August 6
From my brain
Contents |
2010
Me 21:41, 6 August 2010 (EDT)
So, here's where I'm at with my externship: one way or another, I'm going to Italy in December.
I had my meeting yesterday with Mr. B and Chef M (the school's president and culinary director respectively). First of all, knowing the caliber of the meeting, and having been in the corporate world for so long, I know you don't go into a meeting like that without someone else...or a tape recorder. So, I invited my placement director along (who, while knowledgeable about the entire situation of course wasn't invited by the admins).
The meeting started off with the typical "Ha, ha, ho, ho, my good man," fake-friend BS that every exec tries to do in a meeting. Once everyone was there, then he started in with listing all the "potential issues and considerations" that need to be addressed. These ranged from "the crazy" to the more mundane things. For instance what if any of the following were to happen:
- The plane to Italy crashed
- I got sick while I was over there
- For whatever reason, my externship was called off early (my own doing or otherwise)
How would the school be liable for all that? He went on from there for awhile which eventually segued into a discussion about the difference of a student visa vs a work visa, and we all came to the conclusion I'm probably going to have a work visa as a student visa entails an actual university attendance over there. Studying with a chef however doesn't really count...not in hotel setting at least. Still, that's OK, because the Hassler is already cool with the idea of paying me if the visa requires it. That portion is a non issue...it's just the paperwork logistics at this point.
There was also a discussion about not doing the externship in Italy, but doing it somewhere local instead, and then going to Italy after. In no way do I want to delay it afterward, I want to do it FOR my externship. I restrained being too argumentative here, because they kept with their pipe dream about it not being "right" for the school.
Later on, he tried to wrap up the meeting, and I posed the question, "Has anyone had an externship outside of the continental U.S.?" My hope here was that someone at least had gone to California, but I also knew that at least one person had gone to Greece (albeit they were also a Greek citizen to begin with). The reply was a resounding no.
"Well, if someone goes to Florida, California, or the PNW...what happens then if
- their plane flight out there crashes?
- they get gravely ill / injured out there?
- they screw up their externship and can't stay out there?
Is the school held liable for bringing them back?"
Blink. Blink. Blink. "Ya know, I'm...not sure what we do in those cases." My placement director spoke up then and said that it's an implied / assumed agreement between student and the institution that they are responsible for getting back, but the only stipulation is that they provide transport out, food, and lodging wherever they go. Nothing regarding liability is covered at all.
And that's where we left things. The placement director and I (hereafter MH) will work on getting the paperwork ball rolling. She's already done cartwheels and backflips in order to call consulates and whatnot. Mr. B and Chef M will double check with "the lawyers" to make sure of the liability issues.
Since then however, Wifey and I have had a few chats. Regardless of the outcome of all of this: I'm pushing forward. For all I know at this point, this winter is the only time that I'm able to go. The deal from Chef S was that it was "any time after September". In March, someone else could be gunning for the internship there. The main thing though is: I don't want to do anything else.
Throughout all my time at ThePit, I was just your average employee. I was a corporate peon; they knew it and I knew it...and they liked it that way. I don't want to ever be average again. Not among my coworkers, and not among my peers in the industry later on. Too much of my life centered around that. I'm not going there again.
So, the short version of all of this is that whether the asshats in the school administration decide whether it's "good for the school" to send me or not, I'm going to still go at the time I *should* be going for my externship. Having gone there, working my ass off for three solid months, and coming back with a letter of recommendation from the chef of a Michelin-star restaurant in the middle of Rome...the degree will honestly be icing on the cake. Having talked with Wifey, MH, and even one of the instructors who teaches ALL of the management courses...this is the right thing to do for me.
Administration be damned.
2008
Me 09:11, 6 August 2008 (EDT)
I could go into a long rant about how the management reports didn't get run on third shift because the monkey wasn't logged on to the network (no, didn't try to reboot, no, didn't fill out a Help Desk ticket), and when he tried to open the report it bombed and he just...left it.
I have a better post to go into.
So, the trip to the house. Yeah. Honestly, it was better than previous ones have been.
First, the drive there was like a dream. It was going home. You drive a particular route for over seven years and it just feels comfortable. You can literally drive it with your eyes closed. Every house I passed I'd passed hundreds of times. Every head-tall cornfield I passed just felt...comforting. It's one thing to say you're "going home" to where you grew up, but that drive back to Our House felt just like that...going home.
Wifey and I have this issue from time to time. When I asked her for the key yesterday morning (she has one, the other is in the lockbox attached to the door for any realtor who has to show the place), I asked which key on her key ring was the key for the house. She was puzzled at first, picked up one key, and started to hand it to me.
- "Remember, I'm going to the house to see if there's some stuff I can move around? That's the apartment key, isn't it?"
- "Oh! You want the key to the old house. You say house, I think this place."
We have that same conversation at least once a week. Sometimes more. House. Apartment. House. Apartment. They are not one in the same to me. An apartment is someplace you live in with a roommate. An apartment is someplace where you live when you're single. An apartment is not someplace a family is supposed to live in my opinion. You should be living in a house.
I can't shake that split in terms in my head no matter how hard I try. They doesn't feel quite the same to me. Can't do it.
Anyway, I actually was in a great mood on the drive there. That home feeling -- even with the impending emptiness of the building I was going to -- still felt good in my heart. I stuck my hand out the window like an airplane wing like I used to do as a kid. I sang along with the MP3 player (the above song). I smiled. I don't smile when I go to the house.
A few deep breaths as I rounded those last few corners and I was there. Our neighbor has continued to mow the lawn for us. Other than some weeds in the garden, and unless you looked in the windows, it looks like we still live there (OK, minus the kids toys strewn about the yard). I smiled again as I pulled up to the house and into the driveway, fully conscious about that angle you have to do in order to not grate your bumper on the curb.
Breathe deep. I walked up to he door unlocked, recalling again how the locks don't quite work logically like you'd expect them to turn, changed directions, and then opened the door. Now, exhale already! It's empty. Eerily empty. The air is stale because there's no flow because there's no electricity to even keep the fan running on the air.
I stepped gingerly down the hall I'd walked down for all those years, hearing every familiar board creek, conscious of every loose tile, aware of every counter corner and turn of the wall. Home. It just echoed in the back of my head. I glanced out the back window and saw the flowers Wifey made so many attempts to wrangle. I choked up a bit and decided I should pull some of them and take them home. Yeah, damn near lost it there. I took another deep breath, and decided to get to work.
Went out to the car, grabbed my change of clothes, and put them on in the kitchen (most of the window coverings are off, and changing in the front room is like changing in a fishbowl). I go down stairs to the basement -- still stale, slightly musky from the water evaporating, but cool and comfortable -- and gather the extension cords to throw them across the fence line to the neighbors house. I've got a stand of twin 1000wt halogen lamps (meh flashlights) that I have to use in the basement. It's pitch black back in the area I kept for my desk, and that's where the bunch of stuff was to move out next.
Chit chatted with the neighbor for a bit after hooking up the juice, and then went down to the basement to see what was there to do. Moved some boxes around, carried a shelving unit up, and made a game plan for what we'll be doing this Saturday. It was hot. It was stuffy. I moved like an automaton to push out any bad feelings.
After a little over an hour of that, I was done. I couldn't do it any more. It was just too damn hot, and I felt like I'd been running laps around the track I was sweating so much.
I unplugged the electricity, pulled the cords back in the house, closed the windows I'd opened to get some sort of airflow through there, closed the garage door and headed out. Breathe. In. Out. Good.
It was rough, but it's getting better. Little by little. This Saturday we're pulling a bunch of stuff out as a friend of ours in a much more densely populated neighborhood is letting us do a yard sale there on the weekend of the 23rd. We'll be moving stuff out next weekend too.
Hopefully it just keeps getting better to manage the emotions. We'll see.
2007
Me 07:43, 6 August 2007 (EDT)
Had The Talk with Wifey on Saturday. I let it all out. All of it right down to the blubbering and blathering parts. Started straight out with, "I've been trying to figure out how to not sound like a whiny little kid wanting his favorite thing back..." and went from there.
It was good. She saw my side on it (and I think I succeeded not sounding like I was just demanding more sex), and I saw hers (tired all the time, I'm not helping that by not helping around the house, etc.).
It's Monday morning, and last night we went back to sleeping in the same bed again. At first I was just going to go to the other bedroom, but then she asked me, "Oh, you're not going to see if you can get up at your first alarm?" I said nah, and kissed her (we'd spent a good portion of Date Night commercial breaks doing as such), grabbed my pillows and started down the hall. Then, I said, No., we can do this, and headed back, and slept with my wife (not that way).
Mind you, I had a horrible night of sleep. By 12:30, I had one bad dream (something to do with work), and then at some other point I had a far more intimate dream which woke up in ways a guy really doesn't want to wake up in. Then, when I woke up at 4:55, I figured there was no sense in going back to sleep. If I did, I'd be snoozing for a half hour after the first alarm and she'd kill me. I got up, puttered about on the computer, and then got ready.
I have a good outlook on this week. Hopefully that doesn't mean that I'll walk into the doors being padlocked at the office. :)
