to sit as I was eating.

Still, it was nice to do something almost post-pandemic-y.  There are lots of things I have cut out of my life, weekend breakfast forays being one of them (as well as working regularly, which has changed since December, going out and having a few drinks which I still haven’t done, and random shopping trips to the mall, which I am only doing if I need something).  Not that I am afraid of COVID or anything, not really concerned one way or the other if I die or not, I’ve had a good run after all, but don’t want to get sick and get someone else sick in the process. 

Where I like the taste of ass

 So, back in my Smithfield  News days, I was in charge of the ordering.  As well as dealing with beverage vendors, I was responsible for ordering groceries.  We had plenty of shelf space and we also had a few coolers where some grab and go, and heat and eat items could be kept.  There was a line of microwaveable sandwiches called Big Az.  I never though much of them save for their packaging, which I guess the company was in the process of changing as on them was the phrase “New look, same Big Az taste”.

 Not sure who they hired for marketing, but  saying your food has ass taste doesn’t strike me as good for business.  But what do I know, I am here and they are getting thousands of dollars to promote ass taste.

So, here I am today again working in a convenience store (albeit as an employee as opposed to manager) and one of the complaints about working overnights is there is no place to go to dinner when I get off of work.  This fascination with places serving breakfast all day ignores that some of us work nights.  I don’t want more coffee in the am or pancakes or waffles.  How about some meatloaf, or a burger and fries?  Spaghetti and meatballs?  Fact is when I get off work, I want dinner, not breakfast and nobody is stepping in to fill the void with all day dinner.

So I took to poking around the paltry offerings we have at work to determine my dinner.  A number of times it ended up being ramen noodles or cup o noodles or hard boiled eggs (which I make egg salad sandwiches with).  Not ideal, but when has my diet ever been ideal?  So I am poking around work the other day, looking for post work nourishment, and I found Big Az burgers, both cheeseburger and jalapeño burger.  Plus it is in the new packaging so the Az taste promotion has been removed.  So I took one home the other day, microwaved it for just one minute (it was refrigerated, not frozen), added some condiments and lo and behold, I can officially say I like ass taste.