Time For A Change...Of Your Sheets

The violet hair of the Korean lady with an affinity for scarves matches the colorful walls of the hostel she manages. Baring an impeccable resemblance to Edna from The Incredibles,

her directness and sheer Korean voodoo feng shui cleaning styles make her an overbearing disaster to deal with. With that said, we bartered our cleaning services (and our life away) in return for discounted accommodation.

On the first day of bed making, I was very thoroughly (mis)informed on how to rid any and all beds of bedbugs. You see, under the fitted sheet there lays an airplane freebee blanket that she considers the bed protector. When a guest checks out, you just seizurely shake this bed protector and obviously all the bedbugs will fall onto the floor. It is then that you get those little bastards by sucking them up with a vacuum that has less suctioning power than a blow up doll...known from experience.

The communication barrier is quite substantial as she attempts to catch her own thoughts and then spews them out in an unorderly Korean accent. I spend minutes on end listening to her lecture at me while I nod, smile, and laugh at what most likely are the wrong spots in the conversation. But on the upside, I get to wear Summer's latest fashion trends.

Quack Attack

The week of suspenseful anticipation finally came to an end, as I felt like a duck face blonde chick on Tinder. All employers swiped right to me and the emails tsunami-d in. With more choices than Baskin Robins, I narrowed down my decision to 3 options:

1) A coffee shop entitled Circus Circus (no its not circus themed, no I don't dress like a clown, and no... I unfortunately don't wear a top hat) wanted me to be a senior waiter at a pay rate of $16-$18 per hour.

2) An informal British General Manager wanted me to be a manager, cook, and cashier for his Mexican Restaurant that was only days away from opening.

3) A restaurant entitled The Glass Goose was also on the brink of opening in the center of downtown. They wanted to hire me as a waiter at a rate of $15 per hour.

After much deliberation I came to these conclusions about my options:

1) I don't get to wear a top hat-deal breaker.

2) Doing a little research, I decided to check this place out. Not only was it in the boondocks of a suburb, but the estimated opening date of "a few days," must have been a direct translation to at least a month. The unfinished painting of Pancho Villa on the wall was Hitler-esque, as he must have been wondering where the rest of his mustache was. I've seen pictures of tribal villages in the Amazon that had more kitchen equipment, chairs, and tables than this desolate room that he deemed a restaurant.

3) And so it was decided, I would get loose at the Goose. As confident as I was about serving, a curve ball was thrown into the mix as the Site Manager purposed that he wanted me behind the bar. Having NO bartending experience at all, my total knowledge about alcohol was as follows:

• All beer taste the same...like piss
• Everyone feels the same when uncorking a wine bottle- I know what I'm doing, just don't make me show you
• James Bond likes his martini's shaken and not stirred
• Anything that gets you intoxicated is just called alcohol-period.
• Blended margaritas taste really good
• A Jager bomb involvers Jager and...the bomb?
• Filling a beer glass with mostly foam is still looking at the glass half full

Get ready Auckland, cause all i'm giving you is water or soda