Author: Tim Morgan

Completely unrelated to yesterday’s post regarding sushi, this week I was given a new pet, a betta named Clementine.

Clementine resides in a glass vase shared with a lily plant on my new desk. From what internet research I’ve done, this may not be the best environment for her. I’ve read pages upon pages telling me that this arrangement is bad for the fish, the plant, and our national security as a whole. Be wary, readers, that I promise to remain vigilant to make sure that Clementine has only the best of what cubicle living has to offer.

(Also know that I realize that Clementine is actually a male betta.)

On the advice of Muffy, and the review in the Tennessean, tonight I ventured down to Bodeli Sushi, the new Cool Springs sushi bar with the conveyer belt. This style of sushi joint, called kaitenzushi, was pretty interesting, fast, and enjoyable if only for the novelty of it. Actually, I kind of felt like a country tourist visting the city to just to ride an escalator.

Video here. (Of the sushi conveyer, not me riding an escalator.)

The accounting system is brilliant, the plates are color coded and you’re charged based on your stack of plates at the end of the end of the meal. Here’s my damage for the night. (Gold plate – $3.50, Red plate – $2.50, Purple plate – $2.00, Lime plate – $1.50.) The sushi was good, but it wasn’t the best…I’ve actually had better in Williamson County. At the end of the meal I just wanted to take my empty plates up to the cashier to settle up.

Bottom line, if you have been to the airport and have ridden the moving sidewalk, go to RuSan’s or Peter’s Sushi in Brentwood. Unless you have guests in town who’ve never been to Bodeli, then go, get separate checks, sit so they can’t see the sign on the wall which explains the pricing. Then stack your empty plates on theirs.

One minor note, leave your camera at home. I was scolded as we left, the manager instructed that I couldn’t take pictures of the restaurant. But I had to document this sign.

Taken by a co-worker at one of our hospital renovation projects. I sure hope they don’t get confused about what gets loaded where.

Helped a friend move some furniture yesterday from his grandmother’s house in beautiful Humboldt, Tennessee. On the way back we witnessed a Uhaul trailer lose a tire coming down the Tennessee River Bridge. I guess he buys tires at Sears.

Tim Morgan: it’d have been cooler if I had dotted the I with the flash.
College Roommate: so… still no girlfriend, huh? 🙂
Tim Morgan: Uh. Yeah.
College Roommate: seriously. find one. when you have time for stuff like this, you need to meet someone. anyone.

I bought a new toy this weekend, expect higher quality dog blogging and a lot less room on my hard drive.

In a previous career, my father served on the front lines of the human resource industry–he worked at a temp agency. His responsibilites included many things, most notably interviewing people who came in off of the street to find jobs for them. One story always stood out:

Each applicant had to fill out an application form that included fields for previous work history, references, and the reasons for leaving their last employment. Once a man walked in who had worked as a short order cook for Waffle House for seventeen years. Think about that, that’s probably hundreds of thousands of orders for pecan waffles, patty melts, eggs over easy, and of course, hash browns scattered, smothered, and covered. It’s a pretty stressful job I would imagine. Think of hours standing next to a hot griddle, the temperment of the waitresses as they yell out orders one after another. Think of going home every night smelling like breakfast. Enough for someone after a period of time to say, take this job and shove it. Imagine my father’s surprise when he read the man’s reason for leaving his job.

One word was written on the form. “Jellypacks.”

My father couldn’t let that one go without an explanation. Seems that the uppity-ups at Waffle House corporate had attempted to abandon the time honored practice of calling out the order by developing a system whereby plates were set out and the arrangement of the condiment packets on the plate would tell the cook what had been ordered. For instance, a ketchup packet laid face down on the side of a plate might mean hash browns, diced and chunked or something like that. A packet of grape jelly in the center of the plate might mean eggs over medium. I’ve never seen this in action, I don’t know if it’s a current Waffle House policy.

At any rate, if I’m ever in a position where I’m asked my reason for leaving my last employment, I’ll surely have an answer. “Jellypacks.”

So, I couldn’t get the camera out of the bag in time. And my phone cam wouldn’t have done it justice. So bear with me for a second, and I’ll try to describe what picture is missing from the box:

Coming back from the airport this afternoon I saw a man driving a 1970s model Ford pickup. The pickup was rust colored, not really as much dull red as the quarter panels were totally oxidized. This man had a worn face, and was smoking the dregs of a cigarette. I saw that he was holding a blue straw, the kind like you get at Jack-in-the-Box when you order a large milkshake. What made me notice the straw was the way he was holding it relative to the position of his neck. You see, he was using the blue Jack-in-the-Box straw to CLEAN OUT HIS TRACHEOTOMY. WHILE SMOKING HIS CIGARETTE. WHILE DRIVING.

If I could multitask like that, I might actually be able to get something done in a day.