Description
Welcome to the messy side of Blenheim. Piss-filled kettles, micromanaging kebab bosses, and colleagues on the edge: the perfect recipe for disaster.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
Welcome to the messy side of Blenheim. Piece filled kettles, micromanaging kebab bosses and colleagues on the edge. That's the perfect recipe for disaster. Chapter 12. Chaos at the campground. I've been working at the Blenheim motel for two weeks now and I'm starting to find my feet in this... unique environment. Every smoko, I'm forced to listen to Ben's self-centered stories. It's staggering to see that despite being 70 years old, he still acts like a teenager desperate for validation. He's always had adventures more incredible than anyone else's, always has the perfect comeback and never misses a chance to highlight his past as a part-time explorer. As a former helicopter pilot, he once brought in some old photos to show us. It was actually quite interesting until it started forcing everyone to stare at each photo.
and a little bit longer so you can really soak in the feeling.
Suddenly, I understood why Liam always cut his employees' conversation short. Ash, meanwhile, continued to pour out her art with stories that were more horrific by the day. I felt immense pity for her. She fought every day to prove she could make it. But sometimes, a drive to overachieve became a problem. I once caught her opening a room I already cleaned to start inspecting it. She wasn't my manager, she was just my colleague. Can I help you, Ash?
Oh no, it's fine.
Why are you checking my room?
No, it's just that yesterday I noticed you put the kitchen the wrong way. You have to pay attention to details here.
I wasn't working yesterday, Ash.
Oh, well, I'm just saying it for your own good. Lagan used my room as the reference for the website photos.
Well, congratulations. But again, I wasn't working. So if something is wrong, just come tell me. It's friendlier that way.
Yes, but don't forget the kitchen go this way.
Okay. As the weeks went by, I realized my hours at the Cameroun were enough. Even without paying rent, I wasn't making much. I headed to the library to polish my CV, printed a dozen copies, and gave it at the restaurants and bars downtown. My strategy was simple, I targeted places I like. I prioritized Asian restaurants and finished my route at the kebab shop. To my surprise, the kebab owner called me the very next day for a tryership. The work wasn't hard, but being a spectator drove me nuts. The boss reminded me of my father, always overing, redoing everything I did. He had asked me to prepare something, but the second I tried, he had snatched the kebab out of my hand to apply the sauce in perfect circles, or fold the napkins more aesthetically. This quest for perfection is noble, I guess, but it's incredibly frustrating. Since I wasn't allowed to actually touch anything, I just stood there watching. He wanted little hands, but he wasn't ready to let go of his own. That lack of trust killed my desire to work there. Luckily, the same evening I got a message from a Thai restaurant. The owner offered me a trial shift. The vibe was great and the job was much more pleasant because I felt trusted. I took initiative and surprised the team with my speed. It was decided. I will work for them, not for the kebab shop. I sent the kebab owner a message and a few days later I saw a post on Facebook about this place. Bad players, treat staff poorly and so on. Actually a lucky escape. Plus I got a free Thai food every night. The dream. My days became packed 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the motel and then 5 30 p.m. to 10 p.m. or midnight on weekends at the restaurant. I worked for my stay at the camp, paid no rent, used all the facilities and ate for free. It was the ultimate good plan. My bank account started to swell and I was loving it. One day when I was busy in the kitchen on my day off, Asha showed up to clean the common areas. Her face was pale, she looked devastated. How is it going? I asked.
They torched my car last night. I was at my sister's and someone knocked on the door saying the car was on fire.
She replied, no way. Are you serious? Do you know who did it?
I've done nothing to deserve this. Every day I fight to get by.
She cried.
I don't understand why someone would do this to me. The police thought it was a random vandalism. Someone just throwing gas on a car and lighting it for fun.
I felt sick for her. She was so close to buying that caravan, her first real home. Now she had to start over and buy a new car just to get to work. The news spread like wildfire. Ben, being a bit of a sociopath, couldn't help but rub it in during the next day's smoko. It was an exceptionally awkward moment.
Oh dear, I heard about your car. Horrible. Any news from the police?
No, nothing. Unlikely they will find them.
It's just abominable, especially given your situation. I don't even know you can work, I'd be a wreck.
Ben continued.
I don't have a choice, I need the money for a new car.
Right, since you don't have a house and you're homeless.
I'm staying at my sister's for now, but...
Still, it's no way to live.
Ben was the undisputed champion of awkwardness. He never knew when to shut up. The rest of us sat there helplessly. I fell for Ash, but there was nothing I could do besides offer moral support. The days became more intense and paradoxically grosser. Trash room, kettles filled with piss, shit stains on the sheets, vomit on the carpet, cigarette butts in the bed, a random tire abandoned under a bed, mountain of dishes and a lingering stench of cold tobacco and fried food. The days weren't always easy, but this certainly brought their share of surprise.
Description
Welcome to the messy side of Blenheim. Piss-filled kettles, micromanaging kebab bosses, and colleagues on the edge: the perfect recipe for disaster.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
Welcome to the messy side of Blenheim. Piece filled kettles, micromanaging kebab bosses and colleagues on the edge. That's the perfect recipe for disaster. Chapter 12. Chaos at the campground. I've been working at the Blenheim motel for two weeks now and I'm starting to find my feet in this... unique environment. Every smoko, I'm forced to listen to Ben's self-centered stories. It's staggering to see that despite being 70 years old, he still acts like a teenager desperate for validation. He's always had adventures more incredible than anyone else's, always has the perfect comeback and never misses a chance to highlight his past as a part-time explorer. As a former helicopter pilot, he once brought in some old photos to show us. It was actually quite interesting until it started forcing everyone to stare at each photo.
and a little bit longer so you can really soak in the feeling.
Suddenly, I understood why Liam always cut his employees' conversation short. Ash, meanwhile, continued to pour out her art with stories that were more horrific by the day. I felt immense pity for her. She fought every day to prove she could make it. But sometimes, a drive to overachieve became a problem. I once caught her opening a room I already cleaned to start inspecting it. She wasn't my manager, she was just my colleague. Can I help you, Ash?
Oh no, it's fine.
Why are you checking my room?
No, it's just that yesterday I noticed you put the kitchen the wrong way. You have to pay attention to details here.
I wasn't working yesterday, Ash.
Oh, well, I'm just saying it for your own good. Lagan used my room as the reference for the website photos.
Well, congratulations. But again, I wasn't working. So if something is wrong, just come tell me. It's friendlier that way.
Yes, but don't forget the kitchen go this way.
Okay. As the weeks went by, I realized my hours at the Cameroun were enough. Even without paying rent, I wasn't making much. I headed to the library to polish my CV, printed a dozen copies, and gave it at the restaurants and bars downtown. My strategy was simple, I targeted places I like. I prioritized Asian restaurants and finished my route at the kebab shop. To my surprise, the kebab owner called me the very next day for a tryership. The work wasn't hard, but being a spectator drove me nuts. The boss reminded me of my father, always overing, redoing everything I did. He had asked me to prepare something, but the second I tried, he had snatched the kebab out of my hand to apply the sauce in perfect circles, or fold the napkins more aesthetically. This quest for perfection is noble, I guess, but it's incredibly frustrating. Since I wasn't allowed to actually touch anything, I just stood there watching. He wanted little hands, but he wasn't ready to let go of his own. That lack of trust killed my desire to work there. Luckily, the same evening I got a message from a Thai restaurant. The owner offered me a trial shift. The vibe was great and the job was much more pleasant because I felt trusted. I took initiative and surprised the team with my speed. It was decided. I will work for them, not for the kebab shop. I sent the kebab owner a message and a few days later I saw a post on Facebook about this place. Bad players, treat staff poorly and so on. Actually a lucky escape. Plus I got a free Thai food every night. The dream. My days became packed 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the motel and then 5 30 p.m. to 10 p.m. or midnight on weekends at the restaurant. I worked for my stay at the camp, paid no rent, used all the facilities and ate for free. It was the ultimate good plan. My bank account started to swell and I was loving it. One day when I was busy in the kitchen on my day off, Asha showed up to clean the common areas. Her face was pale, she looked devastated. How is it going? I asked.
They torched my car last night. I was at my sister's and someone knocked on the door saying the car was on fire.
She replied, no way. Are you serious? Do you know who did it?
I've done nothing to deserve this. Every day I fight to get by.
She cried.
I don't understand why someone would do this to me. The police thought it was a random vandalism. Someone just throwing gas on a car and lighting it for fun.
I felt sick for her. She was so close to buying that caravan, her first real home. Now she had to start over and buy a new car just to get to work. The news spread like wildfire. Ben, being a bit of a sociopath, couldn't help but rub it in during the next day's smoko. It was an exceptionally awkward moment.
Oh dear, I heard about your car. Horrible. Any news from the police?
No, nothing. Unlikely they will find them.
It's just abominable, especially given your situation. I don't even know you can work, I'd be a wreck.
Ben continued.
I don't have a choice, I need the money for a new car.
Right, since you don't have a house and you're homeless.
I'm staying at my sister's for now, but...
Still, it's no way to live.
Ben was the undisputed champion of awkwardness. He never knew when to shut up. The rest of us sat there helplessly. I fell for Ash, but there was nothing I could do besides offer moral support. The days became more intense and paradoxically grosser. Trash room, kettles filled with piss, shit stains on the sheets, vomit on the carpet, cigarette butts in the bed, a random tire abandoned under a bed, mountain of dishes and a lingering stench of cold tobacco and fried food. The days weren't always easy, but this certainly brought their share of surprise.
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Description
Welcome to the messy side of Blenheim. Piss-filled kettles, micromanaging kebab bosses, and colleagues on the edge: the perfect recipe for disaster.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
Welcome to the messy side of Blenheim. Piece filled kettles, micromanaging kebab bosses and colleagues on the edge. That's the perfect recipe for disaster. Chapter 12. Chaos at the campground. I've been working at the Blenheim motel for two weeks now and I'm starting to find my feet in this... unique environment. Every smoko, I'm forced to listen to Ben's self-centered stories. It's staggering to see that despite being 70 years old, he still acts like a teenager desperate for validation. He's always had adventures more incredible than anyone else's, always has the perfect comeback and never misses a chance to highlight his past as a part-time explorer. As a former helicopter pilot, he once brought in some old photos to show us. It was actually quite interesting until it started forcing everyone to stare at each photo.
and a little bit longer so you can really soak in the feeling.
Suddenly, I understood why Liam always cut his employees' conversation short. Ash, meanwhile, continued to pour out her art with stories that were more horrific by the day. I felt immense pity for her. She fought every day to prove she could make it. But sometimes, a drive to overachieve became a problem. I once caught her opening a room I already cleaned to start inspecting it. She wasn't my manager, she was just my colleague. Can I help you, Ash?
Oh no, it's fine.
Why are you checking my room?
No, it's just that yesterday I noticed you put the kitchen the wrong way. You have to pay attention to details here.
I wasn't working yesterday, Ash.
Oh, well, I'm just saying it for your own good. Lagan used my room as the reference for the website photos.
Well, congratulations. But again, I wasn't working. So if something is wrong, just come tell me. It's friendlier that way.
Yes, but don't forget the kitchen go this way.
Okay. As the weeks went by, I realized my hours at the Cameroun were enough. Even without paying rent, I wasn't making much. I headed to the library to polish my CV, printed a dozen copies, and gave it at the restaurants and bars downtown. My strategy was simple, I targeted places I like. I prioritized Asian restaurants and finished my route at the kebab shop. To my surprise, the kebab owner called me the very next day for a tryership. The work wasn't hard, but being a spectator drove me nuts. The boss reminded me of my father, always overing, redoing everything I did. He had asked me to prepare something, but the second I tried, he had snatched the kebab out of my hand to apply the sauce in perfect circles, or fold the napkins more aesthetically. This quest for perfection is noble, I guess, but it's incredibly frustrating. Since I wasn't allowed to actually touch anything, I just stood there watching. He wanted little hands, but he wasn't ready to let go of his own. That lack of trust killed my desire to work there. Luckily, the same evening I got a message from a Thai restaurant. The owner offered me a trial shift. The vibe was great and the job was much more pleasant because I felt trusted. I took initiative and surprised the team with my speed. It was decided. I will work for them, not for the kebab shop. I sent the kebab owner a message and a few days later I saw a post on Facebook about this place. Bad players, treat staff poorly and so on. Actually a lucky escape. Plus I got a free Thai food every night. The dream. My days became packed 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the motel and then 5 30 p.m. to 10 p.m. or midnight on weekends at the restaurant. I worked for my stay at the camp, paid no rent, used all the facilities and ate for free. It was the ultimate good plan. My bank account started to swell and I was loving it. One day when I was busy in the kitchen on my day off, Asha showed up to clean the common areas. Her face was pale, she looked devastated. How is it going? I asked.
They torched my car last night. I was at my sister's and someone knocked on the door saying the car was on fire.
She replied, no way. Are you serious? Do you know who did it?
I've done nothing to deserve this. Every day I fight to get by.
She cried.
I don't understand why someone would do this to me. The police thought it was a random vandalism. Someone just throwing gas on a car and lighting it for fun.
I felt sick for her. She was so close to buying that caravan, her first real home. Now she had to start over and buy a new car just to get to work. The news spread like wildfire. Ben, being a bit of a sociopath, couldn't help but rub it in during the next day's smoko. It was an exceptionally awkward moment.
Oh dear, I heard about your car. Horrible. Any news from the police?
No, nothing. Unlikely they will find them.
It's just abominable, especially given your situation. I don't even know you can work, I'd be a wreck.
Ben continued.
I don't have a choice, I need the money for a new car.
Right, since you don't have a house and you're homeless.
I'm staying at my sister's for now, but...
Still, it's no way to live.
Ben was the undisputed champion of awkwardness. He never knew when to shut up. The rest of us sat there helplessly. I fell for Ash, but there was nothing I could do besides offer moral support. The days became more intense and paradoxically grosser. Trash room, kettles filled with piss, shit stains on the sheets, vomit on the carpet, cigarette butts in the bed, a random tire abandoned under a bed, mountain of dishes and a lingering stench of cold tobacco and fried food. The days weren't always easy, but this certainly brought their share of surprise.
Description
Welcome to the messy side of Blenheim. Piss-filled kettles, micromanaging kebab bosses, and colleagues on the edge: the perfect recipe for disaster.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
Welcome to the messy side of Blenheim. Piece filled kettles, micromanaging kebab bosses and colleagues on the edge. That's the perfect recipe for disaster. Chapter 12. Chaos at the campground. I've been working at the Blenheim motel for two weeks now and I'm starting to find my feet in this... unique environment. Every smoko, I'm forced to listen to Ben's self-centered stories. It's staggering to see that despite being 70 years old, he still acts like a teenager desperate for validation. He's always had adventures more incredible than anyone else's, always has the perfect comeback and never misses a chance to highlight his past as a part-time explorer. As a former helicopter pilot, he once brought in some old photos to show us. It was actually quite interesting until it started forcing everyone to stare at each photo.
and a little bit longer so you can really soak in the feeling.
Suddenly, I understood why Liam always cut his employees' conversation short. Ash, meanwhile, continued to pour out her art with stories that were more horrific by the day. I felt immense pity for her. She fought every day to prove she could make it. But sometimes, a drive to overachieve became a problem. I once caught her opening a room I already cleaned to start inspecting it. She wasn't my manager, she was just my colleague. Can I help you, Ash?
Oh no, it's fine.
Why are you checking my room?
No, it's just that yesterday I noticed you put the kitchen the wrong way. You have to pay attention to details here.
I wasn't working yesterday, Ash.
Oh, well, I'm just saying it for your own good. Lagan used my room as the reference for the website photos.
Well, congratulations. But again, I wasn't working. So if something is wrong, just come tell me. It's friendlier that way.
Yes, but don't forget the kitchen go this way.
Okay. As the weeks went by, I realized my hours at the Cameroun were enough. Even without paying rent, I wasn't making much. I headed to the library to polish my CV, printed a dozen copies, and gave it at the restaurants and bars downtown. My strategy was simple, I targeted places I like. I prioritized Asian restaurants and finished my route at the kebab shop. To my surprise, the kebab owner called me the very next day for a tryership. The work wasn't hard, but being a spectator drove me nuts. The boss reminded me of my father, always overing, redoing everything I did. He had asked me to prepare something, but the second I tried, he had snatched the kebab out of my hand to apply the sauce in perfect circles, or fold the napkins more aesthetically. This quest for perfection is noble, I guess, but it's incredibly frustrating. Since I wasn't allowed to actually touch anything, I just stood there watching. He wanted little hands, but he wasn't ready to let go of his own. That lack of trust killed my desire to work there. Luckily, the same evening I got a message from a Thai restaurant. The owner offered me a trial shift. The vibe was great and the job was much more pleasant because I felt trusted. I took initiative and surprised the team with my speed. It was decided. I will work for them, not for the kebab shop. I sent the kebab owner a message and a few days later I saw a post on Facebook about this place. Bad players, treat staff poorly and so on. Actually a lucky escape. Plus I got a free Thai food every night. The dream. My days became packed 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the motel and then 5 30 p.m. to 10 p.m. or midnight on weekends at the restaurant. I worked for my stay at the camp, paid no rent, used all the facilities and ate for free. It was the ultimate good plan. My bank account started to swell and I was loving it. One day when I was busy in the kitchen on my day off, Asha showed up to clean the common areas. Her face was pale, she looked devastated. How is it going? I asked.
They torched my car last night. I was at my sister's and someone knocked on the door saying the car was on fire.
She replied, no way. Are you serious? Do you know who did it?
I've done nothing to deserve this. Every day I fight to get by.
She cried.
I don't understand why someone would do this to me. The police thought it was a random vandalism. Someone just throwing gas on a car and lighting it for fun.
I felt sick for her. She was so close to buying that caravan, her first real home. Now she had to start over and buy a new car just to get to work. The news spread like wildfire. Ben, being a bit of a sociopath, couldn't help but rub it in during the next day's smoko. It was an exceptionally awkward moment.
Oh dear, I heard about your car. Horrible. Any news from the police?
No, nothing. Unlikely they will find them.
It's just abominable, especially given your situation. I don't even know you can work, I'd be a wreck.
Ben continued.
I don't have a choice, I need the money for a new car.
Right, since you don't have a house and you're homeless.
I'm staying at my sister's for now, but...
Still, it's no way to live.
Ben was the undisputed champion of awkwardness. He never knew when to shut up. The rest of us sat there helplessly. I fell for Ash, but there was nothing I could do besides offer moral support. The days became more intense and paradoxically grosser. Trash room, kettles filled with piss, shit stains on the sheets, vomit on the carpet, cigarette butts in the bed, a random tire abandoned under a bed, mountain of dishes and a lingering stench of cold tobacco and fried food. The days weren't always easy, but this certainly brought their share of surprise.
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