I admit it, I am a procrastinator and I fail at blogging on a regular basis. I would like to begin this blog by blaming the snow. For those of you who were also born and raised in Vancouver, you know what I mean. I've been having a personal snow day since December 13th, the date of the first snowfall. Since then, I have pretty much stayed inside my house. Good sense has told me that if I venture outside, I may perish. I have been outside since the rain has come back.
(special note: For all you transplanted Vancouverites. . .yes, YES, I know it's colder where you are from, but I don't care, I'm pretty sure our snow is grosser than yours. . . and I promise not to curse the rain for at least one month or at least until it has eaten the snow container around my car.)
Only two major school related events have happened since my last blog. I shall begin with the second event:
On December 17th, I managed to burn myself real good with a flaming hot sauterne. I was being a super smartypants and I put the frying pan on a cool baking sheet and started to carry it to the dishpit. Halfway there, I managed to forget about the effects of gravity on a non-level surface. I tilted the baking sheet to get around a classmate and the sauterne slid into the meaty part below my right thumb and gave me a pretty decent branding. I didn't get a blister, so I assumed it wasn't that bad; however, four days later, all the skin started to crack and peel off. It was pretty gross. Actually it's still pretty gross.
Here are some pictures I took. The burn is way smaller than it was and I have a lot more new skin than I did.
I had to wear some really cool moist, burn bandages. They felt great, but after a few days (you can wear them for up to five days), they got super gross and juicy underneath. Plus, I was allergic to the adhesive and the latex in the dressing so I developed eczema all around the burn and some nights, I wanted to tear my whole hand off because it was soooo itchy. On the upside, I got to wear these groovy gloves everytime I took a shower or cooked anything.
So now, let's move on to the second great event of December:
First a little description of my school program. My year is separated into twelve four-week blocks. Each block focuses on a different aspect of cooking or food production with the exception of Block 9. Block 9 is "front of house" which is also known as plain old waiting on tables. To accommodate this block, VCC has built a fine dining restaurant called JJ's on the second floor of the school, next to the cafeteria. Now for those of you who have actually been waiters, you know that this is actually a tough job. Everybody wants a good waiter and everybody has an idea about how they would like to be served. So I think (actually I know) that for some of the students at VCC this is probably one of the most difficult blocks. Now, let me tell you how I know this.
On December 15th, nine of us from the class decided to have a beautiful and relaxing lunch at JJ's fine dining. Our waiter that afternoon was a young man named, Benz. If you missed that, I'll repeat: His name is Benz . . . B-E-N-Z. Now, on to the incident. A couple of my classmates decided it would be great to have a glass of wine before we headed off to cook dinner in the cafeteria. It was all very civilized. We sat around the big table making idle chatter, waiting to put in our dinner order. Just then, I noticed that a look of concern had cast a dark shadow on the faces of my friends sitting across from me. Before I could consider all of the possible things that could disturb them, I felt a BONK on the head, heard the breaking of glass, and then felt the unmistakable, cool sensation of a drink being spilled down my back. Then it really hit me, the rich spicy notes, the heady bouquet. . . ahhh yes, it was a glass of red wine. And I might add that it was a very generous six ounce pour of house red that was soaking into my brand new cashmere blend sweater and inevitably heading south down the back of my trousers where it gently trickled into my knickers.
Now I bet you are wondering what I did? Well first, I looked at my peers, whowere all looking at me also wondering what I would do. My very helpful, no-nonsense classmate Vivian began to immediately sponge me off with a festive green napkin (yes a green napkin will release dye that will further backstain a spilled on garment). The Maitre D' rushed over to our table with plenty of apologies while a number of things ran through my mind:
1. I wished that my pals Ariel and Katherine were there, because after some initial sympathy, I think they would have thought it was really funny. After the shock had worn off, they would have laughed and then ordered more wine and probably have harangued the waiter until he cried or wet himself.
2. Then I thought "How ironic that the wine spilled on me, because I was told by my rheumatologist that I wasn't allowed to drink anymore."
3. And then I thought "Oh well, it could be worse. . . it could be Darfur or Afghanistan."
4. Finally, I was sure glad I wore wool because you can just wring it out and it feels pretty dry.
I think I said the third thing out loud (I know it sounds trite, but it's true) That's when I noticed that the table seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief. I didn't make a fuss, because it really could have been worse. I did go to the bathroom and take off my tank-top and wring out my sweater. In the end I had to throw the tank top out and the sweater made my locker smell like booze for the rest of the day. I was a bit surprised that I didn't get my meal comped, but what do you do?
As a postscript, that night, while we were working the dinner line, 12 lockers got broken into upstairs and students had their wallets, permanent resident cards, mobile phones, and passports stolen. So by the end of the night, I was pretty glad that a red wine-baptism was the worst thing that happened to me that day.
Oh, one more thing, my brother and his fiancee went for lunch on Friday of the same week. Guess who their waiter was. That's right. . . BENZ. They said they were a little bit scared when they ordered wine. I think they might have even ordered the white to play it safe.
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