HAVE YOU MISSED ME?

Have you missed me?

I’ve missed you.  My beautiful, invisible friends J

Please forgive me; it’s been twelve months since my last confession… err….blog.  March 23 to be exact, and so much has happened within that period of time, that I have had to sacrifice my blogging.

But do not despair! I am back now, and hopefully, will be able to blog a little more now, as my life seems to be settling into some semblance of normality.

So, what’s happened to keep me away from you?

Last time I blogged (and you read), I was starting my new adventure at TAFE.

Well, since then, I have completed my studies, changed my twenty-five year career, left a job I had been at for fourteen years, and continued running a business from home.

It’s been a busy year.

So, let’s look at things in a little more detail (cos I know you have nothing better to do than read about my exciting life! LOL!)

Studies.  Well, I’ve passed my Certificate II in Hospitality (Kitchen Operations), and my Certificate III in Hospitality (Catering Operations).   According to my wonderful trainers (who have over twenty years cheffing experience), I am now qualified.  I can now call myself ‘chef’.

I’m a chef.

Fuck me.

Strange really, as I never thought it would happen.  Like… I don’t know why I never thought it would happen… I was studying with the purpose of becoming a chef and working in the industry…

It’s like… being in the safety and comfort of normality; life as you know it, understanding that ahead of you, there is major change.  However, part of you thinks that the change will never come…. That it will never happen, even though you’re barrelling toward it… then the reality of the change hits you, and it’s… surreal and confronting.

I’ve dreamed of being a chef for a long time, but never really understood that it could happen, and what it would be like when I achieved it all.

At the end of my studies, within a week, I had said goodbye to TAFE, goodbye to the career I had enjoyed for twenty-five years, and hello to a new way of life.

It all seemed so quick.  So final.  I think, four or five months later, I’m still catching my breath.

The study, looking back, was easy.  I do theory stuff well.  I get the importance of deadlines, and I’m quite capable of interpreting text and completing assignments.  The challenge is retaining the information and apply it practically! That’s where the fun starts…

With everything I had on my plate; working three days a week, on campus two days, running my little business and a household on the other two days, I was amazed that I was able to meet the deadlines set.  Shame that most of the other students in the class struggled to.

When I first met with my trainer, she said that I would make friends for life through this class.  I thought she was fucken mental.  I was so NOT interested in making friends.  I just wanted to study, kick ass, and change my life.  100% all the way, and I didn’t want any distractions.

It would appear that my trainer was not so mental after all.

I have indeed made some wonderful friends during my time at TAFE, and not just in my own class.  I made quite a few friends with the VCAL and VETIS kids that were studying there as well.

They were good kids.  Troubled and sometimes little fuckers, but good kids.  My trainer and I figured that I was one of the few adults that wanted nothing from them, and treated them like human beings, so they warmed to me.

They are only human, after all… J

Some days, my fellow cheflings and I would go to one of the café’s for lunch, or get take away noodles and eat them in the student lounge.  We would have coffee and chocolate during our breaks, or I would bring in some baked goods for them all to sample. 

Good times. J

I miss my girls, who I have come to affectionately refer to as my molls.  Friends for life indeed.

As for work, well… that wasn’t so easy.

The boys found a replacement for me; a lovely lady with a lot of experience doing exactly what I did.  She was a perfect fit for the job, but her biggest challenge, like me, was adjusting to change.

She had been forced to leave her last job, as they were going broke and owed her a heap of money.  You can only give charity for so long before it starts impacting upon you personally and financially, so she jumped ship, and came to work with us. 

Five months later, she’s still there and starting to get her head around it all and settle in.  She’s such a nice lady.  I hope that she’s there for as long as I was, because I think she’ll be happy.

As for letting go?  Well, it was easier than I thought it would be.  It was hard to say goodbye to my family of fourteen years, but I was ready for the change.  Ready to move on.

I think of my boys and my old job every day, and wonder how they’re going… hoping that they’re going okay and that they’re happy with their lives.  I haven’t contacted them much… and I don’t really know why.  I guess… I just wanted a clean break for myself, as well as them… space to focus on my new career, and space for them to focus on the new lady that was performing my role… I wish all of them nothing but the best.  I hope they achieve even greater success than they experienced during my time there.

 

So this brings me to my new job.

About August last year, I was contacted by the owner of the local pub.  A chef who had been working there for some years, had just left.  Sometimes, people leaving is not a bad thing, if you know what I mean.

So, how’s this for lucky.

The Head Chef at the pub (a local lady) was getting her hair done by one of my girlfriends (another local lady), and was telling her that this chef had left the pub, and they were looking for someone to replace her.  So my friend (god bless her fucking heart) said ‘you know Lee Buttler is studying hospitality at TAFE?  Why don’t you see if she wants a job?’

Fuck me.  Do I want a job?

So the Head Chef is like ‘Fucken what?’ and immediately rings the owner of the pub, who said ‘Oh shit yeah! I forgot about that!’ and rings me to offer me a job.

A few days later, I’m sitting at the pub, chatting with the Head Chef and the owners, and talking about my future at the pub.

I did a couple of shifts there before I finished TAFE, just to get a feel of it, and for the pub to get a feel of me (lots of feeling going on here…) and as soon as I finished my studies, I finished one job, and started another.

Fucken BAM!

My head’s still spinning.  It all happened so quickly, and just like a dream!

The Head Chef said to me in the interview, ‘So you’ve resigned from your job, which finishes when your course finishes, and you have no prospects for work, or anything lined up.  So you could finish TAFE, and have no fucken work at all?  That’s a big risk.’

She was astonished, but I simply explained that it was a risk I had to take.  A risk to move forward and make a change.  I knew I would eventually get work, but I simply didn’t know when or where.  I trusted the universe, and knew that something would turn up.

Sometimes you just need to back yourself and take a risk, right?  Luckily for me, it paid off.

Lucky for my fucken mortgage, too J

So I’ve slipped into the routine of the pub now, and everyone there seems happy with me.  One of my roles there is a second to the Head Chef, helping her with menus and kitchen routines and shit.  Plus, I’m responsible for the dessert menu. 

Fucken BAM! I love desserts and baking and shit (as you know), and as I progress, I’m getting better and better at it.  I’ve worked out good menu’s that sell, and the right quantities to meet demand.  So, if the staff don’t eat them all (and they often do!), the customers seem to be happy.

As for my little cake business?  Well, it’s still ticking along nicely.  I had to make a few choices at the end of last year, which resulted in me missing a couple of markets.  After all the hard work I’d put in through the year, I didn’t want to throw it all away because of the markets.  The market wasn’t going anywhere, so I shelved it for a few months, and focused on my study.  Big picture stuff.  I feel it was a wise choice, and certainly one I haven’t regretted.

It’s been a massive year of change, and somehow, I’ve managed to come through it relatively unscathed. 

Even Charlie has survived!  Poor bastard. He’s gone from me being home every night and weekend, to the demands of hospitality shift work.  He’s cooking for himself most nights, as am only home a couple of nights. Come winter, I will leave stuff in the slow cooker for him, to give him a break.

Though, in saying that, for twelve years, I would come home after two hours in the car, and cook him a meal.  So fuck him; he can see what the shoe is like on the other foot.

Poor bastard. J

So, that’s pretty much where I’m at for the moment. 

Let’s see what new adventures 2014 can provide.

Peace out peeps.

GETTING MY COOK ON

So, I’m starting to get into my course a little now. 

It took a few days for me to find my comfort zone, and understand my place in the world, but I’m starting to get to know my peeps a little better, as you would expect as time rolls by.

As I’ve blogged before, they’re all quite a mixed collection of people.  The Gen Yers are all right.  Apparently, they failed last year (because they didn’t get all of their homework completed), so they’re back for a second round. 

Though, you would expect that they’d know their shit, but some of them seem a little unsure.  Maybe they’re just shy.

That won’t last long with me around. J

One of them I have clicked really well with.  I think that’s because she reminds me so very much of my cousin Kate.  Same build, same hair, same face and similar mannerisms. 

So I have a spot for Candy (that’s the name I’m giving her on here).  Candy’s a nice kid trying to make her way in the world.

For our first in class lesson, I roll up to school, and she’s sitting outside on the bench having a smoke.  So, I wander over and say g’day.  She shows me her flashy set of Global knives, which I know will be worth about a grand in total. 

Now, I don’t give a fuck really, but she was so exited when she showed me, that I could only be encouraging and happy for her.  Good on her!  She loves her knives.

‘Don’t let any mother fucker in the class use them, but you.’ I warned. ‘They won’t respect those knives like you will.’

‘I’d let you use them, Lee, cos I know you like cooking and you would look after them.’

‘That I would darling, but just don’t let any fucker, including me, use them baby.  They’re all yours.’

‘Okay’. She smiled proudly, wrapping them all up again.  Good on ya, love.

So we wander into the change rooms, and change into our fucken Michelin Man outfits.  I feel like a dick, but Candy’s wearing her Michy outfit, so I’m not feeling so bad.

We wander into the kitchen, dump our shit and find a place on a bench, ready to get our learnin’ on.

The rest of the class staggers in, half of them without their fucken uniforms.  Four months we’ve known about this course starting; where the fuck are your uniforms people?  Jebus? 

One of the ladies, we’ll call her M, is already driving me nuts.  She hasn’t a very good grasp of English (neither have I, but I think I can communicate ok), and she’s latched on to me like a fucken leech.

Smart lady has worked out who the switched-on students are, and she follows them around like a fucken puppy. 

I don’t know whether she’s cunning, and is riding on my coat-tails, or if she’s just genuinely desperate.

Either way, it took half a day in our first split class to learn that I need to keep away from this leech, or she’ll suck the fucken life out of me.

Unfortunately for me, she nabbed me straight away.

‘Are these shoes okay?’ she points to a gorgeous pair of Mary-Jane’s that she’s wearing.

‘No champ.  They are not.’

‘Why?’

‘You have to wear boots.’ I lift my trousers (fucken gay check clown pants), and show her my Blunstones.   ‘Those shoes are not safety boots.’ I point at hers.  ‘If you drop a knife or hot liquid on them, it will go straight through to your foot.  You must wear boots to protect your feet.’  Fuck me! Haven’t you done ANY of the homework?  Have you not listened to anything said during the fucken first day of school?  It was all OH&S shit; specifically what we have to wear!

Fuck me, it’s gonna be a long day. *face palm

So the trainer, Big Jase, is showing us how to julienne a carrot.  Simple enough.  Done it a few times; knife skills are okay.  Sweet.

Another chick and I, we’ll call her J, set up and share a chopping board, and start chatting whilst chopping.  Fucken M barges into the middle of us, asks what we are doing, and sticks her fucken face in the way.

I’m like ‘Dude.  Back the fuck up.  Go and get a bit of carrot, a knife and a fucken chopping board, and give it a red hot go somewhere else mate.  There’s plenty of room.’

She laughs it off.  ‘Oh, I don’t understand.’

‘Then go and ask Big Jase.  He’s the teacher. He will help you.’  Fuck this shit, ya rude moll.

‘Can I watch you.’  Fuck me.  So I chop away, and stand back for J to have a turn, and fucken M takes her bit of carrot, and just start making a fucken hash of things.

I give J and eye roll over the top of M’s head, and she’s like ‘dude, I know.’

What the fuck?  I’m going to end up ripping M a new one if she keeps this shit up.

By the end of the day, both J and I have moved places in the kitchen to simply get away from M, and still she’s haunting me like a fucken poltergeist!

‘Is this enough water, Lee?’

‘Go and ask Big Jase love, he’s the trainer.’  Fucked if I’m carrying her all year. 

‘What do I put now?  Do I put sugar?  What else do I put?’

‘Go ask Big Jase, M.  I’m not the teacher.  You must ask him, cos I don’t want to tell you the wrong thing.’  I’m not the fucken teacher; I’m here to learn too!  If I carry her along, Big Jase and Big Jode (the other trainer) aren’t going to see that she’s struggling. 

It’s like a parent doing the homework for their kids.  The kids are getting any smarter, and the teacher doesn’t realise that the kids actually a dumbarse.  They get through on a false representation of themselves, and when it comes to the crunch, they fail and the teacher never sees it coming.

I’m not M’s parent, and I’m not doing the work for her.  She needs to sort this shit out for herself, and if she’s not up to it, fucken move on.

Harsh, but fair.

No one’s cutting me any slack for anything; I have to pull my own weight, she can too.

I know that it’s all about teamwork, and it’s all about getting along in a close environment and working with a different mix of people when you get out into the workforce.  I’ve been working in it for 25 years, and putting up with all variety of dickhead.  I get it.

However, in a commercial kitchen, I would not be expected to assist someone that knows jack shit, whilst trying to learn myself.  Different situation.

I can’t handle all the shit I have to do, whilst learning and pumping Big Jase and Jode for everything they’ve got, with M clinging to me, too.

*big sigh again

So, although I am happy to assist anyone, I can’t do everything for her, and she needs CONSTANT supervision.  Fuck me!  She nearly lost her fucken fingers half a dozen times, and that’s whilst J and I were trying to teach her how to chop shit! 

I’ll have to nip this in the bud.  Soon.

Aside from that, I’m getting along really well with everyone else in the class.  I should say, I am getting along very well with M, she just shits me.

Now there’s J, who’s 26 and a mother of three; the oldest being 10.  You do the math.  She wants to punch the 10 year old him the head, cos he’s a smart arse little fucker.  I said ‘I hear ya.  He’ll be like that until late teens.  Fuckers.’  J and I get along like a house on fire.  She’s a nice chick.

Then there’s young D, who’s 16 and never really cooked much before, but has a shit load more of an idea that M.  She’s the 16 year old that latched on to me because I’m like her late mum; also called Lee (must have been an awesome chic). J

There’s another chick called L, who clearly can’t be fucked, and has some serious issues, because I don’t think she wants to be there.  However, in saying that, at least she’s there (for the second time), and trying.  She and I get along well.

She near broke a rib when we were talking about cocktail frankfurts, and Candy and I call them ‘little boys.’  I explained that when you over cook little boys, they split, and become ‘little girls’.  They lost their shit at that one.

I realised then that I have a whole new audience, and a new generation, to dump my stupid jokes on.  Yeah. 

So, after about two weeks now, we’re all getting along really well, even M and I.  I must say, she’s a nice chick, but I think she’s seriously gunna to struggle.

I can’t wait to get to know these peeps better, and work with them more.  Everyone has their stories, and I can’t wait to learn more about them.  They’ll be my school buddies, and a very important part of this adventure for me.

I just hope I don’t throttle them in the mean time! LOL!

Wish me luck!

Peace out.

AND SO IT BEGINS...

So, school has begun.

I’m officially ‘a student’.  Even got a card to prove it.

If I digress for just a moment: does anyone out there ever take a decent photo for their licence or ID card?  Fucken I don’t.  A supermodel I am not.  In fact, I’d like to see the photo on a supermodels licence…

Anyway, aside from the exciting realisation that I can now purchase discounted movie tickets, I’m really quite terrified.

Firstly, I spend two weeks stressing over a fucken uniform.  In my mind, I’m thinking like ‘if I don’t cry with excitement when I put this uniform on, I’ll be astounded.  It’s totally like my dream coming true.’

However, when I finally figured out what size I could possibly be (try being a fat chick purchasing clothes online – without trying anything on), I finally order these fucken things, only to receive them, and realise that they are made for fucken giants.

Not short-arse fat chicks.  Giants.

The chef pants and jacket fit me, but fuck me!  They’re literally a foot too long in the sleeve and leg!  So I’ve spent more money having them altered than they fucken cost.  AND, I’m still a harry-high-pants.  I can see that they’re going to have to go back for further alterations.

Then there is the realisation that I, who cooks in my non-air-conditioned kitchen at home, in shorts, a singlet top and sneakers, will suddenly have to get accustomed to fucken overalls.  That’s what this uniform is like: overalls.

Great.

But it’s okay.  The lame little hat, neckerchief and safety boots will make it all okay. *rolls eyes*

But I won’t complain, because this is what I asked for.  I’ll just cook myself a mug of concrete, and harden the fuck up.  I’ll cook myself a mug of concrete in my fucken ‘overalls’ that make me look like the Michelin Man.  Yep.

So I bundle along to school (minus the fucken uniform, thank fuck, cos I don’t need that for the first few days), and find myself sitting in a room with about twenty other hopefuls. 

And what a mixture we have.

From a sixteen year old kid who’s looking to start a career (but has NEVER cooked before), to a woman in her fifty’s that’s refreshing her qualifications.

It doesn’t take long to realise that the majority of the people in this room are there through Centrelink, employment agencies or for employment based training.

Myself and one other person are the only one’s physically paying for this course.

How fucken stupid am I?

I should have quit my job, gone on the dole, and Centrelink would have paid for my course! All I needed was a fucken Health Care Card.  A Health Care Card! 

Here I am, all excited about discounted movie tickets, when what I should have been aiming for was a fucken Health Care Card! 

Two grand it would have saved me! TWO GRAND!  That’s why I have to pay in fees! Most everyone else in the class room is cruisin’!! FUCK!

Dumbarse.

Michelin Man dumbarse.

So, after my first day of OH&S training, the purpose of which was to not only to induct us into the safety procedures of the school and industry, but to point out with screaming clarity for all of us, who the fucken idiots are that we need to stay away from.

Common sense is not so common after all, it would appear.

So after this OH&S crap, several ‘team building’ exercises (imagine my fingers doing the inverted comma thing), which saw me get way to close to too many strangers, and a heart attack at the volume of theory I will have to somehow do (didn’t know about that one – thanks TAFE), I drove home in hysterical tears wondering what the fuck I was thinking.

I can’t do this! I can’t work part time, study full time, run a business, a blog, a recipe website, secretarial work for the CWA, wear a fucken Michelin Man uniform AND find nearly a full extra day to do online-based study.

What the fuck was I thinking…

Charlie said it’s going to take me a few weeks to get used to it and get into a routine.

Charlie knows everything.  He is my Yoda.

I don’t have a few weeks to get into a routine, though.  I’ve got to hit the ground running, and it’s going to be hard.

So, I’ve decided that my mantra will be ‘it’s only for a year’.  I figure if I repeat this to myself long enough, I’ll fucken be able to cope.  Either that, or I’ll turn into a rambling, blithering mess, that’ll simply stumble around a commercial kitchen in the Michelan Man outfit, attempting to throw together something edible.

*sigh

Anyway, the second day of school saw us splitting into our specific training groups.  So I’m with nine other girls who want to be cooks, like me.

I’m the oldest in the group; no surprise there.  Another is a sixteen year old poppit that connect with me instantly, because I remind her of her late mother (who was also named Lee: go figure).  She reminds me of Jade, so I don’t know whether to hug her or punch her in the head.

Then I find myself sitting at the table between a woman that cannot speak English very well, and another that has a poor grasp of it, and here I am, a little slow to pick up on things sometimes, desperately needing to pay 100% attention to the trainer, but have these two birds chirping into both of my ears, cos they fucken need help.

Mental note: site in a different place next week.  Fuck.

Then we have two girls that rocked up to class hung over, and complained about being tired all day.  They’re half my age, and fucken soft, and I’m wondering how long it will take before I smack one of them.  Fucken winging Gen Y’ers.

Their performance affects my grade to a point, so my patience will go flying out the window very quickly.

Plus, I’m a grumpy, old moll that has zero tolerance for ‘young people bullshit’.

The rest of the girls are a mixture of ages, abilities and backgrounds, and looking at the collective, I know I’m going to be in store for an interesting six months. 

I’m just hoping that some of them don’t go on to the certificate III with me.  Fuck that.

However, it’s all about team work and dealing with different personalities in the kitchen.  It’s not all about me.

And it’s only for a year.

The second week will see me wearing the Michelin Man outfit for my first formal day in a commercial kitchen.  It’s not air-conditioned.  Now I would complain about this, but I’m kinda rolling with the ‘it’s good it’s not air-conditioned, because it will condition us to non AC kitchens in the future’.  Yep.  If I say it often enough, I’ll believe it.  *rolls eyes*

So, I must away now, because I have to do some online shit that will teach me how to use a knife; something I’ve only been doing for the last three-hundred years.

Wish me luck.

Peace out.

SEE YA LATER, MUTHA F**KA!!

What a contradictory species humans are.

A little while ago, I was shopping at Airport West, and whilst pushing my trolley around Coles, I can hear the rain and thunder outside.  Great. 

Yes: rain and thunder.  What a surprise…

Anyway, I push the heavy trolley up the ramp to the carpark, and yep: bucketing down. 

Haven’t seen decent rain at Tooborac for like three fucken months and here it is, pouring down in the burbs.  WTF?  Send some our way! I have an acre of garden and fucken paddocks that need watering! C’mon!!

Anyway, I’m standing under the shelter, waiting for the rain to ease a bit, and split my time between checking the Bureau of Meteorology’s website for rain patterns to see how long this shit will last, and stuffing my pie-hole with salt and pepper squid sushi (fucken divine!).

The rain eases somewhat, so I dash across the car park – well, as much as I can cos I’m limping (cos my knee is still fucked), whilst trying desperately to control my footsteps so I don’t fucken slip over;  I fling the hatch open, and unload in about two seconds.

I close the hatch, turn to take the trolley back, and hear ‘I’ll take it for you love.’

I look up, and a gentleman in his sixties perhaps, is coming toward me with his trolley.  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask.

‘Absolutely.’ He smiled as we pushed the trolleys together to make it easier.  ‘No point us both getting any wetter.  Jump in your car and go home, love.’ He smiled kindly, and headed toward the trolley bay.

‘Thank you so much, sir!’ I called after him, and smiled as I climbed into the car.

How sweet was that?

I send out positive blessing to the universe, to shower down happiness on this nice man, whilst I’m heading out of the car park, and toward the Ring Road.

So, my plan was to head in the opposite direction of the traffic, go around one round-a-bout, along a bridge over the Ring Road, around another round-a-bout, and then down onto the Ring Road.  Basically, I’m doing a big ‘u’, and that misses a lot of the traffic congestion on Mickleham Road (which is a head fuck at that time of night).

So I stop at the first round-a-bout, and some cockhead in a hotted up skyline that’s so old it’s an embarrassment, pulls up behind me.  Well, sort of.  He comes up behind me, tooting his horn and waving his fucken arms around, whilst fishtailing and spinning the wheels of his car.

How the fuck he manages to do this without hitting me or anyone else, is beyond me.

I’m looking at him in the rear-view, and wondering what the fuck he’s doing, and why the fuck he doesn’t go around me, because it’s two fucken lanes around the round-a-bout.

Dumbarse.

So I move off, because the traffic to the right of me has cleared, and make my way slowly around the round-a-bout, and head toward the bridge.

Fucken numbnut behind me comes around the round-a-bout like he’s in XXX: Tokyo Drift!  I can see him in my side mirror now, his piece-of-shit-car fishtailing all over the fucken road, and all I can think, is ‘I need to get out of this dickheads way, before he cleans me up.’

So I touch on the breaks, which forces Fangio to go flying past me, all the while screaming abuse out the window at me.

I will point out right now, that I have absolutely no fucken idea what he was going on about.  There was no one behind me or near me at the first round-a-bout.  I wasn’t holding any one up and I didn’t cut anyone off.  I’ve no fucken idea what he was screaming at.

All I can guess is I stopped him from impersonating Paul Walker (XXX).  Fuckwit.

Anyway, Fangio in his piece-of-shit-car goes flying past me, and heading toward the round-a-bout ahead of us at break-neck speed, skidding and fishtailing all over the road like a dick, and I can’t help but think ‘you’re gonna lose it mate.  You’re gonna fucken lose it.’

Sure enough, Fangio loses control of his piece-of-shit-car.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you actually gasp and slap your hand over your mouth in fright?

Well, I had one of those moments.

Keep in mind that it’s raining, although lightly; the roads are really wet from the downpour we had not fifteen minutes ago.  It’s been as dry as a nuns clacka for months, so the roads are a little muddy and slick.

Fucken Fangio did a complete 360 in the middle of the road.  If I’d been beside him, he would have completely cleaned me up. 

How there wasn’t someone in the round-a-bout, was a sheer miracle, because he did a complete arc across my lane and through the two lanes of the round about, flinging his car backward up the embankment, and coming to a halt facing the direction he was heading AND, only about a foot away from a sign post.

Fucken arsehat.

Naturally, being the compassionate human being I am, as I drove past, I caught his eye (he was okay), and gave him a resounding round of applause.

‘Well done champ! You’re a fucken winner!’ I cried as I slowed down to pass him.

If looks could kill... he’s giving me the death stare as I drive past pointing going ‘Ha! Ha! HA!’

I drive carefully around the round-a-bout, and head for the onramp to the Ring Road.  As I’m going around, I catch him in my mirrors as he climbs out of the car and attempts to push it off the embankment. 

It takes me seconds to realise that, because of all the rain, the embankment may be soft, and his car has sunk into the turf.

Ha! Ha! HA!

Now, I’ve already demonstrated my compassion to you, so you should know, that as I headed toward the on ramp, I wound my window down (I didn’t mind a little rain at that point), tooted my horn to get his attention.

As he looked up, I gave him a friendly wave, and yelled ‘See ya later, mutha fucka!!!’

And, as I drove along the onramp and merged with the Ring Road peak hour traffic, I laughed.

I laughed and laughed.

In fact, I laughed so hard, I had pee leakage.

And I laughed all. The. Way. Home.

You see, it’s not often you get to witness instant karma, but to have the opportunity to rub in, is a gift from above.

Peace out mutha fuckas!!!