THIS IS WHY WE GO SO EARLY...

I’ve always run with the philosophy that I’d rather be an hour early, than a minute late.

One such theory was applied to my role of taking Jade to the airport for her return trip home.

Twice in two days I found myself making the trek down to fucken Melbourne, and I can be sure there wouldn’t be a fuck up that lead to a third time.

6am we left Tooborac.  Not even the fucken sparrows were up at that time.  6 fucken am.

Jade slept most of the way down there (great company for me), because clearly getting up at that hour was fucken ridiculous. At least she didn’t have to drive.

7am on the knocker I pulled the car into a space at the airport.  Right next to the lifts, too.  Booyaaa!!!

‘Lee, we’re like two hours early…’ Jade yawned.

‘So fucken what.’ I said, near busting a foofa-valve trying to get her fucken ginormous suitcase out the boot of my car.  I honestly don’t even know how it fit in there in the first place…  ‘We still have to get through the check in, then we can go and have some fucken breakfast in the main terminals.’

‘Yay!  Can I have hotcakes?’ she clapped her hands excitedly. 

‘You can have shit on toast for all I care.  I just want to get you checked in.’ I said, dragging her case behind me.  ‘I’ll tell you something: this case better not be overweight, or I’ll lose my fucken shit.’

‘It won’t be.’ She smiled confidently.

Last. Famous. Words.

I’m destined to be fucked over by my wonderful’ father and daughter’ tag-team.  *sigh

So, into the terminal we stroll, and in complete contrast to the day before, there are fucken people everywhere!  A Tiger Customer Service chick, who looks like she was set to punch someone, pointed at the check in kiosk things, and told us to check in there.  Why the fuck we had to do that is beyond me… whatever….

So, we queue up at the kiosks, only to be told by the impersonal computer screen that we’re too early to check in.  We have to wait until 7.10am.

For fucks sake.

So we stand aside for like a minute, let someone else go through, and finally check in.

‘This thing says you have a 15kg bag limit.’ I say sceptically to Jade.  ‘15kgs….’

‘Yesterday it said I had a 20kg limit…’

‘Bullshit.  The information was transferred to this new ticket.  You only had fucken 15kgs yesterday.’

‘No… I swear…’

I sigh loudly, somewhat over this shit already.  ‘Let’s go check the bag in, and go get some fucken breakfast.  But I’ll warn you; if this bag is over, I’m gonna lost my shit.’

20.8 kgs. 

You’ve got to be fucken kidding me.

‘How much fucken shit do you have in there?’

‘I swear Lee, it was 20kgs yesterday on the ticket.’

‘Lets go sort this shit out.’  We head back to the first Tiger chick, explain the situation, and after looking somewhat confused for a moment or two, she tells us to queue in the bag check in and they’ll sort it out.

Thanks Polly Farmer.  Nice handball.

‘No, your ticket only has a 15kg allowance.’ The very friendly check in chicks says.  ‘The option of $17.50 for 15kgs was selected when the flight was booked.’ She explained. 

Fucken Charlie! Fucking me and he’s not even here!!!

‘If you put your carry-on bag and hand bag on the scales, maybe we can move some of the stuff from your suitcase into your carry on.’

Oh now we’re fucked.  Jade’s carry- on is heavier than her suitcase.  Jade looks at me hopelessly as she puts the bags on the scales.

‘You have a 10kg carry on allowance, and you’ve got 14.2.’  she explained.  ‘So you’re about 9kgs over in total.  I would suggest that you empty out your baggage, because excess is quite expensive.’

‘How expensive?’ I ask, thinking if it’s only like fifty bucks, I’ll pay for it and move on.

The Tiger chick taps away at her computer, and her face falls.  ‘Two hundred and fifty dollars.’ She said flatly.  ‘My, that’s quite expensive…’

I turn to Jade. ‘I want to kill you.’ I said simply. 

Jade looked at me in horror.  ‘What do we do?’ she asked

‘I don’t have two hundred and fifty dollars to spare, and even if I did, I would not be spending it on your fucken luggage.’ I turned back to the check in babe.  ‘How long do we have before the check in closes?’

‘Well, as it happens, your flight has been delayed fifty minutes.’

‘Fucken wonderful!’ I say sarcastically.

‘If you’re back here and checked in by 9am, you’ll be fine.’

It was 7.30am. 

‘Excellent.’ I smiled, turning to Jade.  ‘We’re lugging this shit back to the car, unloading the half a tonne of crap you have packed in there, and coming back.  Do you understand?’

‘Ok.’

‘You will be ruthless with what you take out of your bags.  Fucken ruthless, do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘THIS is why we come so early.' I reiterated.  Fucken.  I turn back to the check in chick, who is trying not to laugh.  ‘What do we have to do now?’

‘I’ll reserve a seat for you… you’re a tall girl, so how about the first row, near the door, where you’ll have more leg room?’ now I know from booking flights in the past, that this was an upgrade.  You have to pay extra for more fucken leg room.  Sure, about $10 extra, but she was sympathetic to our situation, and being nice.

‘That would be wonderful, thank you.  We really appreciate that.’

Five minutes later, we were dragging 30 kilos of crap back up the hill (yes, a fucken hill) to the car park.

I decide, for my own amusement, to ring Charlie on the way.  ‘When you booked the flight love, you selected 15kg baggage limit.  Did you know that?’

‘Nup.’

‘Well, Jade has like fucken 30 kilos, and it’s going to cost an additional $250.’

‘Fucken what?’ I could hear his tight-arse snap shut.

‘But it’s okay.  We’re not on the way back to the car to unload half her fucken crap, cos I’m not paying $250.  You can get fucked on that one!’

‘Fair enough…’

‘You’re never booking flights again, and we’re never travelling fucken Tiger again.’

‘You said that yesterday.’

‘I’m just fucken reinforcing it.’

After I hung up from Charlie, Jade said ‘you should have said you paid the $250.  He would have given you the money, and you could have gone shopping!’

‘Damn! Good call! Fail on my part tho.’ I agreed.  Damn.

So, we finally get back to the car.  Now, the Gods must have been smiling on me, because I scored a space right next to the lift.  They must have known…

‘Open your case, and start dumping shit, champ.’ I say, flinging open the boot. 

Shoes, hair brushes, fucken bottles of water (bottles of fucken water!!), make up, toiletries, clothes, books (as thick as fucken bricks) came out of the case and carry on.

‘Why the fuck have you got school text books with you?’

‘I planned on doing some homework whilst I was here…’

‘Fucken bullshit.  Who the fuck are you kidding?  You’re set to do as much homework in your holidays as I am to take trips to the fucken moon.  Don’t bring that shit next time.’

Fucken knucklehead.

Five minutes later, we’re on the way back to the terminal, with physically lighter bags.  ‘You better fucken pray these bags are under, or shits gonna get real.’

‘It’s already fucken real.’

‘Damn straight, knucklehead.’

’14.2 kgs.’ Smiled a different check-in chick.  ‘Here’s your boarding pass.  Please don’t leave the terminal, just in case there are announcements regarding your flight.’

‘Is the plane coming from Brisbane?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it in the air?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it ain’t gonna get here any quicker, is it?’

‘No.’ she smiled.

Ten minutes later, we’re stuffing out pie holes with hot cakes, muffins and hash browns.

An hour and a half later, she was in the air, and I was on my way to Werribee.

At no stage during any of this shit, was Tiger Airlines at fault. 

WE were late (or more accurately, Charlie was fucken late).

WE had excess baggage (or more accurately, fucken Jade had excess CRAP!  Text books for fucks sake? WTF was she thinking?)

Tiger just tolerated us like all the other fucken disorganised, ignorant idiots that rock up late or with too much shit in their luggage.  Don’t envy their job AT ALL.

Fuck this shit.

Peace out.

NEVER LEAVE ANYTHING UP TO A MAN (PART 2)

So, Charlie, Jade and I enjoyed a wonderful ten days or so together during her visit to Victoria.  All sorts of fun, frivolities and good times ensued.

Jade came to the pub a couple of times with me when I worked. She likes coming to work with me.  Not because she enjoys my company, or is so proud of me and loves to watch me work.  No.  It’s because she gets fed and can chat to her friends that work there.  Fucker. 

We did girly things together (shopping and movies), dinner with Char and our families, and she spent quality time with her friends and other relatives as well, which she loves.

All in all, a good holiday. J

Spoilt somewhat by the pending deadline of her departure.

As the time drew nearer for her to return to Queensland, the sadder she became.  I think it’s fair to say that she regrets her decision to leave Melbourne and live with her mother, but that’s a story (and a long one) for another day.

So, on the morning of her departure, I had to go into work for an hour or so to sort some shit out.  It was coming up to Easter, we had shit loads to organise, and of course, Mother’s Day is just around the corner, and we had lots of planning to do there.

Jade’s flight was at like 12.20pm, so Charlie said he would pick me up from the pub at 10.30, and we would be on our way.

I’m like ‘Dude; 10.30 isn’t giving us a lot of time… are you sure you don’t want to pick me up sooner?’

‘Naaahhh… she’ll be right.’ He said confidently.

‘Mmmm… I don’t know… but it’s your call champ. 

Not my fucken funeral if she misses the flight.’  Last. Famous. Words.

Twenty minutes late, he was.  Twenty minutes.  How fucken hard is it to get seven kilometres down the road on time. 

Twenty minutes.

As I climbed into the car, and we headed on our way, I said ‘we’re not going to make the flight.’

‘She’ll be right.  You’re stressing over nothing.  It’s all under control.’ He said calmly.

Nope, I thought to myself.  We’re going to miss the mutha fucken flight.

‘Go the back way through Lancefield.  It’s quicker…’ I suggest.

‘No love.  I went down to the airport via the Hume and the Craigieburn Bypass the other day, and it was a great run.  We’ll be fine.  Stop stressing.’

‘It’s your fucken funeral, champ.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ I reply, looking at the time on his dashboard.  10.56 am.  We’re fucked.

‘I’ll just drop you and Jade off out the front of the terminal, and go and park the car.  You two can check in and wait for me.’

’45 minutes, Char.  We have to be there to check in 45 minutes before the flight.’

‘It’s under control.’ He said, condescendingly patting my leg.

I wanted to punch him in the nuts, but the thought of telling him ‘I fucken told you so’, was keeping my fist at bay.

At 11.30am, we enter the Tullamarine Airport complex, only to discover that the entrance to Tiger has been blocked off, as they’re building a new fucken terminal there (about time, because the Tiger terminal looks like a fucken refitted shipping container.  It’s fucken awful).

So we divert around to the front of the airport, near the main terminals, only to find that the secondary entrance to Tiger is also blocked off.

We can’t get to the terminal by car. 

Charlie can’t drop us off.

Fucken brilliant.

So he pulls up in the bus terminals, drops us off, and leaves us to walk half a fucken kilometre, with Jade’s ridiculously oversized and overloaded baggage, through construction works and other fucken people, to the terminal.

11.45am when we walk through the terminal doors.

There are signs everywhere saying check in is 45 minutes prior to departure.

Jade looks at me in panic.  ‘Lee, we’re too late…’

‘Get the attention of that Tiger chick, and tell her we’ve just arrived…’ I say is I jump in the queue. 

Jade hurries off to explain our situation to the customer service officer (if you would fucken call her that), who very rudely says ‘have you checked in yet?’

‘Ahhh… no…. we just got here and my flight-‘ Jade begins.

‘You need to check in.  Get back in the queue.’

Jade just turns to look at me.  ‘Do what she fucken says, darl.  Get back in the queue.’ I say, thinking there’s another arse I’ll rip when I get to the check in counter.

As we stand in the queue, Jade and I panic as we see the flight board change from ‘boarding’ to ‘flight closed’. 

I grab the nearest Tiger fucken customer fucken service chick and say ‘we’ve been standing in this queue for ten fucken minutes, haven’t moved, and now the flight’s closed.  You better not tell me that I’ve missed my fucken flight.’

‘You’ve missed your flight.’

‘Fucken great.  We could have been on there if that other chick hadn’t told us to get back in the queue!’

‘If you arrived within 45 minutes of check in, you would have missed the flight anyway.’

‘We arrived within 30 minutes of check in, and I know that you have a 15 minute buffer.  If that other chick had listened to my daughter when she tried to explain our situation, she could be on that flight now, instead of you having to listen to my angry shit.’

‘Well, you’ve missed your flight now, and you’ll just have to sort it when you go up to the counter, won’t you?’

‘Nice attitude you have love.’

‘I’m not the one that couldn’t get to my flight on time…’

‘And I’m not the one that wouldn’t help me get on it when I got here.’ I said through gritted teeth.  ‘But that’s okay.  You’ll get more money out of us now, won’t you?  That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?’

She just turned and walked away.  Fucker.

‘You better text your mother and tell her that we’ve missed the flight.’

‘This will go down real well…’ Jade said, pulling out her phone.

‘And she has every right to be angry.  I would be.  Your father had one fucken job today; one fucken job!  Fucken fail.’

Right at that moment, Charlie strolled into the terminal.  I waved him over to us, and simply said ‘we’ve missed the flight.’

‘Fucken what?’

‘You heard me.  We missed the mother fucken flight.  I told you we wouldn’t make it.  I fucken told you so.’  There!  That felt better.  Fucker! One job!!

‘Shit…’

‘One fucken job, Charlie.  One fucken job.’

We were called up to the counter by some poor bastard that was about to get some kind of grumpy crap from me.  ‘I understand that we’ve missed out flight.’ I said, slapping the itinerary down on the counter.

‘Were you on the Brisbane flight?’

‘Yep.’

‘You’re right.  You’ve missed the flight.’ He said smugly.  Just what I fucken need.

‘Wouldn’t have missed it if that chick’ I pointed to the first Tiger chick we encountered ‘had’ve listened to my daughter when we got here, and hadn’t told us to get back in the queue.’

‘What time was that?’

’11.45.’ I replied.

‘You were inside the 45 minute check in time.’

‘I know you have a fifteen minute buffer.’

‘Really? Who told you that?’

It’s at this point I pause.  I felt sorry for this fucker.  He would cop shit like this from arseholes like me (and my fucken husband) who can’t get their shit together enough to get to the airport on time, and then blame the airline for their own fucken stupidity.

‘Tiger Airlines.  We’ve been told before by customer service officers that there is a fifteen minute window if we’re running late.’  This was the truth.  We had been told this before.

‘Well, that’s just not accurate.  We close the flight 45 minutes before departure.’

‘But the board was flashing boarding when we came in…’

‘When it’s flashing boarding, it means the flight has closed.  We’ll have to get you on another flight, but all of our flights are booked out today.’

‘What!?” declared Charlie.

‘When’s the next available?’ I ask.

‘9.20am, tomorrow.’

I turned to him then.  ‘You sort this mess out.  I can’t be fucked dealing with it.’

‘I can’t get her to the airport tomorrow.  I’ve got to work on site.’

‘I can take her.  I’ve got to be in Werribee by lunchtime, so I can take her on the way.  Fucken lucky for you.’ I said, and turned and walked away before I punched some poor fucker in the nuts.

About ten minutes later, Charlie and Jade came out of the terminal to where I was sitting in the pathetic excuse for a café.

‘As long as my arse points to the ground, we’re never travelling Tiger again.’ Declared Charlie.

‘You said that last time.’ Both Jade and I chorused.

‘Home we go.’ Charlie sighed, heading back toward wherever the fuck he’d parked the car. 

‘What a waste of a fucken day.’ I muttered to Jade as we walked behind him.

‘It’s an omen! Maybe I’m not meant to go home?’ she said hopefully.

‘It is an omen, my love.  Your father’s not booking flights and getting his arse more organised next time.’

Jade laughed.  ‘Hope we don’t miss the flight tomorrow…’

‘We’re leaving at fucken 6am, babe.  No way we’re missing that flight.’ 

Not on my fucken watch.

Peace out.

NEVER LEAVE ANYTHING UP TO A MAN (PART 1)

The title says it all, really.

Do I have to explain it any further? Really?

*sigh

Ok.

So, Jade was coming to visit during the Easter school holidays.

Charlie decided that he’d book the airline tickets himself; something he’s never done before.  Not that it’s challenging or difficult, really.  Nor is Charlie stupid, by any means (even though he’s a boy).

Booking a ticket online can be daunting if it’s something you don’t do on a regular basis.  There are so many fucken options! Do you want insurance? Do you want a seat in this part of the plane (extra money)? That part of the plane (less money but no leg room)? Do you want baggage? Do you want extra baggage? Do you want food? Do you want to be able to use the fucken toilet?!  TOO MANY CHOICES!

As such, because there are so many choices, that you can actually miss some important shit if you’re not all over it.

Thus enters the wonderful Charlie-Albert.  All well-intentioned, but looking for the best bargain he can get as well.

So, I stroll into the house one day after a shift at work, and Char announces that he’s booked Jade’s flights. 

I nearly shit myself right then and there.

‘Got them off a cheap website!’ he says excitedly, and my heart just sinks.  Here we fucken go…. ‘You put the information in, and the website finds you the cheapest flights! So they’re all booked! Two different airlines, but we’ve done that before! YAY!’

‘Well done babe.  Well done.’ I say encouragingly, whilst thinking in the back of my mind, that I must remember to get some Vaseline at the supermarket, cos I’m sure I’m gonna to get fucked up the arse over this one.

Midnight, on the eve of travel.  I’d just finished packing my car for the market, and was doing my last double check, when I could hear Charlie swearing and carrying on over his fucken computer.

‘What the fuck is going on love?’ I ask.

‘I can’t find Jade’s flight details!’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t fucken know! They won’t print and I can’t find some of them!’ poor darling, who is technology challenged, is somewhat stressed.

‘How come you haven’t printed them before now?’

‘I fucken did! But I can’t find them…’

‘That’s because your desk resembles a backyard abortion.’

‘I don’t need a fucken lecture from you!’

‘I’m not lecturing,’ I say calmly.  ‘I’m stating the fucken obvious.  Get out of the way, and let me have a look…’

Five minutes later, I’ve the itineraries printed out for him, and even dare to ask him why the fuck hadn’t stuck them on the fridge (cos that’s what I would have done – stupid me).

‘Not everyone is a control freak like you!’ he cries.

‘I’m not a control freak, love.  I just like to be organised so I’m not fucking around with flight details at midnight on the eve of fucken travel.  You arse hat.’

So, the day of travel comes, and Charlie gets a phone call from Jade.  She’s at the airport, and her mum is having a conniption fit, because the ticket he purchased doesn’t include baggage.

Gee; what a surprise. 

So after chatting with the chick from Virgin Airlines, who very politely pointed out that no baggage was selected, Charlie has to fork over an extra $70 to get Jade’s ridiculously heavy suit case, which is no doubt full of crap, on the plane.

Fucken winner.

‘It’s still cheaper than paying full fare!’ he declared when he called to tell me what happened.  ‘So it’s all good.’

‘You’re a fucktard.’ Was my only comment. 

Now, I’ve said before that Charlie is not a stupid man.  He’s a dumbarse, which most boys are, but not stupid.  There is a difference. I actually believe he is quite intelligent.  However, doing shit online is new to him, and even I, who would class myself as computer savvy, and experienced with online shit, finds myself double checking shit when booking flights.  Charlie would have been very easily confused.

No harm done.  Everything was fixed up, and Jade was on her way.

However, this little hiccup was nothing compared to the shit we were to face for her return flight home.

Peace out xo

THE MUFFIN INCIDENT

Working at a market stall is interesting.

You come across so many different people, from all walks of life.  Different ages, different sizes, different religions, pierced, tattooed, Collingwood supporters and just plain weird.

I don’t give a shit about any of that.  If you want to buy some of my product, your money’s all the same to me.

I do, however, take exception to people that complain about price, or try to haggle with me.  To be honest, I find it quite insulting.

Keep in mind that nothing on my stall is over $10, right?  So when someone complains that the price is too high, it’s usually met with me saying ‘It’s all right love.  If you can’t afford it, just move on.’ 

This usually snaps people back into reality, because let’s be honest: if you’re looking at my stall, you’re interested.  If you can’t spare the change, you just move on quietly.  I don’t mind.  It’s okay.  Just don’t complain unnecessarily about it.  You’re just fucken embarrassing yourself.  Really.

Then, there are the people that try to haggle.  The ones that wanna buy a $6 cake for $4.  This is usually met with me stating: ‘this is not a trash n’ treasure stall love.  The prices are as marked.  If you can’t afford them, please move on and have a nice day.’

It’s in some people’s nature to haggle.  They’ve always got to get what they feel is a bargain.  I love it when they say to me ‘I won’t buy it if you don’t drop the price’.  Really?  Oh no! How am I going to cope without that extra $2?  How am I going to make my mortgage payment this month? How am I going to afford the petrol I need to get home? Oh no!

Really? 

Fuck off.

You know  nothing about me.  Don’t try to put a value on the worth of my products and my goods.  That’s my job.  Buy it or fuck off.

I do, however, have a soft spot for kids. 

They have no idea the value of money.  Some kids come up, and they’re looking at the prices and counting the money in their hand and traumatising over what they can buy with their change.

I usually give them something within reason, if they have money close enough.  Who cares?  I’d rather give a little leeway to kids that are trying to do the right thing, as opposed to fuckers that are trying to rip me off.

That was until The Muffin Incident.

So, picture this if you will.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day beside the lake at Nagambie, and I’ve enjoying a busy, profitable day (for which I am truly thankful).

So this little fat kid, who I’m guessing was about 10 or 11, came up to the stall, and was checking out the range of muffins.

‘What’s that one?’ he points a stubby little finger at one of the boxes.

‘It’s a beetroot chocolate muffin, love.  A dollar fifty.’

Now, I will point out that I’m renowned for my beetroot choc muffins.  They’re a regular at my stall each market, and I usually sell out.  Fucken bam.

Anyway, back to the fat kid.

‘I’ll have one.’

‘Sure.’ Something stirred within me. The shackles rose on my neck, and I felt suddenly wary about this kid.  ‘Now, its beetroot and chocolate love, so it’s not going to taste like chocolate.  It’s going to taste a little like… raspberry.  Are you sure you don’t want a plain chocolate one?’

‘That’s okay.  One of them.’ He grunted, pointing to the beetroot.

‘Sure.  That’s a dollar fifty, thanks.’ I said, holding out my hand.  He raised his hand over mine, and dropped fifty cents into my hand.  ‘A DOLLAR FIFTY, love.  Not Fifty.’  He raised his hand over mind, and dropped another fifty into my hand.  ‘I need fifty more cents champ.’ Something was up here.

‘That’s all I have.’ He said, not looking up at me.

‘Okay mate.  No problems.’ I said, handing him the muffin.  ‘You take it and enjoy it, but know this: if you’re lying to me, karma will bite you on the arse.’

With that, he glanced at me and was gone without a fucken thank you. 

Hope you choke on it, you ill-mannered little fucker.

A short while later, I had a few customers at my stall, and the little fat kid returns.

He marches straight up to the stall, pushes my customers out of the way, and barks ‘What’s this?’ and waves my muffin in my face.

‘What the fuck?’ I mutter, quite taken aback by his outburst.  ‘What are you asking me?’

‘What’s this!’ he raises his voice at me.

‘It’s a muffin?’ are you a fucken idiot or something.

‘Yeah, but what’s in it?’

‘I told you.  Chocolate and beetroot…’

‘It tastes like crap! I want my money back!’ he demands, and slams the half eaten muffin down on my table.

Great.  Stall full of customers, and I can see out of the corner of my eye, that the people on the next stall were watching as well.

‘Get that muffin OFF my table now!’ I barked, pointing at him and the offending consumable.  He whipped it up in a heartbeat, and swallowed.

‘I want my money back.’ He said.

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t like it! It tastes like crap!’

‘And that’s my fault?’ I asked calmly.

‘Yep.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you sold it to me!’

‘Ohhhhh…. I see.’ I smiled, crossing my arms over my chest.  ‘So, if you go into a book store, buy a book, read it and don’t like it, do you take it back to the book store?’

‘No…’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the bookstore didn’t write it.’

‘No.  And the bookstore cannot guarantee that you will like it, even though heaps of other people do.  Such is the case for this muffin.  Everyone else likes it.  It’s not my fault that you don’t.’

‘But I want my money back…’

‘Won’t be happening, champ.  You see, I bake my products to a standard, and that muffin meets that standard.  There is nothing wrong with the muffin; you just don’t like it.  That’s not my fault.  I cannot be responsible for your palette, or should I say, lack thereof.’

Fat kid just looked at me and blinked, seeing his $1 floating away in the distance…

‘Well, if you don’t give me my money back, I’m just going to throw it out!’

‘You paid for it.  You can throw your money in the bin if you like.  Doesn’t worry me.’

‘It’s not fair…’

‘You know what’s not fair?’ I uncrossed my arms, and stepped closer to the table, stretching an arm out and pointing as closely as I could get to him.  ‘You telling me that you only had $1 to pay for the muffin, but I let you have it anyway.’ I said slowly, and his face blushed.  ‘I told you the flavour was unusual.  I asked if you were sure you would like this one, and not the plain chocolate, but you insisted.  I told you that if you were lying to me, karma would get you, and it would seem to me that it did.’

‘I’m going to tell my parents.’ He whimpered.

‘No problem champ.  Send them over here.  I’m happy to chat to them about how their rude little boy conned me out of fifty cents, then tried to get his money back.’

Fat boy just blinked, turned and walked away.

I was fucken fuming!  My heart was pounding in my chest!

The customers at my stall just watched him walk away, and slowly turned back to me.  Oh fuck…. Here it comes.

‘You handled that so well.’ One of them said, smiling.

‘You think so?’ I asked, my hand fluttering to my chest.

‘Yeah!’ said another.  ‘I would never have thought of comparing it to buying a book…’

‘Sometimes you’ve got to give an example of something similar so kids understand…’ I offered.

‘He was so fucken rude…’ another lady said.  ‘Little shit.’

‘He tried that on another stall holder too.’ A voice came from the stall next to me.  It was one of my regular customers.  ‘He told the jewellery lady that he didn’t have enough to buy a bracelet that he wanted, and kept dropping the wrong amount into her hand.  He said he didn’t have enough to pay for it, and she told him to bugger off or she’d keep his money!’

‘Ha! Well, he conned me, little fucker.’ I said. ‘He’s been trying it all over the market then, I dare say.  Wonder where he learnt that from.’

‘Possibly from the parents that will come and visit you.’ Offered one of the ladies.

‘The parents that I can pretty much guarantee I won’t see hide nor hair of.’ I smiled, and I didn’t.  ‘So, are any of you interested in purchasing some crappy beetroot chocolate muffins?’ I laughed.

‘Well, after that, I’m totally intrigued, and I’ll have a couple thanks.’ One of the women laughed.

‘Sure, no problem… but understand… they don’t taste like chocolate….’ I smiled.

A little while later, I saw the fat kid walking around near the Scouts BBQ, still with the half eaten muffin in his hand.  He looked over at me, and I pointed to him, to my eyes, and back to him again.  I’m watching you mate, and he turned and scurried away.  Little fuck.

Shortly after that, the lady that bought a couple of beetroot muffins came back to my stall with a cute little whisp of a girl.

‘My daughter has something to say to you.’ She smiled, and knodded at her little girl.

‘I ate a whole beetroot muffin on my ownded, and I really likeded it.  It was yummy.’ She smiled happily. 

‘I bet you did, sweetheart.’ I laughed.  ‘Here, have a cookie you gorgeous little thing…’

Well… that’s karma for you.

Peace out.

30 REASONS

Hi peeps.

Interesting article, so I thought I'd share.

enjoy :)

http://www.lifebuzz.com/just-stop/

THE NEXT STEP

Hi peeps.

So, having completed my initial studies, and scoring the ‘dream job’ for me, I want to further my studies.

Patisserie is the thing for me.

You know I love baking, and doing the desserts at the pub is right up my alley.  So I wanna take this further by expanding my knowledge on all things patisserie.

When I initially started my TAFE course, the trainer said to me ‘what direction do you want to head in with your food?’ I had absolutely no fucken idea.

I would love to have my own café, but I think anyone that ventures into food wants the same fucken thing.  I love pub food and comfort cooking, so I sort of leaned toward that.

I recall saying to him that I wanted to keep an open mind.  Again, I wanted to trust the universe, because it would naturally present something to me. 

Of course, that was baking and desserts, which I excelled in at TAFE.  I would have loved to have landed a job in a patisserie, but I also wanted to cook meals for people as well.  At the pub, I seem to have found the perfect role for me.  A balance of sweet and savoury. J

So, looking toward the future, I met with my trainer at TAFE last week to discuss my options.  I’ve done the Cert II and III, so the only way from there is up.

Now, I have three options.  I could do a Certificate IV in Commercial Cookery, a Certificate IV in Patisserie, or a Diploma in Commercial Cookery.

Even though my trainer explained that I’m more than competent to skip the Cert IV’s and go straight to the Diploma, there are two things that stop me. 

Firstly, it’s commercial cookery.  I’ve already studied commercial cookery; I don’t think I want to major in that.  Secondly, the Diploma level is not government funded.  So I would be looking at a cost of about $10,000.00.  Fucken BAM!  I can’t afford that.  I’m poor white trash, and the idea of hocking my box on top of everything else I have to do over the next two years, is simply not that appealing to me.

So, considering I don’t really want to do more in commercial cookery, and my heart does lean toward patisserie, that’s the certification that I’ve opted for.

Certificate IV in Hospitality – Patrisserie.  BAM! 

36 units is what I’m facing this time around. 

Last year it was about 30 units crammed into twelve months.  It was a hard slog.  So instead of pushing hard, we’re spreading the units across the next two years.

Most of the study is off-campus.  Theory is online, and practical application is in the workplace, where my trainers will come and assess me. 

However, in August, I will have to attend classes on campus for specific practical applications.  Cakes, pastries, petit fours, yeast products, gateaux, tortes, chocolate work and sugar work. 

How fucken exciting!!

Sugar work!

Chocolate work!

OMFG!!!

I can’t wait to see what I will learn!  I love playing with chocolate, and I can only imagine what baking treats I’m in store for!!

I would really love to go as far as I possibly can with my education, but like everything else in life, you are restricted by your financial means.

Fucken.

So, hopefully by the time I finish my next certification, I will have won tattslotto, and can afford to pay for my diploma. 

Who the fuck am I kidding?  If I won tattslotto, I’d be hiring a fucken chef to cook for me! Idiot! What am I thinking? Keep studyi? *face palm

Be that as it may, this course will cost me between $2000 and $3000, which I can thankfully pay off over the duration of the next two years.  Again, without this facility, I possibly couldn’t afford to do this.

Thank the universe for small mercies.

So, my new course should start about the end of March, and I’m really keen to see what is going to be thrown at me.

Obviously, I hope that I can infuse some of what I earn into the workplace, and either spunk up my desserts even more, or create something new and exciting for the customers to enjoy.

It shall be an interesting two years, I believe.

I wonder where this journey will take me?

Peace out peeps.

DREAMS CAN COME TRUE

Sometimes, you’ve just got to throw it out there.

You’ve got to trust the universe, take a risk, and pray to fuck that things work out.

Such is the case for myself and my new career.

So this was the plan.  Resign from my job and give twelve months’ notice.  This gives the boys time to adjust and time to find someone else.  When my course finished, I wanted to finish work, so that I’d be free to find a new job in my new career, without the delay of notice.

Thinking back, I don’t know if I handled my ‘resignation’ very well.  I basically told the boys I wanted to go back to school, so I needed to cut back my hours.  And I was doing this with a view to changing careers.  They were shell shock, and I think I was too, because the reality of my situation really hit home.

So, as my studies progressed, and my second course started in July, I mentally started thinking about what direction I wanted to take, and where I would like to work.

Considering the main type of employment I have had was administrative, I really didn’t know where to start with hospitality. 

Also taking into consideration the fact that I had not had a job interview or prepared a resume for nearly fourteen years, the entire concept of a career change at 43 years of age was frightening.

I started second-guessing myself and having panic attacks again, and wondering if what I was doing was the right thing.

I started panicking about my car payments, mortgage payments, health, impact upon Charlie… everything.  It was totally freaking me out, and as the end of my course drew closer, I seriously didn’t know what the fuck I was going to do.

Then, out of the blue, I received ‘the’ phone call.

Picture this.  I live in a small country town, in North Central Victoria. There is fuck all here.  Fuck all.  A general store, a primary school, the CFA, a concrete statue business, a hall and of course; the pub.  That’s it.  About three hundred people live in Tooby, spread out over quite a few hundred hectares.  Fuck all.

What is the likelihood of someone with my experience and training getting a job in town? 

A million to one.

Well, I’m never taking that ‘million to one’ statement lightly again, because I’m the one in a million that landed a job at the pub.

So, around the middle of last year, Charlie and I accidentally had dinner with the owners of the pub.  We went in for dinner one night, and the owners were having dinner at the same time, and invited us to join them.

Was a lovely night, just chatting about all different sorts of bullshit, but I planted the seed that I was studying hospitality, and would be looking for work toward the end of the year.

So, how’s this for an example of all the fucken planets aligning.

A few months after this dinner date, one of the chefs at the pub decides it’s time to move on.  No problem there.  It happens. 

So the Head Chef is having her hair cut by one of my friends, and just so happens to mention that they’re looking for a new chef.

What does my darling friend do?  ‘You know Lee Buttler is studying hospitality at the moment?  She wants to be a chef? You should talk to her?’

Of course, the Head Chef knew me, and knew I could cook (thank you Facebook for allowing me to post up a million photos of the food I love to make, allowing everyone in the southern hemisphere to see that I am a relatively competent cook that is passionate about food), and immediately lost her shit.

She picked up the phone and called the owner of the pub, whom had had dinner with me but a few months before, and said ‘What about Lee Buttler?’ and the owner was like ‘Shit…. I forgot she was studying! Let’s get her in here!’

So I get ‘the’ phone call that changed my life.

The owner asked me where I was at, what I’m looking for and if I would like come in for a chat.

Fuck me.  Shit just got real.

Bring on a mild panic attack.

So, I had my interview with the owners and the Head Chef, and got the distinct impression that I already had the job before I walked in the door.

I love the Head Chef.  She’s awesome.  It’s interesting, through our discussions, that we seem to complement each other’s cooking.  She’s awesome at everything except desserts, and I’m pretty good generally, and really good at desserts.

When the last chef left, they had lost the person that does there desserts, so it would appear that I had the potential to be a good replacement for her.

Five months later, I feel that I’m settling in well, getting the hang of everything, and am running a good, diverse dessert menu which changes on a weekly basis.

I’ve designed the desserts so they can be plated up by pretty much anyone, from the owners to the fifteen year old kitchen hands.  All they have to do is follow the instructions, and BAM! Awesome looking dessert.

I had a very proud moment today in the kitchen.  When I was cleaning up the kitchen after service, one of the kitchen hands on the next shift came in.  She saw me, her face lit up, and she ripped her phone out of her pocket and started flicking through it.

‘I did all the desserts last night, Lee, and I think I did really well.’ She said.  Bless her heart, she’d taken photos of all the plates she had done (just like I do!) and showed me.  They were fucking sensational!  She’d done an awesome job, and I made a point of saying that in front of the owner and Head Chef, who were standing there.

I like to praise the kids for a good job, because sometimes, the kitchen can be incredibly stressful and fast paced, and it can leave your head spinning.  They are good kids that do exactly what you ask them to do, when you ask them, without complaint or question, and do it to the best of their abilities.  They need to be acknowledged for this, I think.  Encouragement and praise goes a long, long way.

We all like it really, don’t we? :D

The thing I find about this place though, is that everyone there is really nice.  Like, you naturally have the odd political issue pop up every now and then, but generally, everyone is really nice. 

I learnt a month or so ago, that they were a little nervous about me starting, because they didn’t know what to expect.  Would I be cranky and surly, demanding and unrealistic? Would I be dictatorial and inflexible; would I be selfish or a team player?

Needless to say, they all love me, and get excited when I’m rostered on because… well, they’re only human :D

I figure that I don’t give them too much grief, and try to work with them. We’re all one big team, after all. 

I don’t leave the kitchen until the kitchen hand has finished the dishes. I would feel guilty leaving them there to slog away without helping them.  Doesn’t seem right.  I’m certainly not above doing dishes and mopping floors.  When I am rostered on by myself in the kitchen, I have to do it anyway, so what’s the difference if I help someone else?  Gets us both out earlier. 

If I finish early, I often ask the front of house team if they need any help, and may mop the toilets or something for them.  In turn, if I’ve been under the pump, the front of house guys may come out and sweep and mop my floor for me.  It all works out in the end :D

I feel that it’s like a family there, and I’m the newest member J  I feel welcome and appreciated, and everyone seems to like my desserts.  A bit different to what they’re use to, I believe.  That’s ok.  No negative reflection on chefs of the past.  It is what it is, and nothing more.

When I’m working through the week, the front of house guys come floating into the kitchen to see not only what I’m baking or making dessert wise, but hoping that there may be some samples, like chocolate mud cake, to nibble on! LOL! It’s gorgeous :D

I said to Charlie the other day that I feel like I’ve landed on my feet after leaving TAFE.

For starters, what’s the likelihood of landing a job so locally?  Like, I use to drive four hours a day for work, now I’m driving about a fifteen minute round trip.  242 kms to 12.  Fuck me.

Then, I fully expected to land a job as a kitchen hand, and work my way up from there.  But no; just skipped over all of that.  Sure, I wash dishes and mop floors, as I’ve said, but my role there is too cook and present food.  To prepare and cook a dessert menu.  To run service shifts on my own and with others.  Not something a fresh graduate would be expecting to do.

Most of my other TAFE peeps are still unemployed, or they are working as kitchen hands doing basic cooking tasks.  None of them are as full on as I am.  However, that’s just the luck of the draw, isn’t it?

So, this is where I become thankful.  This is where I become appreciative.  This is where I count myself lucky, right?

You fucken bet it is.

Sure, I’ve worked very hard and taken a lot of risks to travel down this path, and thankfully, the rewards have been there for me at the end. 

I think I knew, in my heart, I would find work somewhere pretty quickly.  I just didn’t know where.  Charlie questioned the validity of pretty much taking the first job I was offered. He wondered if I should hold out for something else.

I remember saying that I had nothing to lose by taking it.  If I didn’t work out, I could just move on to something else.  Simples.

Luckily for me, it seems to be working out, and for that, I’m truly thankful.

Keep chasing your dreams, peeps.  Sometimes, they do come true.

Peace out.