Laundry List Friday: Five things I will and won't miss about working nights

Good afternoon!

As many of you know, my run as a third shifter is quickly coming to an end.  To honor this past month, I wanted to give you the five things I will (and won't) miss about working during the witching hour and beyond.

5)  Time to make the donuts.

Who says you can't make use of an art degree these days?

There's something satisfying about filling an entire bakery case with donuts you've thawed and frosted all on your own.  Hundreds of donuts...all lovingly hand decorated by you.

Then again...hundreds of donuts, not a won you're allowed to eat, and let's not forget...I fail at getting the sprinkles actually ON the donuts.  I get more on the floor.  This should not befuddle me.  I have little or no artistic talent, and my aim, for those of you who haven't seen me play basketball, isn't good.

4)  Scent of a woman.

Night time brings on different scents.  People coming home from work smell like the work they do.  I've met a lot of delicious smelling restaurant workers over the past month.  Is it weird to sniff someone as you're taking their money for their coffee, donuts, and gas?

Then again...in spite of the fact that I'm endlessly washing dishes and washing my hands I will NOT miss coming home and smelling like I've spent all night shoveling coal in the engines of the Titanic.   


3)  Feed the world.

I'm a nurturer.  Ask my kids' friends...I have fed half of Waukesha's children at least once in the past 18 years.  I love making food...albeit quick food that doesn't take any actual culinary talent to make...for people.

Andrew Zimmern never braved this weird food!

Then again...when I'm making burgers and burritos at 3 AM for stoners who simply WILL NOT GO HOME, I get a little irritated.  Yes, I hate throwing food away, but seriously...must you buy all six of the pizza slices I made before I even get them set in the hot spot?  Can't I get a bit of  a break?  SERIOUSLY?  WHO IS BUYING BURGERS FROM A GAS STATION AT 4 in the MORNING?

2)  Regulars.

I love coming across the odd person.  The quirky, the unusual, the unglamorous all fascinate me, and this job was full of that.  (Oh, and I am almost fluent in "Cigarette" now.   Yay me!)

Let's just say, this job was TOO full of quirky.  To quote Jack Nicholson from "As Good as it Gets" ...one of my favorite movie quotes:  Sell crazy someplace else, we're all stocked up here. (And you'll most likely find it in aisle three next to the newspapers and motor oil.)

1)  Co-workers.

I really liked the people I shared the night with.  I didn't have much in common with them, other than the need to make some money, but I liked those two...let's call them Matt and Gina.  You couldn't find two more different people, yet they got along great and accepted me into their little, odd, family.

And oddly enough, I have nothing negative to say about anyone else. 

So, after Sunday night I have a few days to recuperate, get a cortisone shot in my hands, and get back on a normal schedule.  Then, my new career begins.

I'm hoping it lasts longer than 30 days.

Willie Nelson would not love the road if he had trips like this!

Good afternoon all!

It's been sort of a lousy weekend.  The Packers lost today, which was my last hope for something cheerful.  My uncle passed away early this week after a long illness and the funeral was Friday in a town 6 hours from home.  Well, when normal people drive it, it's six hours.

See, on the trip back from the funeral, since Hubby had a family thing to attend in his hometown halfway between the funeral and where we live, I rode up with him on Thursday night. The funeral was late Friday afternoon, so by 6 pm he was ready to go, and I was to ride with my parents and my brother.  That was my big mistake. 

Let me create a mental image.  Ever hear of the movie "National Lampoon's Family Vacation?"  Yeah, that's our family.  Right down the the dog pee sandwiches.  The four of us have done very well in radio contests with disaster stories from our family vacations.

So riding home, late at night, with my parents and my brother, I knew was going to be...interesting.  At best.

It started out okay.  Dad and Bro driving the rental  (For the record, everyone of us has cars bigger than this rental.)  Mom and I folded up like origami in the back seat.  We were making good time because Bro was driving and Bro thinks of speed limits more as general suggestions for the weak. 

I should mention two things:

1) My mother has restless leg syndrome and is lactose intolerant.

2)  I'd been in pumps for 9 hours, and my already lousy feet went from numb to searingly painful pretty quickly.

Our first stop, 150 miles into the trip, (And 150 minutes, according to bro) got us past the tedious, two lane highway, section of the trip.  It was all interstate from here!  And, since we were leaving Minnesota, a lovely state, but one I've now dubbed "Land of 10,000 funky smells" I was jazzed.  Looking at the clock and working out the math, I figured we'd be home by midnight. 

Then my uncle, not the one who passed away, but the one who lives an hour east of the Wisconsin boarder, called my dad and invited him, since we were going that way, over for cake and soda.  Bro and I groaned because 1) This would cut into the fantastic time we were making  (The New Ulm, MN to Milwaukee, WI run is something college kids in New Ulm challenge each other to generation after generation.  IT was a matter of pride to beat the standing record.  As old people, we needed this, no matter how unofficial it would be.  We'd know we broke the record.)  and 2)  We were hungry and cake and soda was not going to do it.

We took a vote, three normal people and the lactose intolerant one, and we decided to hit the McDonald's in La Crosse, easy on/easy off exit.  Three of us knew these exits very, very well.

Which is why it was so ridiculous that we missed it. 

So we went two up, to Onalaska.  But the Mc D's in Onalaska isn't on the freeway.  So we had to make a quick change of plans. 

Culvers!

Ahhhhh, Culvers.  That blessed blue glow promising butter burgers and frozen custard.  (For those of you not familiar with Culvers, I feel very sorry for you.)  We all voted for that.

The thing about Culvers is, however, that they make everything when you order it.  So there's a wait.  And, since there were no cup holders in the rental  (for the record, everyone in this trip has cars that have no less that six cup holders.)  we had to eat in the restaurant.

We ate, but as we did so, Mother announced that it wasn't just dairy that gave her gas attacks...no, it was all restaurant food.  Oh, and she couldn't find her gas pills.

Eat up everyone!

Forty minutes later, our eta for home now closer to 1 AM, we get back in the car.  Another vote is taken on the cake and soda offer and since the parents get two votes (How did that happen?)  we stopped. 

"Half an hour"  my mother swears.  "We'll eat some cake and go in half an hour."

Well, my aunt, bless her, made brownies for our visit.  Warm brownies and ice cream!  Yum!

My mother ate a plate baked goods.  She weighs nine pounds and since she ate a plateful of baked goods, I gained six pounds. 

And then, as we were thanking my aunt and uncle...the subject of politics came up. 

CRAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, my parents and my relatives AGREE on all things political.  Seriously.  What this debate was about, I couldn't tell you.  It was four adults sitting at a table eating dessert and howling about the general state of affairs. 

Tick, tick, tick...

At 11 PM we made our way out of the house.  Mother, of course, stayed behind to use the gas room.  Uncle, who is a planter guy, wanted to show us his moon flowers.  Bro and I were as polite as we could be, but come on, we were five hours into what should have been a six hour trip, we still had a solid 2 hours and more to go, and it was already 11 PM.

But, flowers viewed, dessert eaten, gas released, we were back on the road. 

Well, for another 45 minutes.

At this point, Mother and I, both with legs and feet roiling in pain, were trying to sit face to face in the back seat of the rental, with our legs on the seat of the rental.  Since Mother is tiny, this worked, except getting the two of us out of the car took the skill of acrobatic conjoined twins.  (Hey, I watch a lot of Health Channel, I've seen the coordination it takes to move around.  I do not have that sort of coordination and Mother certainly doesn't.)

Rental cars...you think you hate them now, wait 'til you drive one!

At this point in the trip we stopped because my father is the master of the tiny details.  He knew that if he gassed up at the Kwik Trip in Mauston, he would have exactly the right amount of gas in the rental when he turned it in.  I should note here that had we been driving any one of our FOUR OWNED CARS, this fact would not have mattered.

So, Mother and I unfolded out of the car.  I used the ladies room, sharing a hand washing moment with a Chris-Farley-in-a-dress-look-alike. Since the universe is balanced, of course the mad she was with was a tiny, feminine looking fellow.  Hey, it was well after midnight at this point.

I wanted coffee.  But I didn't want hot coffee. Why not?

1)  It was roughly 1100 degrees in the car.

2) NO CUP HOLDERS IN THE RENTAL.

So I went to the "iced coffee" dispenser.  I had an insulated cup, but that was okay, I told the clerk it was iced coffee.  It's Kwik Trip, they really don't care what you put in the cup.

We got ourselves folded back into the car for the last two, yep you read that right, two hours of the trip.  I took a sip of blessed iced coffee.

It wasn't iced.

It wasn't even cold.

It was WARM! 

Not hot, but warm.  Warm and sticky and thick and gross.

I've never had a mental breakdown, but I think I know what the warning signs are now.

Somewhere in the woods of I-94, as we approached the Wisconsin Dells, I did something I never do. 

I threw out food. 

I opened my window, took the lid off the cup, and let the sticky coffee fly.

Have I mentioned I've never been really good with things like Physics?

While most of the coffee did fly into the semi behind us  (I started yelling, I've just hit a Teamster....DRIVE!)  a goodly portion stayed on my arm.

Great.  Now I'm sticky.

Mother is a problem solver.  She got a bottle of warm water  (Because  again, it's about 1100 degrees in the car.)  and said, "Rinse with this."

Then we hit a bump and the water splashed all over me, except on my arm.

Great, now I'm wet and sticky.

At this point, we are laughing so hard, it's hard to breath.  Mother then announces to the entire car, that she has a feminine wipe in her purse and that will clean me up.

That's when Bro turns on the radio.  Since my father avoids all things rock and roll, the radio is turned to his favorite AM station.  Do you know what they play on AM stations in the wee hours?

Radio plays.

Radio plays from the 40's.  I'm sitting there, wet and sticky, laughing my face off, twisted in some weird seating position they only picture in love making books from other cultures, and I'm listening to a radio play.

Well, I don't like being sticky, so I accepted my mother's feminine wipe.  Which made the volume of the radio play soar.  (Apparently Bro is not comfortable enough with his manliness to listen to a MAssengill ad in the car.)  I wiped myself down.  Now, I'm not sticky.  I'm still wet, but at least I smell like flowers.

We rolled into Waukesha at 2 AM, 8 hours after we'd left New Ulm.  My kids waited up for me.  Awwww....Okay, Skippy doesn't go to bed on Friday nights, so that doesn't count.  But Peaches waited up for me which was nice.

My parents returned the rental, so they didn't get home until after 3.  I should note that had we driven one of our own cars, with the bigger back seat, the cup holders, and no rental rules worries, they would have been in bed almost an hour earlier.

I'm just sayin'.

So, you may ask, am I afraid my parents will be offended that I'm telling you all this?  Nope, I'm not. Know why?

Because somewhere on this death march into darkness, my mother said to me, "Sarah, your best writing is when you just tell it like it is."

So, here's to you, Mom!

So you want to order a coffee beverage...

Good morning!

I'm ignoring the fact that I just sent my baby off to her last first day of grade school.  She's so ready for high school, she'd like to skip 8th grade and go directly to the land of lockers and proms  (She's been shopping for a prom dress since she was 9).  Instead, I'm going to focus on something that makes me laugh every time I'm ordering coffee beverages at a coffee beverage place.

Going to a coffee place is the way suburban women can make themselves feel trendy and hip.  And the fact that coffee is one of the few legal addictions to have  (and it is our addictions that bind us together...think about that nugget of wisdom later today.)  drinking coffee, and more importantly ordering coffee from a trendy coffee place is a skill to have.  Personally, I didn't drink a drop of that black elixer of life until I was 36 and needed something to keep me awake after watching those late night NHL playoff games. Six years later, I'm a card carrying coffee drinker very close to sucking the stuff down like truckers do...black and bitter.

I realize that ordering a coffee beverage from someone called a barista  can be a little confusing.  I get that.  But if Skippy and Peaches can manage it,  then grown adults should be able to.  At least, that's what you'd think.

There are some unwritten rules to ordering coffee in a coffee place.  And, as a public service, I'm here to help.

1)  Don't pretend you know everything.

Hey, they're called BARISTAS.  They've got the corner on pretentious, so don't go into a coffee place pretending you know everything because they will see through the crap and mock you two ways:  First they will be over polite to the point of ridiculous, and second, they will go in the back room with the other baristas and loudly laugh while you drink something that not only isn't what you thought it was, but probably has an extra shot of something in it so that you're awake for the next three days.  No, they won't spit in your coffee, they are above that.  But they can and will mess with your sleep patterns.  So, when ordering, assume a humble, ignorant expression and allow them to shower you with their coffee knowledge.

2)  Don't ask "What should I have?"

This question will only result in a completely blank stare.  Those familiar with the movie "Joe Versus the Volcano"  (And if you're not, you better get familiar because it's required viewing for this blog.) will recall the scene in which Joe asks his driver, Marshall,  where he should go to buy clothes.  This exchange ensues:

Marshall: They just pay me to drive the limo, sir. I'm not here to tell you who you are.



Joe: I didn't ask you to tell me who I am.


Marshall: You were hinting around about clothes. That happens to be a very important topic to me, sir. Clothes, Mr...


Joe: Banks.


Marshall: Banks. Clothes make the man. I believe that. You say to me you want to go shopping, you want to buy clothes, but you don't know what kind. You leave that hanging in the air, like I'm going to fill in the blank. That to me is like asking me who you are, and I don't know who you are. I don't want to know. It's taken me my whole life to find out who I am, and I'm tired now. You hear what I'm saying?
 
You cannot ask a barista what you should have and expect anything other than a blank stare.  The correct question to ask is:  "What's your favorite beverage?"  OR, "I want something cold.  What do you suggest?"  (Don't know if you want a cold beverage or a hot one?  Get out of the coffee place immediately and don't come back until you've at least figured out what temperature you want.)
 
3)  Size matters.  Figure out how to pronounce the sizes or order the ones you can pronounce.
 
Face it.  I'll always order a "Tall" or a "Venti" because I am not sure if it's "GRAND" or "GRAND-AY."  Don't say small, medium, or large, because these are not words the baristas understand and they will fire back "do you want that as a tall?"  Tall is SMALL.  Venti is BIG.  the middle one we don't order.
 
4)  Watching your weight?  Here's what you say:
 
Those of you savvy enough to have studied up on this know that if you 86 (That's a restaurant term for get rid of or run out of) the whipped cream and whole milk from coffee beverages you save yourself half the fat and calories.  Ah, but how to order this and not look like some nit picking dingbat like the woman I was behind at the deli.
 
Okay, I have to tell you this story because, well, it just happened and it made me laugh. After I got over being furious.  I went to the deli at my local mega mart to get some sliced cheese and roast beef for Skippy's sandwiches.  I managed to get behind a woman who had six children  (All hers from the looks of it) with her.  Five of the six were mobile and were buzzing around like noisy bees.  I've been there.  That didn't bother me.  She made them all go sit on the display of soda cases...I thought that was brilliant.  What made me mad was when she got to the counter and said this:
 
"What ham do you have that's not processed?"
 
You're laughing, right?  You should be.  The deli clerk, a patient man, said, "Ma'am, it's ham.  It's all processed in some way."
 
"Yes, but what is the least processed ham you sell?"
 
(I cannot make this up, this really happened.)
 
"Well, I guess this one," he points to one of the nine different kinds of ham in the case.  All of the ham, it should be noted, looks exactly the same, except they have different titles.  Some is "Honey baked" some is "Smoked apple wood."  But all of it looks like...ham.
 
"Is that the least processed ham you sell?"
 
(Now, at this point, I'm ready to jump behind the counter myself and yank out one of the fifty pound unsliced hams they keep and through it at her, because it's had one less step in the processing process...it hasn't been sliced.)
 
The Deli Clerk, an awesome picture of super human patience, then points to the basic store brand ham and says, "I think this one is maybe a little less processed."
 
The woman is over joyed.  She says, "Good, I will take half a pound of that.  I don't want my children eating processed foods."
 
So I've told you that story to explain why you should know how to order something with less fat.  Coffee places offer a "lite" version of their drinks.  I'm here to tell you, don't order that.  The lite versions are nasty.  It's like diet soda without the whimsy.  If you want to get something that is far lighter than the original that still tastes good, order it "non fat, no whip."  They will remove the whipped topping and replace whole milk with skim.  Not sure if a beverage comes with whipped topping?  It's perfectly okay to ask that question.
 
5)  You're in a coffee place.  If you want something that doesn't taste like coffee, get a fruit smoothie.
 
Ordering in a coffee place in the suburbs is a trip sometimes.  I love getting behind middle aged women who want to be hip and drink the cool coffee stuff, but really don't like the coffee flavor.  This is a transcript of an actual order I witnessed recently.
 
Woman: I'd like something hot, but what do you have that doesn't taste like coffee?
 
Barista:  We have fruit smoothies.
 
Woman:  I don't like fruit smoothies. I want something hot.
 
Barista:  We have teas, hot and cold.
 
Woman:  I don't like tea.
 
Barista:  We have bottled water and sparkling water.
 
Woman:  No, I want coffee.  But what do you have that doesn't taste like coffee?
 
Barista:  Well, since all of our coffee drinks have coffee in them, I suppose they all taste like coffee.
 
Woman:  What about the mocha?
 
Barista:  That would taste like coffee.
 
Woman:  What about the espresso?
 
Barista:  That would really taste like coffee.
 
This went on for about five minutes until the woman decided she'd try a mocha frap.  (That's a frozen blended coffee drink that has a hint of chocolate.  It is neither hot, nor is the coffee flavor hidden in any way.)
 
If you do not like the flavor of coffee, try the fruit smoothies, the teas  (I like the vanilla latte ruibos myself.)  or don't go to a coffee place. 
 
May I suggest starting your coffee experience at the gas station?  Believe me when I say, gas station cappuccino is a gift of the gods, all creamy and sweet and hardly any coffee flavor at all.  Start with that and, in a couple of years when you realize that drinking gas station cappuccino doesn't make you look trendy in anyway, gradually work your way through the coffee place's menu until you find the drink you really like.  Then, like my hubby, you too can just say, "I'll have the usual."  and look seriously trendy to your non coffee drinking friends.