Saturday, April 13th

Busy season's starting to take effect downtown, now that it's Spring everywhere else. Means more work.

And honestly, I'm inches away from walking out and quitting. The place is getting run like a concentration camp – no, a dictatorship. In concentration camps they feed you something at least, even if it's just bread and water. I'm not allowed to make myself anything here anymore. Not for free, not even if I pay for it, unless I clock out, because I'm wasting time and the customer's time.

And then when I'm trying to you know, respect the customer's time, and actually help them, Tom and Mike and the rest of the newcomers just rip me to shreds. The whole seasonal crew coming about came out of the same mold as them, I'm just their punching bag. And yeah, helping customers, I'm trying. If people start asking me questions about the area or directions or anything like that, I'm going to be polite and answer and make conversation.

Then I get steered away by whoever's in charge and snapped at for wasting time and making lines, usually by someone sitting on their ass in the back who only emerges to dump on me. It's really pissing me off, nothing I do here is good enough for anyone. I'm scared of my bosses. Honestly, I am. I'm just avoiding them as best I can to stay out of their way, but even when I am, Mike comes and like, gives me a tap to the balls or something and they all laugh.

I don't even know where Boss Boss is. Seems like the old guard got phased out.

And it really sucks. I'm getting completely jaded to this line of work, which is kind of what I'm going to be going to college for in a couple of months. I don't care about food, don't care about eating it, don't care about looking at it, don't care about making it. Completely indifferent now, they killed it for me.

Last year, I was trying to come up with recipes, here and home, because I don't know shit about how temperatures work, ingredients, what goes with what, what makes what effect, all that. So I was doing test runs, making dinner for the family or something, starting off on a base and branching out to try new things when I was bold.

Like, basic pasta, spaghetti. Anyone can make it, people my age who are surprised when I tell them what I made are morons. You boil water. You add the pasta from the box. You wait until the pasta is cooked, you can look at it or flop a piece out and test it. You crack open a jar of sauce. You heat the sauce, or maybe it doesn't even need heating. You pour over the noodles. You stir. Wham, there's the main course, you just made dinner.

So once I figured out how to do that, I could start getting tricky and customize. See what it tastes like with…bacon…with oregano…with a different sauce…with chunks of tomatoes…with cheese…with oil…with meat, and so on like that. For all foods, not just pasta, that's how you learn how to cook, I think, you just keep tinkering. Keep adding, or take something out and replace it was something different, see if it works.

But now I just don't give a damn. I'm happy eating peanut butter sandwiches or cereal for every meal. Works for me, it's easy, it's fast.

So then what am I going to school for? What's the point in wasting money with that? What can I do, then? I'm too much of a wuss to be a cop because I don't want to do all the training and probably couldn't handle the academy, the boot camp, all of that. I know that's what my dad would suggest.

What would my friends say? Eli? Shithead. Joe? Dumb and poor, not going away anyway. C.J.? Shithead, dumb, and poor. Becky, yeah, teaching's honorable, but going down that road takes a ton of time, and there's not a lot of payoff.

I don't know. Whole world's got me mad lately, everyone's going mad. And I'm afraid to quit my job, because I don't know if I can get one that's better. Shit sucks there now, but it might be worse somewhere else. Seems like I deserve better. Basically the credo around here is that if you show up, and show up sober, you can keep a job. I'm doing that when I know other people aren't, and I'm still getting shafted down there.

Thinking about going to that knockoff of ours down the street, telling them what I've been doing, and asking if they'll hire me as a manager or something, since I'll never get that respect at the Salmon King again.