Archive for the ‘Ego’ Category

Why scooter>bike

Wednesday, September 24th, 2008

There’s a policy here where you can’t secure a bike to anything except a designated bike rack or risk the lock being cut off and the bike confiscated by the administration. Unfortunately, there aren’t enough bike racks. So it is not an unusual sight to see a bike hoisted into a tree or buried in mud or disguised as “modern” art to deter theives. (Although it should be noted that some of the provided bike racks aren’t even bolted to the ground creating a criminal’s Costco by forcing theft in bulk.)

I walk right on past several easily stealable bikes on my way into classes, while folding up my 6-lbs scooter to its smallest 24 inch length so that I can set it under my chair when I sit down or clip it to my backpack while piling up on subpar rice.

I’ve seen other distinct Razor scooter riders. Two have the Razor A model, like me. The other appears to have a larger, less compact Xootr. (One was walking out of the Wiley dining court, one arm around his girlfriend, the other holding a dirty, beat-up A2 series Razor. See? Cool people do it too.) Mysteriously, I didn’t see any of them until after Labor Day (when I presume they went home for the weekend, dug their childhood scooters out of their garages and brought them back to campus).

So I’m a trendsetter here too.

It’s my first day.

Monday, August 25th, 2008

“WORK?! You work?”
“A job? You got a job?”
“Wok? You cook?
“I am very disappointed in you, Tommy.”

I don’t know why everyone is so surprised. Do I not seem like the person that would work? I work at the Harrison Grille, which is a restaurant in the lobby of my residence hall. While other buildings are buffet-style, we pride ourselves on our more personal customer contact and quality of service. This past week has been training and I learned to make flatbreads, wraps and scrub potatoes and fry chips. I’ve heard what other people have said about work: that it sucks, that it is eroding their self-esteem, that the radiation gives them cancer. But I disagree.

Call me crazy, but I actually like work. Though it has been pointed out to me that this is my first job ever (true). I’m still caught up in the teamwork and nice smells. Even dishwashing isn’t that bad. There’s this huge industrial dishwasher the size of a minivan that we use after scraping the dishes. It blasts them with all sorts of detergents and drying agents and they come out the other end, still wet, but looking like they’ve been through some sort of hell for dishes.

My first day just happened to be opening night, Sunday, 5:00-9:15. I was put on fryer with a senior supervisor who I think is a junior. I was basically supposed to put something in the basket and hit the right button.

flow chart

I was a bit shaky and first because there is only one 15″ touch screen LCD to view orders on and everyone crowds around it. I can’t fight my way towards it, so I prefer the system where they would yell new orders out and I would fry them.

Four hours, I fried popcorn chicken and fries and spicy chicken sandwich patties and potato chips and nachos. I have never sworn so much, while frying, while fully clothed. The brown paper laid on the counter was overtaken by oil splatters and the floor tiles were slick enough to be curled on. (Canadian curling, not real curling.) Good thing, then, that I’m powered by Vault because I have to do this every Monday (9:00PM-1:00AM) and every other Friday and Sunday. Not necessarily frying something, but I’ll be up to my neck in something.