No More Slinging Weenies For Me, No Sir…

So the hot dog stand gig went to hell, no great loss really, the nebulous and uninvigorating payscale went from barely worth it to “fuck this shit”.  From the very beginning we intended it to be a temporary stopgap measure, the carreer equivilant of a little dutch boy with his finger in a dyke.  The job itself was grossly uncomfortable anyway and the travel was just ridiulous; so, so long Heatstroke Junction you won;t be missed.

In cheerier news I think my interview went well for a chef job, I’m just in the “hurry up & wait” section as they do my background check etc, plus Shu & I are checking out a few things as well.  Believe it or not I’m feeling fairly optimistic, now that might be a cumulative effect of multiple heat strokes suffered while inhaling sausage fumes; but I’ll go with it.  Wish me Luck!


One Response to “No More Slinging Weenies For Me, No Sir…”

  1. gosh, there are sooooo many ways to interpret your post title. . .!
    glad to hear the interview went well, who knows what would have happened to your brain cells after a prolonged period in the heat with the funk of steaming sausage permeating your every pore! I will keep my fingers crossed for you – you need back in the kitchen, that’s fer shurrr!

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