Little to report this week, mostly just a series of events culminating in me getting on the rock and roll, but of course just to hold me over till real work comes around. Consequently I am now a registered member of Helen's Army. I tell you what though, it ain't easy. At one point I almost seriously considered laying a wee complaint against the perfectly nice bloke who took us for the bludgers orientation seminar last week.
Thing is, much like Australia, New Zealand social services have these little courses that remind you that getting free money imposes a social obligation on you. Not only do you have to get your act together to file all kinds of bits of paper every five minutes, but you also have to actually look for work. Well bugger me! Things have changed since the last time the middle class put food on my table.
And frankly, I'm not happy about it. What ever happened to the day when a bloke could get out of bed at noon, pull cones all day, listen to slightly angsty but definitely blokey music, get to bed again after midnight and sleep the sleep of the truly wasted? Hmmm?
I'll tell you where, it's parked out back with under the 'obsolete' pile, with New Zealand's most common job being wife-beaters who do nothing but grow sheep for a living, the rich people who (un)happily give up about three quarters of their readies to the state, and the women who think men are walking ATMs/sperm banks.
What happened to New Zealand while was away, ay?
But, it's good to see you can still lodge a get away with slightly risky behaviour when you need to. For instance, the aforementioned seminar involved a suggestion about how hard we have to look for work. In brief, I considered lodging a complaint but was discouraged by the thought of the reply letter, which would read:
Dear Mr. Tibby,
You are a dick. Please do not bother the Department again.
Best Regards,
Grey-Suited Person.
What was the complaint? In short, the seminar-leader-guy used a vignette about a guy who stood on the Hutt Freeway with a big sign that said "Will do anything for work" and his phone number. Apparently he was off the dole and hard at work that very day, and bloody good on him.
But.
Besides the obvious danger of being struck by a distracted motorist, where in the hell does he get off advocating rough trade? And how badly would you need the $$?
Anyhow, lame attempts to cause mayhem at the Department aside, Wellington has been just peachy. It's been suggested to me that I should maybe write a few café reviews, but my experience of Wellington cafés has so far been a little mixed. Plenty of bad coffee, but plenty of good food. Always tricky to know which to turn on. And, do I really want to be that kind of wanker?
But, lack of direction aside, I do have a little comment for anyone working in Hospitality, even though most already know this.
We went to a well-patronised Wellington breakfast place on Willis Street this past Sunday. Now, I've been in and out of kitchens, bars, restaurants and cafés since I was eleven. You read that right, eleven, my first job being washing dishes till two in the morning on Fridays and Saturdays. So, I know a little about the trade.
My gripe is this. If a customer asks you , "Um, hi, we were wondering where our food is?", the answer is not, "It always takes half hour" and look at the customer like an idiot. Thing is, the waiter knows what the hell is going on (or should), and etiquette demands that they look concerned, ask how long you've been waiting, and promise to check into it.
Now, I know that a waiter can't magically pull a breakfast out of their apron. What I'm really asking is, "it's been an awfully long time, nothing is wrong is it?" It had been three quarters of an hour after all. I could have learned the procedures in the kitchen and cooked that damn things myself in that time. At Luna we used to do 400 covers in four hours and the food was spot on and out in under twenty five minutes every, single, morning (almost, sometimes the Chef would self-destruct in a blaze of blasphemy and foul language).
So in the trade there are little games the waiter is expected to play to reassure the customer that they're being looked after, and one of those is the "I'll see what the kitchen is up to" game, or the "Let me find those coffees for you" game. And a waiter who doesn't know these can't get by on being ridiculously good looking.
Maybe I will write a review or two... I'll have to use beret with the star on as markers.