Chatting to a friend late last night, she mentioned that she was feeling a bit down. She moved right along though and we almost went back to the usual nature of our friendship, which is one of silliness and chuckles. But I said whoa - hang on - why down? She kind of talked about it a bit, but reluctantly, and I was a little amazed and appalled to think that I have known this friend for about, I dunno, six years or something and neither of us have ever really talked about our down times. What is that all about? Have we both really just assumed that because we goof about all the time that that is our constant state of mind?
I should add here that she has been a long distance friend for four years so I guess it makes sense that we only get in touch when in a good mood, but really...
Anyway, I fixed things up by telling her that although I've never said anything grown up like it before, I hope she knows that I'm happy to "talk to you when you're happy as well as when you're crap."
Nice one. Didn't come out quite how I intended.
Barista trial I went for was a bit of a joke. When they asked me to fold napkins instead of letting me get behind the machine, I kinda knew it wasn't going to work out. Doesn't matter because I went back to the Opera House yesterday for what was possibly my last shift and the new second in command to the new chef (of the celeb kind) stopped me in the corridor and asked what my story was.
"My story," I said as though slightly bemused by it myself. "Well. First thing you have to know is that I'm not a qualified chef. I'm a freelance writer and editor who doesn't make enough from freelance writing and editing to make a living. I offered to help out here last New Year's because they were severely short staffed and I offered to be an extra pair of hands. Early in the year I quit my full time job as an editor and staff writer of a dance music mag to go freelance and they kept asking me back to work in the kitchen. I need a part time job so I kept coming back."
"A witer eh?" he replied after listening, really listening. "Written any award winning books?" he asked with a good natured smirk.
"No. But I have won an award for my short fiction. I've had a bit of fiction published, but now I'm mainly writing for magazines. Did a couple of features for Men's Health recently, have a humour column, I've written restaurant reviews, I've somehow become a theatre critic..."
"Restaurant reviews eh?"
I think the angle I was taking is that I have to be upfront, there's no way I'm going to impress them with my cooking skills but given their can-do attitude they might just be drawn to my other small achievements.
Did a long shift yesterday. Enjoyed it a lot. I like hard work in an environment free of unnecessary bullshit. Just got a message. They want me on board. This is so funny. I can now add to my increasingly strange resume that I once worked at The Sydney Opera House under Aria's Matt Moran. Brilliant.
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2 comments:
I'm jealous... I want to pretend I'm a chef too..
It's a very funny thing. The whole vibe in the kitchen has changed. Some of the other casuals have quit because they don't like it. The rest of us are buzzing with excitement. It's reinvigorated my inner foodie, and it's also giving me more enery to do other stuff. Like making the time for writing fiction. Energy feeds off energy, it would seem.
I think it's the fact that I fessed up and stopped pretending I was a chef that made them want to keep me on.
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