The ridiculous line-ups at several of the DFACs continue to annoy but there’s been some decent food and a few other things that probably aren’t worth mentioning. Let me tell you about them…
The shitholiness of a locale varies directly with the frequency and size of its dust devils.
Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That.
At dinner, the line ups at Niagara and Cambridge have been out the door. At lunch, the Northline was no better; hell, it was so bad today that D and R were reduced to going into the loser take out side and hauling their lunches back to the office. While I tried to mock D about this loss of dignity, he declared that despite his tepid slop being decidedly worse than hot slop, at least he didn’t have to eat with all those people around him in the DFAC. Yeah, zero other people sounds pretty good right about now…
Seriously? What the hell is going on? Perhaps there are not extra people here at all. I’m suspicious that most of the queues have to do with the 100% ID checks the guards are doing at the DFAC entrances. Once again, I got stuck behind Mr. Fumblyhands going into the Lux last night. I mean, jesus, you can see the guards there from 30 feet away, they’ve been checking ID every night and it’s supposed to be readily visible at all times…so how come the fucker needs to steal 10 seconds of my time while he tries to show it to the guard? “Gee, that’s kinda harsh. It’s only 10 seconds”, you say? Well, shut up. You’re wrong. See, there are about 30,000 people on KAF. I’ve empirically determined through anecdote and opinion that 90% of them are idiots. That’s 27,000 people likely fumbling about for their ID at each meal. 27,000 X 10 seconds = um, like 2 weeks or something…whatever, it’s enough time to piss me off.
Yeah, I’m good with increased security and, as I pointed out above, any delays are not the fault of the guards. However, at the Monti last night, D’s point that “if they’re going to make me go through a specific narrow entrance, stop and show them my ID, I think it behooves them to actually look at it” is valid. On a more positive note, kudos to the guard on duty at the Lux tonight…while his partner was awaiting the ID of Mr. Fumblyhand’s slower twin…he stepped around them, checked my ID and, smiling, let me go on ahead. Good job in reducing my blinding rage, Dude! Everyone I don’t punch in the throat today owes you a vote of thanks.
Speaking of time thieves, what is wrong with all those people who, daily, are re-surprised that they need to swipe their meal card when they get to the desk? Ugh….they then ever so s-l-o-w-l-y search each of their pockets and their wallet before producing their card and swiping it with the speed of Kwai Chang Caine in a fight scene. I hate those people. Don’t be one of those people.
Right and Wrong
I should know better than to think there can be any consistency in DFAC food quality…but I don’t. We returned to Monti last night and I was happy to see the Chicken Curry was available again. The curry server guy slopped a few unrecognizable chicken parts and some sauce on my rice and, noticing a bunch of bones and very little meat I asked “Could I get a bit more please?” He then somehow managed to miss all the drumsticks, breasts and thighs in
the tray and scooped up a tiny, yet frighteningly familiar bit of bird and added it to the boneyard on my plate. Yup. It’s back. The infamous chicken ass! The curry still tasted good and I know that, traditionally, a whole chicken is just cut up and added, ass and all, to curries…but traditions are often stupid and disgusting.
At the Lux a couple of nights ago, they had “Texas Style Corned Beef”. It was good corned beef but I couldn’t for the life of me see anything about it that was even vaguely Texan. I can only presume it came from a gun-totin’, creationist cow. As I enjoyed my lone star bovine, D, ever the font of arcane knowledge, told me how to make corned beef. I was chagrined to find out that corn is not involved at all. This made me angrier than it probably should have but, dammit, it was the coleslaw travesty all over again.
Tonight at the Lux, D and I both got the Cornish Hen. It was pretty good but the skin wasn’t quite as crispy as I like it. How can I explain it? Hmm…put the back of your hand to your mouth, suck in a bit of the lose skin between your lips…yeah…it was that consistency. However, the parts that weren’t the consistency of human flesh were pretty good. The mashed “potatoes”, however, were bad all the way through. Once again, memories of grade 1 art class filled my mind as the feel of Elmer’s glue filled my mouth. “Mashed potatoes aren’t hard to make! Why the fuck can’t they use real potatoes rather than those shitty ass flakes?” I whinged to D on our way out. “That’s a lot of potato peeling” he sagely pointed out. “Well, unless everything I ever learned from Beetle Bailey is a lie, peeling potatoes is, like, the only punishment ever given in the US Army. Surely there are some hapless Privates pissing off the Sarge on KAF.”
Northline should just stick to making meatballs. I once again had their delicious Swedish Meatballs last week. I tried their Meatballs in Tomato Sauce this week and they, too, were fucking great. But here’s a bit of a tip, Northline….if your recipe for Chicken Fried Steak doesn’t include a fucking steak it is not chicken fried fucking steak. I get it, we’re in the middle of a war-torn shithole, supplies can run short so, sure, substitute corn flake crumbs for the cracker crumbs, cream for the milk if you have to. But you can’t substitute ground beef(?) and sawdust (or whatever the hell moisture sucking evil you put in there) for the steak. Ugh…it was beyond bad…and butt ugly to boot.
Life in the KAF Lane
Well, enough about “food”. Let’s move on to stuff that no one cares about.
Hey, DSPX, what’s the deal with your pricing? I bought a Kandahar Harley T-shirt for my brother-in-law so he can be the baddest ass 50 year old hotel general manager in Connecticut on his new Harley. I like the guy so I don’t begrudge the $32 price tag…or, at least, I didn’t until I got back to my room, removed the tag and found the $12 one underneath it. Here’s a bit of public relations advice: remove the old price tag rather than just covering it up when you jack up the price some crazy amount…or better yet, don’t gouge us.
I visited Freedom Tel (or whatever the hell they’re called now) on the Boardwalk to pick up a 1000AFS Roshan card. “We only have 500AFS. I give you two 500 same price as 1000?” she asked hesitantly. Why would I not want two cards? Why does she have such an apologetic look on her face?, I wondered. “Sure, thanks.” I replied. Desperate to kill time as I sat in the Monti waiting out a rocket attack, I pulled out the cards to top up my phone credit and immediately understood the lady’s awkwardness. The instructions on the card were only in Arabic, Urdu, Hindi, Pashto or something Non-English! Really? I’m supposed to remember the mystical runes I need to enter to top up? Luckily D remembered the magic incantations involving *’s and #’s. But still, shouldn’t everyone have the courtesy to put everything in English?
I once did a tour of the Michelin plant near my home. There was a guy whose job it was to cut the little stray bits of rubber from the molds off the tires. He did this for 8 hours a day with a little razor blade…one tire after another. Now, if Michelin can afford to pay Canadian wages for this little bit of added quality, surely, whatever third-world hellhole supplies our tires in KAF could afford to pay someone $1/day to do the same. But they don’t. Now my tires look unkempt.
I bet 90% of ya tried sucking on the back of your hand…thereby further supporting my thesis.
“It is a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes.” – Douglas Adams