Waffle House! Raise your hand if you love Waffle House! If your hand isn't raised, you are lying. We as a society love waffle house. It may be dirty and greasy and run through you like a firecracker [probably the grossest thing I've ever said via blog], but you love it! The plastic menus with their pictures [thanks, I forgot what eggs and bacon looked like!]. The greasy floor that you could easily pull a Risky Business on. The 24 hours of operation, perfect for early morning coffees or late night meals that soak up whatever your consumed that evening. Aw that yellow glowing roof top is like a house of worship for college students, truck drivers, and any other lonely sole in need of a good meal... well, a meal at least.
I worked at Waffle House. That's right, I wore the uniform, with the black shoes and visor, I ain't got no shame! mama gotta eat, which means mama gotta work. And during my junior year of college, I worked in a waffle house. It was an interesting experience. I got to wash dishes behind the counter, being hit on by truck drivers at 7 in the morning [oh yes, I have never been more attractive than when I'm in my waffle house uniform with a layer of grease covering my face]. It was great. One day, I was taken to the back to learn the joys of food prep. At first, I was a lowly dish washer slash girl who got to pour bleach down the drain in the bathroom when it started to stank. But that day, I was being promoted to food prepper. oh glorious day.
Food prep was fairly easy. The Waffle House runs on efficiency, meaning that the ingredients for your delicious [ok mediocre] food are prepped in advanced. You can't take the time to slice up a tomato on the line. You need tomatoes that are pre sliced, mayonnaise that is already divided from the jelly packets, eggs in a specific bowl. That's where I came in. An intricate part of the waffle house team.
My trainer was a man named Rob. He was a good ole' boy with a thick country accent who was always nice to me. He generally told the creepy truck drivers that I was off limits, which I appreciated. My knight in waffle house apron. He took me to the back [the magical food prep area] to show me what needed to be prepped and where it went. During this riveting explanation process, I was shown how to prep cheese. You took the pre-sliced cheese and peeled it from the block. You then laid a piece like a square. On top of this one, you laid a slice like a diamond. Square. Diamond. Square. Diamond. You did this so there was always an accessible corner, easy to grab and through on some scattered and smothered hash browns. While teaching me this process, I stated that it was kind of monotonous. To this, Rob replied, "well, I don't know about that, but is it like doing the same thing over and over!"
Good point Rob. I think I'll go back to the square diamond pattern. Need to practice...
Monday, November 21, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Winter Olympics
I am not a fan of winter. I hate having to put on seven layers of clothes just to walk the garbage to the dumpster. I hate having my nose run for 3-4 months at a time. I hate the fact that my bones feel like icicles under my skin. I just hate it.
I know some of you are thinking, but what about cute scarfs and peppermint mochas and christmas music and snowflakes? To that I say, scarfs make my face look fat, you can get peppermint mochas anytime [eat a mint and drink some coffee], there is only one christmas song I like [all I want for christmas is you by Mariah Carey] and the rest are obnoxious, and snowflakes? It's like cold spit on your face. Sorry winter lovers, I'm just not a fan.
So, you will be surprised to know that once upon a time, I chose to go to Minnesota and spend a week there... in October. And October in Minnesota is the equivalent of dead middle of winter for everywhere else. It was crazy cold! But I went to visit a friend of mine who had recently moved there [oh, the things you will do for a bestie when you are in 8th grade]. And it was a fun trip. Until...
One day, my friend and her family decided we would go skiing. Now, I am uncoordinated walking in sneakers on solid ground. So, putting me on wooden sticks while sliding down the ice from the top of a mountain and you can imagine how that would go. But, you don't get good stories by making good decisions, so I hopped in the ice fortified van and went to the mountain.
I arrived at the ski resort bundled up like a marshmallow and ready to rock and roll. Well at least roll... right on down the mountain. I was fitted with boots that strapped into the death planks [my new word for skis]. I took the beginners class where I was taught the basics of skiing. As if 15 minutes with Chip, the northface wearing ski instructor, would be enough to stop me from dying on this mountain. But apparently, that's all you got. 15 minutes of Chip wisdom and up you went. After an embarrassing attempt at getting on the ski lift [that thing is tricky!] I went up the mountain. I did a few of the small runs and did well. I thought I had mastered 'the pizza'. What's the pizza? It's how you stop yourself while skiing. There is no way I could pull off the cool swing the side and stop while sending a pile of snow on your friends [thanks for that, btw, I love having cold wet snow flung in my face. what's next, a wedgie?]. Basically, you point your skis inward, in the shape of a pizza, and pray that you stop. After a few runs, I was told by my Minnesota friends that I was ready for a bigger hill. Boy were they wrong.
I headed up the ski lift... way up. At the top of the mountain, I hopped of the ski lift, landing directly on my rear end and unable to get up. But that wasn't the worst thing that happened. I then almost went down a snowboard half pipe [pipe? pike? who knows] thing before I was grabbed by a kind stranger, who informed me that I would have been killed that way. Still, not the worst thing that happened.
I looked out over the ski run. I saw that the way down was a long long way. But hey, I had mastered the pizza. I was young, athletic [ish] and ready to go! So, I tilted my skis downward and away I went. I tried to zigzag across the hill, like ole Chip taught me, but I was not doing too well. Because I wasn't zigzagging, I began to pick up speed. Before I knew it, I was barreling down the hill, going unbelievably fast. I tried to pizza. No luck. I kept pizza-ing. I point my skis inward and prayed that this pizza position would slow me down.
Nope. The pizza had failed me and I was realizing I was about to crash somewhere. As I got to the bottom of the hill, I looked both ways. To my left, a rack of ski stuff that would have impaled me and killed me if I had crashed into it. To my right, a bunch of school children, who I would have impaled and killed if I crashed into them. But straight ahead....
Straight ahead was the ski lodge. None of my options were great, but again I was going full speed so not a lot of time to think. I tried to just fall over before I hit the lodge, to lessen the impact. But considering every person inside drinking peppermint mochas jumped up from the impact of me slamming into a building, I don't think it helped much.
As I lay on the ground, disoriented and cold, I heard a familiar voice. "ma'am, you ok?"
I look up to see my buddy Chip, standing over me. I gave a nod and laid my head back in the snow. To this he replied, "you really should take the beginner class, it'll help you learn to stop"
Really Chip? Really? You don't even remember me? I thought we had something... you taught me to pizza... men
I know some of you are thinking, but what about cute scarfs and peppermint mochas and christmas music and snowflakes? To that I say, scarfs make my face look fat, you can get peppermint mochas anytime [eat a mint and drink some coffee], there is only one christmas song I like [all I want for christmas is you by Mariah Carey] and the rest are obnoxious, and snowflakes? It's like cold spit on your face. Sorry winter lovers, I'm just not a fan.
So, you will be surprised to know that once upon a time, I chose to go to Minnesota and spend a week there... in October. And October in Minnesota is the equivalent of dead middle of winter for everywhere else. It was crazy cold! But I went to visit a friend of mine who had recently moved there [oh, the things you will do for a bestie when you are in 8th grade]. And it was a fun trip. Until...
One day, my friend and her family decided we would go skiing. Now, I am uncoordinated walking in sneakers on solid ground. So, putting me on wooden sticks while sliding down the ice from the top of a mountain and you can imagine how that would go. But, you don't get good stories by making good decisions, so I hopped in the ice fortified van and went to the mountain.
I arrived at the ski resort bundled up like a marshmallow and ready to rock and roll. Well at least roll... right on down the mountain. I was fitted with boots that strapped into the death planks [my new word for skis]. I took the beginners class where I was taught the basics of skiing. As if 15 minutes with Chip, the northface wearing ski instructor, would be enough to stop me from dying on this mountain. But apparently, that's all you got. 15 minutes of Chip wisdom and up you went. After an embarrassing attempt at getting on the ski lift [that thing is tricky!] I went up the mountain. I did a few of the small runs and did well. I thought I had mastered 'the pizza'. What's the pizza? It's how you stop yourself while skiing. There is no way I could pull off the cool swing the side and stop while sending a pile of snow on your friends [thanks for that, btw, I love having cold wet snow flung in my face. what's next, a wedgie?]. Basically, you point your skis inward, in the shape of a pizza, and pray that you stop. After a few runs, I was told by my Minnesota friends that I was ready for a bigger hill. Boy were they wrong.
I headed up the ski lift... way up. At the top of the mountain, I hopped of the ski lift, landing directly on my rear end and unable to get up. But that wasn't the worst thing that happened. I then almost went down a snowboard half pipe [pipe? pike? who knows] thing before I was grabbed by a kind stranger, who informed me that I would have been killed that way. Still, not the worst thing that happened.
I looked out over the ski run. I saw that the way down was a long long way. But hey, I had mastered the pizza. I was young, athletic [ish] and ready to go! So, I tilted my skis downward and away I went. I tried to zigzag across the hill, like ole Chip taught me, but I was not doing too well. Because I wasn't zigzagging, I began to pick up speed. Before I knew it, I was barreling down the hill, going unbelievably fast. I tried to pizza. No luck. I kept pizza-ing. I point my skis inward and prayed that this pizza position would slow me down.
Nope. The pizza had failed me and I was realizing I was about to crash somewhere. As I got to the bottom of the hill, I looked both ways. To my left, a rack of ski stuff that would have impaled me and killed me if I had crashed into it. To my right, a bunch of school children, who I would have impaled and killed if I crashed into them. But straight ahead....
Straight ahead was the ski lodge. None of my options were great, but again I was going full speed so not a lot of time to think. I tried to just fall over before I hit the lodge, to lessen the impact. But considering every person inside drinking peppermint mochas jumped up from the impact of me slamming into a building, I don't think it helped much.
As I lay on the ground, disoriented and cold, I heard a familiar voice. "ma'am, you ok?"
I look up to see my buddy Chip, standing over me. I gave a nod and laid my head back in the snow. To this he replied, "you really should take the beginner class, it'll help you learn to stop"
Really Chip? Really? You don't even remember me? I thought we had something... you taught me to pizza... men
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