I got back to KAF way back on December 11th but I just couldn’t find my blog-writin’ mojo. Probably a combination of missing yet another Xmas at home and having just signed a contract renewal for another two years in this shithole. Having that kind of KAF time in front of me makes me just want to put my head down, do my job and let the time wash over me in a blur of monotony. However, a quick look at my paycheck along with my inability to keep my mouth shut have renewed my vigour…so here goes:
While I was at home, trusty M was ever vigilant. He managed to capture the mythical Odarp on film. I remain gobsmacked that there are so many cars around here with backwards stencils. Who the fuck gets shit written on their car and doesn’t check the spelling? M also documented yet another Toyota Surf with a busted wheel-holder-on-thingy. Doesn’t the cheerful, confident grin on the repairman’s face seem to say “No problem, I’ve fixed 6 of these this week”.
Well, I bet the driver of this jingle truck would would love it if his biggest problem was some backwards spelling or a missing wheel. It’s been there for about 4 days. I don’t know how he ended up in the ditch. We’ve had no flooding to speak of and the visibility has been pretty good. I have a theory, however.
The guys in these trucks have some sort of low power transmitter that allows them to listen to their ipod or some such device on their truck radio. You KAF folks know what I’m talking about. Whenever you pass a jingle truck some hideous wailing overrides your BFBS radio signal thereby destroying the zen-like state you’ve achieved listening to the in-depth analysis of the Bumbles Green vs Upton Snodsbury cricket match or whatever shite they’re on about. I suspect the driver was listening to some of this “music” and his ears started to bleed causing him to panic, try to stem the bleeding with one of the many scarves adorning his truck, inadvertently cover his eyes with the scarf as he bound it around his head and lose control of the truck. Either that or he’s a really shitty driver.
Learned the Hard Way: Don’t walk downwind of the guys pressure spraying the rockets. That “refreshing mist” is kinda nasty even if it does smell like bubble gum.
December 21st came and went, seemingly without the Mayan predicted apocalypse…then it dawned on me: I’m unsure there would be a perceivable difference between pre and post-apocalyptic Afghanistan. You still there, Rest-Of-The-World?
Twice in the space of a week I’ve been late for dinner due to various alarms. That tears it. The Taliban are off my Christmas card list.
Yeah, this sign annoys me for its spelling of “refrigerator”. Come on, if you sound it out there is no way you can come up with “referigator”. I am, however, even more annoyed at myself. This sign is up on the wall directly opposite my room. I saw it everyday for, like, 2 weeks…and didn’t notice the spelling error until a couple of days ago. If this continues, I may have to give up my hobby of pointing out every mistake people around me make. This would, I’m sure, disappoint a lot of people who are counting on me to make them better people.
I saw this in a display window of a shop on the Boardwalk. Seriously? You sell this shit in child-size? Just to be clear…that mannequin is about the size of a 5 year old. Ok, the burka was overkill but can’t you find some sort of
happy un-totally-fucked-up median? I figure anyone that buys this outfit ought to be immediately put on a sex offender registry.
Note to contractors: If you’re told to dig in a certain area using only hand shovels but instead use a backhoe and thereby destroy someone’s fibre optic cable, tossing a shovel into the hole convinces no one that you heeded your instructions. I hate you.
I guess it’s about time I actually mentioned some of the DFAC food. Okay. You asked for it.
As you may recall, I was pretty excited when North Line started offering poached eggs. I’ve had them a few times and they’re usually pretty decently prepared. The time it takes to get them, however, can range from 3 minutes to infinity. Last week, L was a few people ahead of me in line. She ordered poached eggs and stood to the side to wait. About 30 seconds later, I ordered poached eggs. The DFAC guy gave me a head waggle and smile and said something unintelligible to a co-worker. Assuming my eggs were being made I stood to the side with L. After about 5 minutes, her eggs appeared. I waited another 3 minutes or so then asked Head-Wagglin’ Guy “Are my poached eggs almost done? It’s been quite a while”. Predictably, he gives me a head waggle and says “One more minute, sir”. I was suspicious of his prognosis given that he didn’t actually check with the kitchen but I mumbled “Thanks” and continued to wait like the chump I am. 5 more minutes go by, I ask “Hey, come on, where are my poached eggs? I ordered them over 10 minutes ago.” You guessed it…all I got was a head waggle and a “Just one more minute, sir” unaccompanied by any action that could ever be construed as either actually checking on the eggs or giving a fuck. “Oh, forget it” I muttered as I slunk dejectedly eggless away. Hint: Get a blond woman to order your poached eggs.
I don’t recall which DFAC this is at but the lesson here is pretty universal. Don’t get the chocolate ice cream from the dispenser if it doesn’t have one of those little swirly nozzles on it. Otherwise it looks like this, which I find rather disturbing.
I know I said I had nothing more to say about Banana Milk but that was before K pointed out this vital information on the back of the box. Holy crap! Who knew banana milk was so versatile? I particularly like “Emergency Preparedness”. Now, that’s all I have to say about Banana Milk.
At Independence Hall a few nights ago, having just had roast beef the previous night at Lux, I went for the burger with cold, fried onions on a stale, crumbly bun. D, who opted for the beef and some chicken Cordon Bleu, looked at my plate and mused: “Jesus Christ, you’ve been in KAF for four years and still don’t know how to eat here? The chicken is from a box…that means it’s good.” He had a point but his further comment of “Mmmm, this is, by far, the best roast beef I’ve ever had in KAF” was, I think, unnecessary and uttered only to piss me off.
Is it conceivable that North Line would water down their vinegar? I got some fries at lunch last week and squirted what I thought was a little too much vinegar on them outta that big dispenser they have. I had expected quite a sour, pucker inducing taste but instead they were just damp, verging on soggy with only the barest trace of vinegar taste. It was like I’d poured water on them. Say it ain’t so, North Line.
Now that my gumption is waxing, more posts will be on the way. A Christmas in KAF one is coming soon.
“Mojo: The libido. The life force. The essence. The right stuff. What the French call a certain… I don’t know what.” – Dr. Evil