All good-looking guys get off at Stockwell

I was beat this morning. Tired. I thought twice about going to school. My feet were killing me because after standing for nine hours at work I went online in the kitchen and stayed there for four more hours. I had to give up the internet because I didn't seemed to able to stand anymore.
I woke up and tried to put on my Adidas (which is a little bigger than the size of my foot) and it was tight. I had to go for the All Stars. The big one.
I obviously got at the school late and wasn't thinking about anything else but my bed. My two pillows. My two blankets. My heated room... Tomorrow is my day off but I was wishing I would get a phone call from Silvio's saying 'hey, go home, you don't need to show up today, it's not busy'. I wouldn't receive any money but it would be totally worth it.
I worked in the back today. Kitchen once again, but this time with no surprises from the restrooms. Custumers behaved and I was happy. They didn't eat much so I didn't have many plates to wash after I cleaned up the machine. I did all the dirty work before 7pm and just waited in the kitchen for the few plates and cups to come.
We managed to close the cafe and go home a few minutes after 8pm, so I got out of there and lit my cigarette and turned on my iPod. Foo Fighters' 'DOA' is the song of the moment. Actually all 'In Your Honor' CD has been playing a lot, but especially this one. I walked to Bond St Stn, as usual, and finished smoking my cigarette standing in front of the station, as usual. A guy asked if I had the time and I told him what time it was: 8:13pm.
I got into the station and headed for the escalators. I had and incident at the escalators a few weeks ago. I always bring food home, mainly sandwiches, but at this particular day there were some noodle salads which would expire that very same day, so they couldn't be eaten by the costumers the next day. I took one home, I would finally eat something different from sandwiches! When I was stepping into the escalator I decided to put my travel card inside my bag, but suddenly felt that something got stuck to the escalator: it was the plastic bag with the salad. I tried in vain to get it, but I was going down and the bag didn't want to follow me, instead it tore and the salad fell on the ground, I mean, the steps. And the box got opened and I was a mess. I didn't know what to do, as I saw dinner finally folowing me down the escalator, but on the dirty steps. Nobody saw it but the surveillance cameras certainly did and I was waiting for the moment that one of Underground people would approach me and ask 'was it you who did this mess?'
I just kept walking.
I got to the platform and waited for the tube, which took ages to come. I only relaxed when I boarded and the doors closed. Man, that was quite a situation.
The next day, when I once again went for the escalators, I noticed that it was kinda brighter than the other one (there are two). They had to clean the fucking mess and I got to see the actual color, which is gray, of course.
Maybe it wasn't that bad after all, the thing sure needed some cleaning.

Anyway, once in Green Park to get Victoria line to Brixton I noticed the guys around. There are some pretty good-looking guys who head south, some wearing suits, some wearing cool jackets or with cool hair-styles. People who don't read on the tube keep looking at each other, but when the person look at them they look up, down, the other carriage, the tube map on the wall, even though they know the map inside out. It's always like that.
There was a good-looking guy on the tube. There's always some four or five in the carriage, but they all get off at Stockwell. They might not necessarily live there, on the contrary, they go to Stockwell to get the Northern line to go south. Most of them might live in Clapham, which is the area where the cool pubs are.
Sometimes there's eye contact, but they all get off at Stockwell.
A couple of weeks ago there was this guy, really yummy, and I kept listening to my music. I thought the next station was Brixton and when I saw the guy standing up I thought 'Man, at least ONE live around here'. But when I got to the door I read the sign on the wall: Stockwell. I let everybody go before me, including the guy, waited for the doors to close and sat down again. This black guy looked at me like 'you dumbass, you don't even know your fucking station'.
I'm tired of seeing all the gorgeous getting off one station before mine. They never go to Brixton.
Yep, Stockwell it is.

Shitty Friday

If wanted a factotum experience, I sure did experience one last Friday.
First of all, I did the stupidest thing of switching shifts with Elina on Sunday, she wanted a day off and I said there was no problem, I could work Sunday. The thing is that I can never say no. Ever. Especially related to work. Of course, five minutes later I wanted to kill myself, but then it was done and I got fucked. I'm a moron, for sure.
Anyway, Friday I worked in the kitchen, but it was ok because Fernando was working there and we had a few laughs, he's a nice guy. The problem with the kitchen is that you have to clean other people's mess, you know? Costumers, cooks, staff... They simply throw the dirty dishes and greasy plates and heavy cheese-slicers in the sink and you have to get rid of them as soon as possible, not to mention the soups. After 4pm you have to start cleaning the soup area (the cafe serves six different soups everyday, they might vary) and it's kind of a bitch because you must put the soup left in a tupperware and clean the big pots and they are always hard to clean, even though you put them in the dish-washer. So you have to find time to wash cups, plates, pots, and clean inside the kitchen. And the person who works in the kitchen is also reponsible for the toilets, see if they're clean or if there's still toilet paper left or soap. Quite a busy day, eh?

It was about 6:30pm and Elina comes to the kitchen saying 'Somebody did something not so good in the bathroom, go check it out'. I did.
Man, I don't know how to start describing the thing that I saw in the toilet. Yep, it was a turd, alright.

I didn't know what to do and how to get rid of that shit. Literally. First thing I did was to write a 'out of order' sign and put it on the door, because nobody had done it and costumers kept using the loo and making things worse. Well, next thing was to throw some bleach on it, see if it would dissolve the thing or something. I left the bleach doing its job for about half hour. I came back but it didn't seem to have helped at all. I went for plan B: the stick.
It was so hugely massive that flushing wouldn't be the solution. That U-shaped piece of shit wouldn't move and the stick appeared to be the only solution left. I managed to find a stick in the back and went for it, man... Disgusting...
Not only did I have to smash that piece of crap, but also take all the toilet paper which was inside the toilet... I know this technique of 'disguising' the shit under toilet paper... and certainly don't appreciate being on the other side, the side of the one who has to clean it...
I must have worked on the turd situation for ten minutes or something, but I made it, man...
I think this was the most Bukowski-like situation I've ever had in my life. Factotum written all over it...
I went home, drank some vodca with Red Bull. Beer afterwards. Cigarettes all the time.

Stonehenge

I got to know on Saturday that I'd have Sunday and Monday off, which was great for me!
Paula was going to Ireland to go to a spa and visit Guinness factory and Ethan and I had planned to go to Stonehenge for the day. We woke up at about 9am, after having gone out the night before and having drunk a lot, ale, vodca and red bull, JD... Man, I don't usually mix my drinks, but it's all about factotum, right?

We hit the road at 11am and it was a two-hour drive to the place. We'd brought along some beer and music, but the Tarantinos were still with Ricardo.
It was pretty cold and there were a lot of people, including Brazilians (everywhere...)



That was the moment we got there and opened up a beer.

There was an audio guide which looked more like a telephone and we did the tour around Stonehenge. A few years ago people were able to walk around and through the stones, but you know, at some point things can get a little messy and they put this fence to separate the viewers from the stones. There's always somebody who wants to take a piece as a souvenir...
So this is basically the tour we did around the rocks.















At the end we were beat. Ethan had to pick up Paula and Cassandra at City airport at 7:30pm. We headed London and were starving, it had to be Bodean's and the massive burger they serve. We got in London at about 4pm, but there was some awful traffic in Kensington and Chelsea and we took us more than an hour to get to Clapham Commom, where Bodean's is. We didn't speak at all, I was exhausted and starving!
I got home and just sat in front of the TV, saw a documentary about the death of Alexander the Great, but it could have been a program about whales or the Foo Fighters' gig in London... it wouldn't have mattered, I just sat there and stared.
When to bed 10pm, still with a hangover from Saturday...

3 laggers, 1 guinness, 7 vodcas with red bull... that's Factotum alright

The movie had been on for many weeks but I never seemed to find the right moment to see it, because I knew that if I saw it I would have to go to a bar and drink. Just drink, you know?
It turns out that I went to see Factotum with my cousin at 2pm this afternoon and I was willing to go home afterwards or walk around Oxford St and do a little shopping but I just couldn't do it... I HAD to drink after that, for obvious reasons...

The book is way better but the movie is good, too. You can feel Chinaski's urge to have a drink in the middle of his shift, or maybe a cigarette where he wasn't supposed to smoke. Man, I just had to have liquor after the movie, it would be outrageous otherwise.
I have a box of Foster's here at home, but I don't care, just going for the real thing. Vodca with Red Bull. I wish I had Red Label here, than it'd be perfect. Or not.
And the thing is: we're all factotums here in this land, no matter how hard you try to change your life. Even if you get to know somebody here with contacts, even if you study and get a certificate. You're gonna be a factotum for a long time, maybe all your fucking miserable life. Even if you earn the good wages, man, you can't avoid it. There's always gonna be some motherfucker telling you what to do and you have to obey the bastard all your life in order to get a raise in your paycheck and get a good retirement... and than you're too old to enjoy life and you just wait for the end to come... That's sad, man...
But you have the booze to make things less miserable...
All the way, man...
All the fucking way...

Happy birthday, Dave!!!

I almost forgot, man...
It's Dave Grohl's birthday today! Turning 37....
Man! Aging is a bitch, alright.

Pubs in the wintertime... not so appealing, but necessary

Man, I hate pubs, especially in the winter.
I went to this pub near Goodge St Stn to meet Paula, Patricia and Michael. I got there early - as usual - and it was fucking crowded. And hot. And no empty seats available. So I had to stand at the counter for almost half hour waiting for them to come. They wouldn't come together but of course they all arrived at the same time. And all those English speaking and me not understanding them... got on my nerves big time.
I drained the first pint. Just like that. Fifteen minutes and half a liter was gone. It was warm and I don't like my beer warm. People laughing. I was hot. No, not like that, but literally, with my coat and scarf on and my huge heavy bag on my shoulder. I couldn't smoke at the counter and I had no other place to stand so I had the pint smoke-free. Not my cup of tea, you know?
Ugly people all around. The music was good, though, they even played 'Love Her Madly'.
Michael left soon, so it was only the girls.
We got the Northern line home, we would change at Stockwell. Man, that's the worst line ever. The train stopped for nearly ten minutes before Charing Cross and I was almost peeing in my pants, as usual.

The bitch about nightlife here is that everything is far away, cab is not an option, so you either go home by tube (and depending on the line you might face a no-more-service situation) or get on the night bus, which takes two hours from wherever you're coming from. The local pubs are a bitch as well, especially if your saying 'good-bye to the Brixton sun'...
Man, sometimes I'm so desperate to get home that I wouldn't mind taking a ride in the Black Maria...
But pubs are the only way to have a beer if you wanna see people, even if the ungly-impolite bastards.
Well, I'm having a beer at home right now, and sure miss the Grand Prix...

It turns out that my trip in March isn't gonna be that long, a week only. I'm thinking two places: Paris and Barcelona. Paris is a must, but what about the other place? I'd like some suggestions, please, but nothing in Germany because we're going in June.
Btw, you're invited, Ro!

There's always something....

It's been better, no doubt about it. But it's obvious that there's always something annoying that pisses you off from time to time. Today it wasn't different.
There's this girl at work whom I've never found nice. There's always gotta be somebody, right?
Anyway, long story short, she's a bitch, including the literal way. Whenever she has the chance she bosses me around and I don't like it. During the holidays, the busiest time of the year and when we were only five people to close the cafe (we are now four, and it's not the tenth part as busy as it was in December), she couldn't even help me with the dishes, all she did was keep saying 'you've gotta be faster! we've gotta leave at 8pm!' Bitch.
She has a boyfriend - and the piece of gossip I've heard is that she has two - is always showing up there like three times a day and she's always talking to him and not doing her job. She does her job pretty fast to go to the back and talk on her mobile, but I've gotten dozens of cups and saucers dirty after she 'washed them up'.

I don't know where this boyfriend of hers is from, but apparently he has a lot of money. And today was like 'the olive in the glass' (in-joke). I was supposed to sweep outside, so went to do my job. But the thing is that the boyfriend and his ten friends were outside talking and laughing exactly where I had to sweep. I said 'excuse me', but no answer. Nobody moved. I started sweeping another part of the sidewalk. Kept sweeping, people passing by. So I got to the place where they were. 'Excuse me.' Nothing. 'EXCUSE ME. I've gotta sweep this place.' One of them looked at me and moved like an inch. 'Excuse me. I'm sorry but I've gotta sweep here.' Than, after the FOURTH time they moved along and I was able to finish my job. The worst thing is that all those people in the cafe know them and like them so complaining about them it's like complaining about friends of theirs, pointless.

All the Brazilians work in the morning, so they go home at 3pm. After this it's only me and the 'Easterners'....
I got really pissed today, but I have the terrible habit of not saying anything until I explode and tell everybody to fuck off. I don't think it's the case, but I've gotta do something about this before I see myself drinking in the afternoon again.

My right knee hurts a lot, I don't know why. It all started after I fell on New Year's Eve. My right wrist also hurts. Imagine when I'm 70...

Good days

Walking down Brixton streets...
Listening to some music. The tunes vary, I'm in a 'Guns of Brixton' moment. Well, you could assume that.
It's pretty cold, when you breathe you see part of yourself coming out of your body, making you freeze in this English weather. But people don't seem to be cold here, if a person is wearing three coats and a scarf covering the whole face you can tell for sure it's a tourist or foreigner.
The women with baby trolleys are the worse. They just go, no matter what's in front of them, so you can easily find yourself in the middle of the road with the cars.
I've already talked about the stench of the buses. Now it's worse. Much worse. It totally reeks. I'm taking the tube now, not that it smells like flowers in springtime.
I was coming home from work today, walking to Oxford Circus Stn smoking a cigarette and observing people's faces and the stores. It so feels like home, you know? Not home in a sense that I'm feeling totally comfortable, but now I kinda know where things are, as opposed to my first time on Oxford Street. Everything was new and so far away. I got lost, didn't know which side of the sidewalk I should get the bus home. So silly.
I kinda understand people more. Not totally, but more. But working with Brazilians doesn't help much, I speak Portuguese a lot.

I think it's a process, a work in progress. Adapting is not the easiest thing, as you know, but eventually it happens. You get used to so many things during your lifetime that you should know better, but the process is mainly difficult, painful one might say.
I guess I've had a good day, or been having good days to be more precise. I haven't felt like this in ages and I hope it doesn't go away. For the first time I'm feeling like part of the engine, studying, working hard for a few bucks, drinking a few pints, in a big city.
I can't live by myself just yet, but I think I'm improving. I get home tired, dying for a beer which I can't drink because the next day it's a 14-hour experience awaiting me, but it doesn't feel that bad, you know?
Only now, after almost 28 years, living in a different place for six months. Six months... Time flew, alright.
I'll get to have Sunday off. I'm totally drinking on Saturday, even if by myself.

Happy 2006.