another del taco horror story

As I was working last night, I realized that I was in a rather foul mood for no particular reason.

Actually, I had LOTS of reasons, just none that I'd ever let bother me before. I was late for work after driving in the lovely 110 degree weather for 30 minutes and Michelle and Patsy were not happy. A man at the counter ordered something, saw the total, and then changed his mind.. meaning that I had to void an order. The boss doesn't like voided orders. THEN the man had the audacity to call me over while I was (grudgingly) cleaning the lobby and ask me if I would give him a free taco. Really, sir? Can you not see that I'm definitely not in the mood to be asked about free tacos?

It was just one thing after another. We finally slowed down enough that I had time to organize hot sauce. I stack them neatly, row by row, and somehow it gets my frustrations out. I call it my hot sauce zen garden. It's the best part of my job.

After I'd calmed down a bit, Patsy asked if I'd go wash out the duster bins. I agreed, and grabbed a scrubber from the dishes area. I filled them up with soapy water and let them soak for a bit before diving in and scrubbing.

I scrubbed, and scrubbed. Let me tell you, my friends, scrubbing dust bins is NOT what you want to do. Especially if you work somewhere that serves greasy food. These things were CAKED in grease.

I turned on the hose to rinse them out, and suddenly..


The hose sprung up from the ground and danced in the air.

It wiggled back and forth, spraying me with a steady stream of hot water. In shock that things like this could actually happen, (I thought it was definitely just something that happened in movies) I grabbed for the hose. It danced away from me, still spraying.

Finally, coming to my senses, I turned the hose off. After finishing my assigned task, I emerged from the back of Del Taco, dust bins in hand, triumphant and dripping wet.

Luckily, nobody asked why I was dripping wet. From the strange looks on their faces, they noticed.. But nobody asked.

It's a good thing too. There's really nothing quite as painful to your pride as admitting that you lost a fight, ESPECIALLY if it's a fight with a (seemingly) inanimate object.

Morocco (from my point of view)

I always talk about "that one time I went to Morocco", but I don't think I've ever done much doccumenting or writing about it.. So I think i'll do some explaining, complete with pictures. You ready for this?

in no particular order, here are some pictures.

This is my henna tattoo. They had ladies there that would just come up and start drawing on you. This particular one we found posted on a corner with all her henna gear. These two (plus the one on my leg) didn't cost us much. Probably under ten bucks. Think the prices of american henna tattoos are inflated? Oh, yes.

My bedroom was awesome!

They called this the "salon" it was one of their many living rooms.

And because I'm a procrastinator, I'll have to show you more pictures later.

Til

We 

Meet

Again.