"Sir/Ma'am, are you ready to order?"
"What can I get for you?"
Scribble, Scribble
"Sure, thank you"
Walk as the boots hit the ground one by one, a runway walk.
Table Number, Number of People
Punch in the till the order, food, drink, soft drink
The printing of the paper and the sharp slice
Paper to the drinks, food copy to the back
Cutlery to the table
The clink of saucers and small plates
Ripping of packets and soft sounds of cakes being placed
The steam of hot water and the froth of milk
The slow pour and the quick stir
Spoon to the side, spoon inside
The call for order
the balancing task while walking to the table
the placement
"Enjoy"
The order is done, the next to come. Cycles.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
A Reflection, September 10th
It has been 11 days since I walked into the house.
The house, once empty, is now filled with little things that I have brought into it. Walking into the house the front hallway greets me with a view of three rooms: the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room. Their doors stand open in their places, held by rubber wedges. In the bathroom there is a rusted metal shelf fastened to the wall of the shower. On the second of three shelves sits a body wash, shampoo and conditioner. On the windowsill a cup is placed with tooth brushes. Next to the cup sits the toiletries. The feel of familiarity has not dawned itself upon the place. It smells of new and unused. Not a home, a house.
The house, once empty, is now filled with little things that I have brought into it. Walking into the house the front hallway greets me with a view of three rooms: the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room. Their doors stand open in their places, held by rubber wedges. In the bathroom there is a rusted metal shelf fastened to the wall of the shower. On the second of three shelves sits a body wash, shampoo and conditioner. On the windowsill a cup is placed with tooth brushes. Next to the cup sits the toiletries. The feel of familiarity has not dawned itself upon the place. It smells of new and unused. Not a home, a house.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
August 30th, 2011
Sitting in Bibi's on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. . .
The sky was a dark gray. Rain drops came down one by one. Edinburgh airport was in an early morning slumber. Upon seeing the arrivals from America, Scottish staff rose to meet them and guide them to the appropriate queue. Brits to the left, foreigners to the right. We weaved through the metal rails, each taking out his or her passport and immigration forms. Upon reaching the awaiting official each person looked upon him or her with confusion as each failed to comprehend the Scottish accent. The staff smiled, chuckled, and allowed us slowly through, stamping each passport as it was placed in front of them.
Outside the airport the mixed smells of cigarettes and rain filled my nose. People stood sulking as they waited for the right bus to arrive. I stood with them.
Minutes later I left the bus at the Haymarket train station. However, I could not find the station. I soon asked a lady passing by for its whereabouts. She gave me a quick, kind smile and informed me that the station was just down the road, a few buildings away. We walked together to the station politely chatting. At the station I purchased my ticket and chanced upon trouble. The gate and ticket machine swallowed my ticket without opening its doors to permit me through. I approached a friendly worker and explained my situation. Amused and questioning, he called over another worker to check the ticket machine to see if my words were true. Together, they found no ticket, but believed my tale as I held a receipt for the ticket purchased five minutes ago.
I soon found myself following the first worker across the station, down some stairs, across platform four, and into a small office whose door was hidden behind a stone wall. There I was presented to the station supervisor and my story was told. The supervisor looked at the receipt, agreed that I had misfortune, and wrote a note asking the conductor to please let this young man through as his ticket was swallowed. An official stamp and sheet of paper was presented to me and I was sent to wait for the train. Later on, the sheet of paper and receipt was checked and accepted by the conductor hesitantly. Under an hour and a half later I arrived at Leuchars.
With me was a man who had traveled the world multiple times and was on another round of doing so. He told me he stayed no more than three to four days in anyone place. On his current 48 day trip, he would stop in Italy, Scotland, England, China, Singapore, and many other places before he made his way back to Thailand. We took a bus together to St Andrews.
Departing the bus I made my four block journey with over 150 lbs of luggage to the letting agents. I picked the keys up to the house I am renting and sharing. I then took a taxi to the house. Leaving the taxi, I walked up the pebble driveway to the white front door.
The house appeared small. Doors stood blocking the clean carpet path at all five possible exits. A staircase led up to yet another barely lit white hallway. I found myself alone in an empty shell.
The sky was a dark gray. Rain drops came down one by one. Edinburgh airport was in an early morning slumber. Upon seeing the arrivals from America, Scottish staff rose to meet them and guide them to the appropriate queue. Brits to the left, foreigners to the right. We weaved through the metal rails, each taking out his or her passport and immigration forms. Upon reaching the awaiting official each person looked upon him or her with confusion as each failed to comprehend the Scottish accent. The staff smiled, chuckled, and allowed us slowly through, stamping each passport as it was placed in front of them.
Outside the airport the mixed smells of cigarettes and rain filled my nose. People stood sulking as they waited for the right bus to arrive. I stood with them.
Minutes later I left the bus at the Haymarket train station. However, I could not find the station. I soon asked a lady passing by for its whereabouts. She gave me a quick, kind smile and informed me that the station was just down the road, a few buildings away. We walked together to the station politely chatting. At the station I purchased my ticket and chanced upon trouble. The gate and ticket machine swallowed my ticket without opening its doors to permit me through. I approached a friendly worker and explained my situation. Amused and questioning, he called over another worker to check the ticket machine to see if my words were true. Together, they found no ticket, but believed my tale as I held a receipt for the ticket purchased five minutes ago.
I soon found myself following the first worker across the station, down some stairs, across platform four, and into a small office whose door was hidden behind a stone wall. There I was presented to the station supervisor and my story was told. The supervisor looked at the receipt, agreed that I had misfortune, and wrote a note asking the conductor to please let this young man through as his ticket was swallowed. An official stamp and sheet of paper was presented to me and I was sent to wait for the train. Later on, the sheet of paper and receipt was checked and accepted by the conductor hesitantly. Under an hour and a half later I arrived at Leuchars.
With me was a man who had traveled the world multiple times and was on another round of doing so. He told me he stayed no more than three to four days in anyone place. On his current 48 day trip, he would stop in Italy, Scotland, England, China, Singapore, and many other places before he made his way back to Thailand. We took a bus together to St Andrews.
Departing the bus I made my four block journey with over 150 lbs of luggage to the letting agents. I picked the keys up to the house I am renting and sharing. I then took a taxi to the house. Leaving the taxi, I walked up the pebble driveway to the white front door.
The house appeared small. Doors stood blocking the clean carpet path at all five possible exits. A staircase led up to yet another barely lit white hallway. I found myself alone in an empty shell.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane, Don't Know When...I'll Actually Take Off?
This post is for those who have not read the note on facebook. But if you have, I hope this provides some entertainment.
The Flight to Scotland
August 29 & 30, 2011
Hurricane Irene has humored me. Granted it has caused trouble for those in the Northeastern USA and to the people there I wish them well and a good recovery; but, it proved to be a source of amusement for me.
In summary, and to keep it short, My flight was cancelled four times, and uncancelled four times. Two of the times were mistakes and technical errors, two were legit prospect cancellations.
:)
The Flight to Scotland
August 29 & 30, 2011
Hurricane Irene has humored me. Granted it has caused trouble for those in the Northeastern USA and to the people there I wish them well and a good recovery; but, it proved to be a source of amusement for me.
In summary, and to keep it short, My flight was cancelled four times, and uncancelled four times. Two of the times were mistakes and technical errors, two were legit prospect cancellations.
:)
A Review of My First Year Studying In Scotland
I originally attempted to write this post back in May, but at the time it was being rushed. My thoughts weren't together. So, to truly give an honest review and this post the justice it deserves, I took the summer to truly think about the eight months spent abroad. Here I reflect on my experiences and their meanings.
I began university in last September excited.I was a freshman approaching a new country and culture. Driven by that excitement, I involved myself in different parts of university life. I signed up for and participated in the badminton, pool, art, news paper and Jewish societies and clubs. I went out drinking, joined guys for poker nights, studied with friends, hosted cooking sessions, danced at ceilidhs and more.
Academically, however, that excitement did not exist. I found myself disliking the majority of my classes and viewing them as mental struggles against a feeling of pointlessness rather than thought provoking, inspiring lessons. Sometimes, this perception nearly ruined my entire experience. I began to question whether university was right for me and if I should leave to pursue something different, perhaps a technical skill. Eighteen years of education, I thought, wasn't I ready to join the work force?
During the summer, these thoughts have faded and the old excitement of a new place, now familiar, has returned. I'm excited to continue psychology and enjoy another abroad. I'm looking forward to the work in Bibi's Cafe, traveling with friends, and experience what it's like to rent a house. I can't pin point the change of thought to any specific reason. I just feel relaxed and confident.
I hope these feelings don't leave me.
I began university in last September excited.I was a freshman approaching a new country and culture. Driven by that excitement, I involved myself in different parts of university life. I signed up for and participated in the badminton, pool, art, news paper and Jewish societies and clubs. I went out drinking, joined guys for poker nights, studied with friends, hosted cooking sessions, danced at ceilidhs and more.
Academically, however, that excitement did not exist. I found myself disliking the majority of my classes and viewing them as mental struggles against a feeling of pointlessness rather than thought provoking, inspiring lessons. Sometimes, this perception nearly ruined my entire experience. I began to question whether university was right for me and if I should leave to pursue something different, perhaps a technical skill. Eighteen years of education, I thought, wasn't I ready to join the work force?
During the summer, these thoughts have faded and the old excitement of a new place, now familiar, has returned. I'm excited to continue psychology and enjoy another abroad. I'm looking forward to the work in Bibi's Cafe, traveling with friends, and experience what it's like to rent a house. I can't pin point the change of thought to any specific reason. I just feel relaxed and confident.
I hope these feelings don't leave me.
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