Christmas in July
So on Sunday it was six degrees outside. Not sixteen, not twenty-six, but six. It’s fucking June and for some reason beyond my knowledge, the temperature is the same as it was here as when I left for Singapore on JANUARY SECOND. That’s fucked up.
I came home to Stavanger last Thursday, and apart from temperatures suggesting that hell is about to freeze over, it’s been quite nice. My bed is fluffy and comfortable (perhaps a pathetic excuse to spend copious amounts of time in it), I’m still getting along really well with the family and the tap water is just splendid.
Given my rather dismal current financial situation, however, I’m working as much as possible at the restaurant. That’s right, I’m back to waiting tables. I have avoided any major accidents thus far but in memory of my fuckups of last summer I’m including a list of my three most humiliating incidents from last year.
- Accidentally knocking over the 4 m high palm tree in the dining room so that it ell down on the table of 14 daycare employees.
told that it’s headed towards Tau, not Stavanger.
- Missing the boat going off the island (the restaurant’s a 20 minute boatride from downtown), waving like a maniac to have it turn around and come back for me, then being told that it’s headed towards Tau, not Stavanger.
- Being assigned to serve at the boss’s father’s private party and then standing poised and ready with a tray full of champagne in glasses. Then, as the guest turn the corner and see me, having one glass get knocked over by the wind, causing the others to fall like dominoes and shatter as the guests stare.
Hopefully I am older and wiser by now.