Ruminations

VINCE

Food. How I miss being a cook. I have held many jobs over the years. Not all of them in some form of food service, but most of them. I have been in charge of kitchens that smoothly put out a thousand plates in a day, and some that couldn’t find 100 people to sit down on a Saturday night. From The Boulevard in Palm Beach, FL to The Riverside on the Root in Lanesboro, MN, I have put out hundreds of thousands of plates, some pretty, some not so much. But as I recall, it all started because my Mother had chosen to become a vegetarian.

If you have never visited Lanesboro, do so before you die. I have had the privilege not only of living there, but working in the two busiest restaurants in town. Although the population is only 788, the summer tourists easily triple that number and on Buffalo Bill weekend, an estimated 10,000 people invade the town. And they all must be fed.

Commonly called terrorists by the locals, the tourists are a breed of horrible spandex-wearing monsters that kick puppies and drink lattes. Blood does not course through their veins, rather some thick, vomitous ooze that would otherwise be found greasing the wheels on some kind of horrible machine at a concentration camp. But much to my amazement, they still eat human food.

If you ever find yourself on a beautiful trail in the middle of the woods, slowly passing streams, bridges, cliffs, and all forms of beauty on your bicycle, do us all a favor. Before you stop in any town, take a quick peek at what you’re wearing. If in fact it is Spandex like I suspect, know this: we can all see your penis. Especially those of us sitting down to eat when you come in for free water and to take a dump in our restroom. It’s not just an outline. It’s your penis, covered only by a super thin flexible fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. With that, I’m DONE with the subject. Shit, one last thing. Take your fucking helmets off when you go into a business!! Nobody is going to hurt you, as much as they may want to!

Without customers, of course, I wouldn’t have had jobs. Losing many jobs over the years has always been my fault. A lot of them from stealing whatever I could. Some from pure laziness. Much like the restaurant industry, street-level pharmaceutical sales always has customers. And it has always been my back up. I’ve always been good with people, even though I don’t really like too many of them. Every time I was fired from a job I would go back to my street job. Not always successfully, and in the long run, of course, ultimately failure. Was my last time my last time? I truly believe that I want to be done forever. Just like I did in 2001.

And we hop, skip, and jump to the next subject! I don’t transition well.

Today is my first day on house crew with full privileges. Essentially, starting at 2:30, I don’t have to be in my cell. I get to use the phone during all flag periods. I can shower any time, when there isn’t a line of 80 people trying to get into five showers. Yesterday I showered alone for the first time in two months. The shower area is open and I can be seen by all guards and about half of the unit. But I wasn’t surrounded by naked guys.

A quick note: Almost everybody drops the soap more than once per week. Fact is, soap is slippery. We all laugh and make jokes. That’s as far as it goes.

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