surviving today

I just sent a text in German. T9 on my cell phone is utterly confused.

I think a third day in-a-row of working with the most annoying 17-year-old boy I have encountered in my rather minimal experience of 17-year-old boys is going to drive me to drink the wine and beers I'm supposed to be serving. He is so utterly insufferable that the 16-year-old girl (also named Diana) and 18-year-old boy (Simon) who were also forced to endure him today were at their wits end.

I found some solace in scrubbing the coffee maker to oblivion. During this process I discovered what I think might be an "odometer" on the coffee grinder.

Papa Aegerter is another character who deserves mention. He appeared early last week, just before my 9am shift began, cereal bowl in hand. He begins every morning in this manner, moving slowing toward the buffet with his bowl and newspaper. The rather strange part is that I sometimes encounter him later, like in the cellar, sitting near the laundry room picking berries off of their little stems, one-by-one. It almost seems like bizarre parental slave labor... but who am I to judge, particularly when I don't really understand what he's doing, and chances are, no one would be able to explain it to me in a why which made much sense.

Which leads me to my story from this morning (before insufferable boy arrived). One of the servers had just finished slicing a basketful of bread, showed me the bread and said something in German about what I was supposed to do with the bread. I made it clear that I understood my mission revolved around the bread, but I was uncertain as to what else it included. Was it for the banquet set-up for lunch? Should I bring it into the kitchen for use in some dish? With the help of the-other-Diana, it was determined that I was supposed to do something with the bread and chicken. Okay, this makes no sense. I've never done anything with bread and chicken before, it's not one of the tasks I've seen anyone else do. I'm still utterly confused. So, the-other-Diana takes the basket of bread in hand, leads me out the backdoor of the kitchen and toward the area where I suddenly recalled live chickens seem to roost. There she dumped the day-old bread in bin and reminded me to bring the basket back to the kitchen.

Bread and chicken. Sometimes identifying the key words really doesn't get you all the way there with comprehension.