“You’ve got to continue blogging while you’re on leave so you don’t lose your audience” I said to myself between quaffs of beer. “Fuck off” I replied. That, in a nutshell, explains why I haven’t posted anything in the last several weeks. But now, I’m back in KAF and, once again eschewing its wild nightlife (which seems to consist of mambo lessons or cross fit…I can’t dance and while I rather enjoy being cross, fit holds no interest for me), to bring you everything you need to know about dining in a shit hole.
As usual, I’m having difficulty getting back into the KAF mindset in which mediocrity is awesome and “Hey, this tastes kinda like what they said it is” means you’re having a great day. This culture shock has likely been exacerbated by the week long visit my daughter and I made to Germany as I was enroute back here. Those Germans know meat and they know beer. Not something I can generally say for the DFACs.
My daughter and I had a great time. The highlight for me, given my general disdain for humanity, was the pub with the taps right on the table. Not only did it automatically keep track of your beer consumption for billing purposes, but there was also a competition for the table with the most beer consumed both within that pub and throughout the pubs of that chain. The leaderboard was shown on a giant TV. I’m proud to say that my 18 year old daughter and I won the competition within our pub. There was a table of six young men who gave us a run for our money but my daughter’s youth and competitive spirit coupled with my age and lack of propriety left ’em in the dust. Oh, and before you go questioning my parenting skills, I took her to a goddamn museum first. OK?
When you first sit down at this place the waitress comes over and explains the beer machine…but that’s not all. There’s also a computer screen on top of the taps that allows you to order anything from the menu. You can even select songs juke-box-like from the thing. That means that besides the initial greeting, you don’t have to talk to anyone! How awesome is that? It’s not that I hate people, I just find them to be generally off-putting.
We had all kinds of awesome food but the highlight in Germany is always the meat. At one gasthaus they serve giant steaks raw on a heated lava rock platter. You slice and cook it yourself. I suggested to my daughter, the chef in training, that this was a great scam she might want to use some day. We opted for the smallest steaks they had because some of them were the size of roasts that would serve a family of four.
Same Old/Same Old
So, after meals like the one above and copious quantities of high quality German beer, here I am: sitting in KAF, eating DFAC meals and drinking bottled water (because there’s almost no fucking juice left on the base). I can now fully appreciate how T felt upon returning here from his cruise. In the interest of diesel fuel conservation and my inherent laziness, we’ve eaten every dinner at the Far East since I got back on Tuesday. The best stuff I could find on the menu were: 1st night-stir fry, 2nd night-stir fry, 3rd night-sandwich with stir fry on the side.
Ever Have One of These Days?
My third day back bears mentioning. I’m already not exactly thrilled to be back in this shithole and that day didn’t help. The very first thing said to me that morning as I joined our crew for breakfast: “You’re flying low”. Awesome. At breakfast, I comment how my shirt (that I’m wearing under a fleece) no longer fits due to my developing ab. At that point, I notice that the shirt is on inside out…as do a couple of my tablemates. Great. In the afternoon I sent my standard daily report back to our head office…only to receive about a half dozen emails informing
me that it is March 29th and they were not really interested in receiving the February 29th report again. Two separate groups of our guys tell me that the turkey that’s on for lunch at the North Line is excellent…so what is the only thing they’ve run out of when I get there? Fuck. Consequently, at supper, I’m not my usual charming and delightful self, especially when the only good thing is a fucking sandwich with meat that is so bland that it doesn’t taste so much of ham as it does of sadness. But Ho! There are profiteroles at the dessert tray. I attempt to bite into the tempting puff pastry and it falls out of my hand onto the floor. Goddammit. So I trudge back to my room to investigate why the coffee I ordered for my Kuerig hasn’t arrived yet (yeah…it’s that kinda roto). In doing so, I attempt to log onto my banking site to see if my credit card was charged only to find out that I can’t log on because my laptop has a virus that keeps redirecting me. Ugh. I go to use the washroom and I hear the distinct sound of hissing water. I track it down to one of the “squatter” toilets in our disgusting washroom. Of course,the poo atomizer is leaking and, as I open the stall door, I’m getting sprayed by it. I have to grab the handle of the sprayer (yeah, the same one that has just been used by some fucker who wipes his ass with his bare hand) so I can move it and reach in and shut off the valve. I am, at this point, utterly convinced that I am covered in poo and going to die of cholera in minutes. And how was your day?
How Do You Milk A Fish?
Hey Mister Tallyman, Leave Me Some Bananas
The Right Tool for The Right Job
They had spaghetti on the “East Meets West” line at the Far East along with some chicken in Parmesan sauce. M was just ahead of me in line and got some spaghetti. He also got a piece of the chicken and asked the ever helpful server if he could put some of the chicken sauce on his spaghetti. We both looked on in wonderment as the server attempted to pick up sauce with tongs! As he attempted to get the second “tongful” (consisting of as much as three drops only through the wonder of surface tension), M ruefully shook his head and muttered “Never mind”. ‘Cause grabbing a spoon just ain’t part of the process…that’ll teach you to fuck with the system, M.
I Am Not An Animal
What’s up with Cambridge and the rearranging of all the fixtures? They moved the sign in desk to the other side of the hallway, they’ve turned the water fridges 90 degrees, they’ve removed the really handy juice dispenser near the omelette line to god knows where. And they have plenty of whole eggs they can hard boil but you can’t get fried eggs from the King anymore. It all seems so arbitrary but I have a theory. I think this is the equivalent of tossing an old tire into the tiger’s cage at the zoo. Anything new helps alleviate the boredom and stops the cat’s incessant pacing and keeps its growing frustration in check. Sorry Cambridge…I’m afraid it’s not having the desired effect, it’s just kinda pissin’ me off.
Bright Not So Fucked Up Side
RS loaned me some K-Cups so I may have enough coffee to make it to resupply day. Thanks, RS. Also, L picked up the last tub of Twizzlers at the PX. She said she would have bought them for herself but she’s on her “wedding dress” diet so, knowing my fondness for fake strawberry goodness, she got them for me. Our theory is that every time I eat one she loses a few ounces. She shoulda dropped about 4 lbs by now. Thanks L.
“I rant therfore I am” – Dennis Miller
“There’s nothing wrong or evil about having a bad day. There’s everything wrong with making others have to have it… with you.” – Neil Cavuto
“Fuck off, Neil” – Kafoodie