affectionate vacuous packing ... tender or superfluous?

One of my best friends just finished up working at the cafe and has moved to Cambodia. My boss clearly misses her because she's planning on posting her a vacuum-packed chocolate cake. Of course that's the only natural way of displaying affection - by sending vacuum-sealed baked goods across the ocean.

When the lemon tart meets the Holocaust

We were in the midst of discussing all things German - Berlin, krautrock, the divide of the nation into East and West, those khaki-coloured military jackets with the German flag on the arm, and of course, the Holocaust. Ravi, the maker of cakes and tarts and the bearer of all stupid comments, was listening in on our conversation. We only realised this when we heard his whiny voice pitch in, "So, what do you mean by the Holocaust?"

We reiterated. He still didn't understand. We looked at him, and then at each other, and then at him again.

Yes my friends, there are people who are completely ignorant of such quintessential historical world events and who are happy to go about living their lives making lemon tarts by the dozen without passing a thought for the genocide of six million people.

I don't know how I feel about this.

Mystified. Stupefied. Intrigued. Embarrassed.

Where to from here? I am currently browsing Ebay for a suitable educational DVD.

My boss talking about her dog's balls

"You know what I did with Flea's nuts after we got them cut off? I dropped them in a jar of formalin and put them on top of the fridge."

Some workplace moments are truly precious.

The shut down.

Today there was a giggling group of girls on Table 7. They were loud and rude and one of them clicked her fingers at me to get my attention and I really wanted to kick her in the cunt.

Be a good waitress. Be a good waitress. Be a good waitress.

I refrained.

Then my boss came downstairs and asked where all the racket was coming from. I rolled my eyes and pointed to the source of it all. She walked straight up to their table and told them to cram it and to have more respect for those around them. I felt something very much akin to the pride you would feel if you sprung your mother working for a charitable organisation on the sly.

Warhol lips.

Today your family came in to the cafe and sat themselves down on table 5. Your mother was wearing red lipstick that she'd been saving since the German invasion of Poland and she was even kind enough to leave you a memento on a serviette of the pout that she's still sporting.

Luckily none of us have any standards of hygiene or dignity so we just man handled that serviette until we created the appropriate Andy Warhol-esk art-form. It's so beautiful.