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Why Your Terrible Breakfast Offends Me

"Let them eat cake." ~Marie Antoinette before the French Revolution~
“Let them eat cake.”
~Marie Antoinette before the French Revolution~

Not you, dish-rag of a girl behind the counter, nor you, 65ish waitress with the second-hand Target sweater and hair clip.

Nope, you two have my respect. You’ve earned it. Over and over, you’ve earned it. Day in, and day out, you’ve earned it.

Say what you like about what money can’t buy, it can buy a whole lot of peace of mind and privilege. That’s why it’s so coveted, and so hoarded by those who have it. If it was as worthless as all the popular memes want us to believe, people would be way, way, way more generous.

Why your terrible breakfast offends me is because YOU are likely a greedy-money-hording employer from hell. I’m guessing, but it’s an educated guess.

More than once favourite restaurants have changed hands, and I believe that one of my favourite breakfast spots, Artisano’s may have also changed ownership, or perhaps the management has just dumped the concept of customer service? I’m not sure. I am sure that I will not be going back, nor recommending it based on my own personal experience.

Any time front-line staff don’t produce excellent products or customer service, it’s likely because they don’t have the tools or energy to do it. After all, who likes to feel second-best after a long day at work? When I say tools, in this case I mean decent food to use and enough staff. When I say energy, I mean; the staff likely get treated and paid like hell.

Yah, a bad breakfast is a first world problem, but it’s the symptom of a larger problem. First of all, if you’re raising kids, and working, you likely have to stop somewhere to eat at least once or even twice a week, simply because the demands of work and the demands of trying to have your kids get ahead mean you have no time and a whole whack of  extra blood pressure. Why? Simply put; the Have’s now have more, and the Have-Nots have even less. And yet we’re not protesting in Canadian streets. This both intrigues and frightens me.

ewwwSo, when I get a chance to actually enjoy a meal, and I’m paying YOU for it, I’d like it to be well-cooked, fresh and hot. That’s the least someone should expect. Your burned bacon and rubbery-older-than-dirt sausage and cold as hell eggs suck. No salt or pepper. Clearly those are extravagances.  Besides, when the food is burned, old and cold, salt and pepper are really just putting lipstick on the pig aren’t they darlings?  And if you’re looking at the photo, that’s not pepper, it’s grit from the grill. Ewww.

Staff to bring you those things after you ask? Can’t be bothered. Breakfast is a completely indulgent meal to enjoy on a Sunday morning; with hot coffee and a newspaper, there are few things that make me happier.

I do not blame the all too commonly underpaid staff who are working their buns off to pay the bills. I do blame employers who skimp, penny-pinch and do so at the cost of the health of employees and customers.  This is why your terrible breakfast offends me. This is why I will not be back.

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Her Friday Night Bourbon Journal

Edinburgh - Scotch Whisky Experience
Edinburgh – Scotch Whisky Experience (Photo credit: milos.kravcik)

A girl has to let her hair down once in a while, or at least fluff it up to make her hard-working, professional self feel special, in that pink-is-my-favourite-colour-and-I-blush-at-curse-words kind of way.

Tonight I had the very good fortune of spending a few hours with my highly intelligent, bourbon-drinking, fellow writer and observer of life. We, as writers do, sat back and sipped our libations, observing other guests at the bar and making educated guesses about their relationships, sexual prowess, and professional pursuits.

I could tell you dear readers, about the gentleman whom I boldly approached at the end of the evening. Placing my palm on his back, I could feel the soft fabric of his cashmere shirt ( I had incorrectly thought it jersey knit from a distance), and the hard, solid body underneath.

I could tell you that my scotch-pal was a man of very little faith, and even hinted that my mischief mind insight a rather masculine ass-kicking.

I could also tell you that when I did approach the mystery man at the bar, his eyes met mine, and were the same shade of light blue. I could tell you that he had thin lips and a rather masculine frame.

With my hand on his back, and my friend looking on, I whispered in this stranger’s ear, ” I couldn’t help but notice you. I find you very intriguing.” To which his balding head turned, and his smile spread across his beer dampened lips. ” Was that your wife you were with earlier.”

He gave me a sly, I-know-how-to-pick-up-chicks-and-get-laid smile of confidence. “No,” he answered, “just a friend.”

“So that wasn’t your girlfriend,” I asked, hand still on his back, our eyes locked in half-inebriated-Friday-night-hunger.

“No.”

I slipped a note with my fake name and fake number written on it, ” Call me tomorrow,” I said.

He turned to face me full-on, placed his hand on my arm, “But where are you going now Teri?”

I slipped from his touch and jabbered something about going somewhere else, and escaped the bar with my scotch drinking pal in hot pursuit.

Silly, I know. Pointless games and surmising? Yes. Immature? Perhaps. Memorable? Quite likely.

But isn’t that what life’s about my darlings? Just a little bit? Even if you’re all grown up with responsibilities and a serious career?

If you answered no, you are in need of serious inspiration to keep you young at heart.

At home, in the quiet of the midnight hour, I offer you these questions to ponder as whatever you sip warms the back of your palate.

Friday Evening Scotch Ponderings

1) Without googling it, what’s the difference between a cyclone and a hurricane?

2) Write a list of five sexy beasts who “make your pants wanna get up and dance”.

3) Why so some men dominate your time without any action? Yes, that’s right gentlemen, women need a little hoochie-coochie to keep them interested too. You only get a short probationary period to let us sample your skills, after that, it’s just a matter of deleting you from our iPhones. We have enough friends, what us single gals are after are highly skilled lovers.

4) If it weren’t for your intolerance of loud snoring and flatulence, would you be co-habitating by now?

5) Is there anything worse than a man who does not know the proper fellatio technique? Seriously, it’s irritating enough to cause fantasies of giving his melon a double knee crunch just to get him to stop.

6) Why are laid back men so damned hot? (I’ll help you with this one, “Because you can just saddle them up and they’ll do anything.”)

7) Why do our eyes lie to our hearts? For example, every shirtless fireman with a six-pack makes us glisten just a little bit in our girly bits, but when it comes to the nitty-gritty, the reality is, we’d rather have a hippie with a bit of a beer belly between the sheets, or a cuddly bald guy. Wait. Don’t answer that. We already know the answer….

8) If you don’t know the answer, you need a little more truth serum in your glass my cute little pumpkin pie. Just go back and refer to #6.

9) Who the hell thought to bake pumpkin guts in a pie shell anyway?

10) Same goes for stuffing bread, dried fruit and sausage up dead bird’s you-know-what.

With that, I wish you a happy, thoughtful, slightly inebriated start to our long, Canadian Thanksgiving weekend.

Salute.