Some inherited food etc. …

…from the one (worked out) (STEM) (Brazilian), when he gives me his groceries that he won’t use any more because he’s moving back home because his time here has finished:

An unopened can of pineapple, which he removes from his refrigerator and at which he shrugs when asked if canned pineapple needs to be refrigerated;

A container of vanilla frosting, and a container of chocolate frosting;

A bag of pumpkin spice coffee;

A ginger-and-pumpkin bathroom spray for deodorizing your bathroom;

Two cans of food pantry-brand cream-of-chicken soup;

Two small thick plastic bags of food pantry white rice; 

Two packs of heat-and-eat chicken chili;

Some dried garbanzo beans, and canned;

Several packs of spaghetti, one opened;

Some cocoa-and-coconut protein dessert balls, and some protein granola;

Frozen strawberry dessert cups; and

An opened bag of frozen blueberries, strawberries, and raspberries, that he had been using for smoothies with a small blender that he had boughten.

. . .

(He also had some various medications and toiletries like lotions and haircare; he seemed particularly attracted to grooming products branded at men.) 

Two eggs in a recent egg carton:

1) One egg seems stuck in and so I work it out from the cardboard carton and crack it, revealing a mostly empty shell and a small pool of white, gummy candy-like substance sitting at the bottom of it.

. . . 

(Apparently, it had subtly cracked somewhere farther up the eggshell, and the rest had drained out some time ago.)

. . . 

2) With another egg from that same carton, the top comes off it when I go to remove it, revealing a single yolk settled at the bottom, and no white around it whatsover.

. . . 

(Apparently, a sort of similar phenomenon had also happened to this egg, although its bottom half was also firmly stuck into the carton to the point where I had to tear out that section of the cardboard carton so I could remove it and throw out what was left of the egg, thus also ruining my chance for carton-reuse, which I do by bringing old cartons in to the university butcher shop so people can repack larger flats of eggs into something more manageable, which those patrons have requested and which the butcher shop managers facilitate by accepting donations of old reusable egg-cartons.)

. . .

 

. . . 

A reflection on (Brazilian) academic exchange.

Before he left, the one (worked out) (STEM) (Brazilian) was telling me more about the “sandwich” year that’s typical in Ph.D.s there, where you go abroad for a semester or two early in your dissertation to work with people in your field, and how it’s such a well-known thing that it’s even listed on your resumes, like where you did your Ph.D. and also where you spent your time during your “sandwich.”

And, he said it’s been typical for a while but Lula really took funding it more seriously, and there are exceptions like someone he knows spent time at a university in (India) and the topic and approach there ended up not being relevant at all to their project, although it seemed like it would be going in, but with his work, (Americans) use different types of mathematics and parameters in modelling the stuff that he models and they do it differently than the way that you’d learn it in (Brazil) from the schools of thought there, and so from his point of view, it’s just hugely worthwhile and he’s just a big, big believer in the system.

And, I can see why the program is effective, and also why it’s a good way for a country with a young university system to invest in its human capital and build up its home-grown knowledge base.

On another, related matter, he was also saying that I should try to teach or work in (Brazil), since “Brazilians love the U.S.”

Another day at work at my new job:

1) As I’m tapering off training, I get assigned a small table of a(n older) (white) couple in the quiet and dimly lit lounge that’s good for dates, and the lady seems high-strung, and she wants to get an Irish coffee, but she says that she’s had it here twice, and the one time was good and the other was not, and she wants to know if the bartender who made it last time is on and I run around and check and she is and so I go run back and tell her that I put the order through, but as soon as I say that she’s like, “Oh no, I don’t want her to make my coffee!”, and so then I have to run around and cancel the order although it’s already in progress, although the (quiet) (introverted) (tatted) (white) manager is making it, so they end up bringing it out to her anyways.

“Looks like you got a winner,” my one (eccentric) (blonde) (semi-manger) coworker is like, when I apprise her of the situation.

And, she says that we get a lot of “those kind of white ladies” in here.

The entire management team also remembered who this lady was from last time, too, because she kept insisting that they didn’t know how to make an Irish coffee since an Irish coffee always has cocoa sprinkled on the whipped cream on top, except it doesn’t, they were saying.

“That’s it, I don’t want to hear any more about this,” the one (quiet) (introverted) (tatted) (white) manager was like, when a group of everyone was talking about this lady and her history and how you make an Irish coffee, just hashing out all the details.

2) Four (South Asian) students come in and end up getting individual meals, and when I collect receipts, it’s $0 tip, $0 tip, $1 tip, and $1 tip.

And, I really want to take a picture of all of those receipts and text it to my one (chubby) (Thai) ex-coworker and to my one (newer) (taller) (Thai) ex-coworker and be like, “See, Indian here too,” only, I don’t want to get caught doing that at my new job and lose my job, so I don’t.

Jigsaw puzzle disappointment:

This one puzzle that I got from the “take one, leave one” jigsaw puzzle exchange at the local public library in the (college) town that I now live in, it was these slices of various citrus fruits arranged with space between them against a dark blue background, with occasional herb pieces scattered here and there among them and even tucked in behind them on occasion.

And, it looked so nice and bright on the box that it looked just perky and positively perfect to put together during the dead of winter, although when I first took it out and flipped over the pieces, it just didn’t look that bright at all, although I do admit that when you started assembling the citrus pieces, that’s when the colors really started to look brighter, although still not quite as bright as on the box.

Much worse than that, though, was the fit of the pieces, so many you would think fit in, but later you’d discover that one had been misplaced and the misfit was so imperceptible at the time that it only became apparent when you’d build out this whole section and there’d be a gap left near there and nothing would fit in there by it no matter what you did, and then you’d take a piece or two out and try other things and then you’d discover the rearranged, true fit.

Just a really, really shitty product, although the box certainly looked nice.

The manufacturer’s information said (China).

A day at my new job:

1) On the bus commute in, a bunch of (South Asian) students are just lollygagging around and blocking the aisle on the bus when people need to move in because so many people are getting on the bus, and it makes me realize how I don’t really see that many (South Asian) customers at my new job at the (Irish-y) burger joint in the first floor of a historic hotel.

2) During shift, some (50s-ish) (white) ladies are curious about all of our various rooms and so as I do with customers now I offer to show them around, and when I get to the one that you can rent out for receptions, the one asks about capacity, and she mentions that she’s a realtor and heads up a local association and is always looking for professional event venues that can seat up to a hundred and twenty people.

3) After work, I go to the one (campus-area) grocery store that’s on my route home, and as I’m walking with my grocery bags down the sidewalk to get to the bus stop that’s on the route that will get me home, there’s this gaggle of like eight-to-ten (South Asian) students strewn across the sidewalk and crosswalk entrance as they talk to each other and just lollygag around and block everything for everyone in both directions, and it makes me realize again how I don’t really see that many (South Asian) customers at my new job at the (Irish-y) burger joint in the first floor of a historic hotel

Back-story (2 of 2): A person who was fired.

My one (chubby) (Thai) ex-coworker was telling me about how there’s an infamous restaurant story at the one (Thai) restaurant that I used to work at about the one (older brother) of the one (space cadet-y) (young) (blerd) girl, who had worked at the restaurant before her and who had actually been fired from it.

From what she gathered from our one (tall) (thin) (tech-y) (Thai) coworker/ex-coworker who used to work with him back in the day, he was a strange guy, like one day he didn’t feel like working anymore that day and he was offering people $50 if they would cover for him and let him leave an hour or so early.

And, like one time during a summer not soon before close, these people came in the restaurant and asked where their food was, and it turns out that they had been sitting out at a patio table and he took their order like at 9pm or so right before he was about to leave, only, he never put their order in and then he just left, and so they were waiting out there for like 30 or 40 minutes with no food and no food was coming and no-one else in the restaurant had any idea of what was going on until the people finally came in from the patio to ask what was happening.

The last straw was when the (Thai) owners had (Thai) relatives visiting and they had a big table of them and local friends in at the restaurant, and this (older brother) guy b*tched to the owners that they didn’t leave a tip, even though it was the owners bringing out free food to them etc. and none of the staff were doing anything for them, since it was a like a family-and-friends meal that the owners were putting on for them personally over in one side of the restaurant, apart from the rest of the business.

And, at that, that was too much, and he was fired.