Another collection of KAF non sequiturs now being served.
A Royal Pain
We went into the Cambridge for breakfast last week. The Omelet King was nowhere to be seen. As we lined up for eggs, I grumpily complained to J “Oh great, now I’m going to have to order, it’ll probably take forever and be wrong.” I must be fucking prescient. I did have to order, the line took longer than usual and the woman ahead of me got my goddamn 3 eggs over easy. I ended up with her two over medium. Why would she just accept 3 eggs when she ordered 2? Why would the cook give her my order? Why do I have to talk to people? Why is Santos allowed to go on vacation? Nobody thinks of my needs.
I picked up a bag of Sour GummiBurst candy at the PX. Sure, there’s a war going on. Yeah, I live in the middle of a desert. Okay, okay, I know this is a third world country where most people don’t even have running water. And, yes, I’m well aware that everything on this base needs to be either trucked in in guarded convoys or flown in at great expense. But, is it too much to ask that you don’t let the Sour Gummiburst candy get too hot? It makes them they all melt together into one big lump. Sure, they tasted good and all, but my fingers got all sticky taking them apart and that delicious sour chemical they’re sprinkled with wasn’t powdery like I like it. I’m getting a little sick of the excuses.
Watch Out Watcher, You’re Being Watched
Now it seems a job that once took one person to do now requires three. I told you about the supervisors watching the light-watching-plate-handing-out-guy. Well, now there is a US military dude watching the whole swipe card process as well. The US military here has issued an edict that US contractors can’t get take out meals. I’m sure there’s a good reason for this…I hear some people were filling up their takeout tray, eating a meal and filling it up again (along with their pockets) so they could have a free dinner later. The real bummer is that the armed American watcher-watchers were preventing any civilians (even those of us who are not American and not working for the US) from getting take out meals. I guess they just think everyone is American.
Just the Facts
So, we were walking by TGI Friday’s a few days ago, around November 1st, and there was a sign on the door saying they were closed in accordance with COMKAF SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) 428. Turns out, that SOP deals with food safety and hygiene. I’m not making a judgement here…it’s merely an observation. Anyway, TGI Friday’s was open again yesterday…but wasn’t too busy. Hmm.
The DFAComatic continued to give us great dining advice as it directed us to the Lux a few days ago. While my beef with egg noodles was kinda grey and glue-like and, for reasons known only unto god, they put peppers in the coleslaw, there was raspberry juice! For four years the beverage choices have consisted of Tang, ice tea, Tang, orange juice, Tang, apple juice, Tang, Tang and Tang. The raspberry juice was awesome. A was particularly happy to find soy milk but was quite perturbed that its information label listed nutrients per 100g while another brand at another DFAC listed the nutrients per Tetrapak. I sagely advised him that his problem could be resolved simply by not reading the nutritional information labels and that I do not fucking care.
The biggest news in the Lux (and the Niagara), however, are the new super duper fancy pants Starbucks-worthy coffee machines. They’re huge and not a little frightening. I’m guessing here but I figure they make like 4 X 1023different types of coffee, most of which I’ve never heard. My first attempt at getting it to make me a cappuccino was a bit of bust. I was unsure where to put the cup because there’s the regular intuitive cup place but also a couple of silver nozzle like thingies to the right of it. I was unsure where the coffee was gonna come out.
Luckily, I guessed right and frothy milk started filling my cup. I must have been mesmerized by all the flashing lights and hissing noises as I didn’t give my cup the attention it apparently deserved. The hissing stopped along with the flow of liquid. I grabbed my cup and looked around for sugar. All I found was Sugar Twin. I dejectedly walked back to the table and exclaimed “Fuck, the bastards are out of sugar”. J replied, “Um, it’s in the giant dispenser right next to the coffee machine. The one labeled ‘sugar'”. So, I did the walk of shame back to the machine and there it is…where that big ass sugar dispensing device came from all of a sudden is a mystery for the ages. I dumped in an unhealthy amount of sugar and returned to the table.
“This cappuccino is pretty good but it’s not very strong” I said, affecting my best sophisticated Starbuckian coffee snob hauteur. I got about 2/3 of the way through the cup when it dawned on me. “There’s no goddamn coffee in here”. Ya know what? Hot, frothy, sugary milk is ok. Before M and J stopped laughing, I had sulkily walked back to the machine a third time. I’m pretty sure everyone in the joint was watching and judging me. This time I waited for a few seconds after the milk stopped being dispensed and, wouldn’t ya know it, the thing added coffee to it. Another pancreas cramping dose of sugar and I had myself a delicious cappuccino. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?
So, what the hell are those silver nozzles for on that infernal machine? I find them vaguely threatening. There are buttons above them that carry some sort of mystic water rune. I was hesitant to push one for fear of causing a tsunami in Vanuatu or inadvertently summoning Tahoratakarar, the Polynesian water demon. Could happen.
I’m not sure how many Romanians read this blog but I hope there’s at least one. If so, this is for you. I need you to find a particular guy who eats lunch in the North Line. I’m not sure what rank he is as all of you have so many bars that your rank badges just look like UPC symbols to me. Anyhow, the guy is question is the one who stands at the damn salad bar carefully scooping up particular bits of fruit from the fruit salad. He does this with great care, i.e. exceedingly slowly, being very careful to omit one indeterminate type of fruit from contaminating his plate. Please tell him “It’s a fucking salad! If you pick through it, it is just fucking fruit! Stop it! People hate you! You are shaming our country!” I have to admit, however, that I did enjoy the brotherly moment of commiseration I shared with the American right behind him as we exchanged knowing sighs, eyerolls and shrugs. Thanks for passing that along.
I had the local Internet dudes come by to set up access in one of our rooms on Saturday. The tech was wearing this shirt. I gotta say, I like a company that considers this appropriate office attire. I suspect it’s cut down on the number of complaints about the network. It amused me…probably more than it should have.
It Has to Be Said
Independence Hall, your clam chowder a couple of nights ago was funky and disgusting. Don’t ever serve it again.
Lux, your turnip greens were burnt tonight. I believe they did physical harm to my taste buds.
Far East, your Tandori Chicken and Lyonnaise potatoes were fucking awesome last night. Make both dishes every night.
North Line, your ice cream serving guy is awesomely generous and friendly. I like him. And those homemade potato chips on the short order bar at lunch last week were deliciously salty (after I covered them in delicious salt); make them more often. And no, you vocabularily challenged Brits, when I say chips I don’t mean fries…I mean chips. I believe you call them “crisps” because you don’t talk good.
Here’s a couple of pictures that tickled my fancy. Discuss…
This place ain’t all bad…just mostly.
“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both…” – Alan Thicke, Gloria Loring, Al Burton