Since I've started working at Jimmy John's, I'm pretty sure the earliest that I've left there on a night that I close was about 3:30 in the morning. It was 5:30 when I left this past Friday. Last night, it was 4:10ish. That's not too out of the ordinary for me, considering that's about the time my night usually ends. Hell, it has a perk. One single solitary perk.
City Cafe.
I have this thing for diners. I can't explain it. I love greasy food, unending cups of coffee, and waitresses that call me "hun" and "sweetie". Okay, I just explained it. Anyway. City Cafe is just across the river in Northport and opens before the sun comes up. The food is amazing and the people that work there are nice. I was sitting there as the sun was starting to come up this morning, drinking my coffee and eating my meal (2 eggs over-medium, grits, sausage, biscuits, and gravy.) My mind started to wander. The food reminded me of something that my mother would fix for breakfast.
The whole time that I was eating, my waitress kept insisting that I put Golden Eagle syrup on my biscuit. You know, it's the stuff that made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches good in high school. I don't even like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I think they're gross. Golden Eagle and peanut butter, however, is fucktacular. Anyway, she kept offering and I kept beating around the bush, you know, like every other time that I don't really want to do anything. (Happy 4th of July, wanna fuck? Maybe later.) I finally caved. Why the hell not? It was 5am at this point and I only had to be back at work in 6 hours and 15 minutes.
If you're not familiar with this culinary delight, you just pour this stuff on a biscuit and eat it. It's called soppin'. Since we're in the South, the "g" at the end of sopping is not used. I'm writing this like a bunch of people from up north are reading it or something. I dunno. I mixed it with butter. You know, to make it a little more unhealthy. Fried eggs, fried sausage, questionable sweet substance on my biscuit.
I was in there a couple of weeks ago eating breakfast and got a piece of fried bologna to eat. When I ordered it, I totally expected two pieces of Oscar Meyer bologna. You know, not very large and kinda thin. Nope. It was one piece, about the size of a 45rpm record and almost a half inch thick. I could feel my chest tighten as I stabbed my fork into it. As I put the first bite in my mouth I could hear my heart shouting "Fuck off asshole! Don't do it! Don't do it! Don't do it!" As I took the last bite, I heard my heart tell my to get fucked. Watching the grease drip off just made it even better.
Another good thing about working that damn late is the battery in my iPod usually dies after about an hour and a half. It forces me to listen to the radio. The University of Alabama public radio station is awesome. Saturday nights is bluegrass until 1am. Sunday nights is soul and the blues until 1am. At 1am, my favorite part kicks in. The BBC World Service. There's nothing like hearing the news in a British accent, or a Scottish or Irish accent.
I'm pretty sure I was the most obnoxious person at the football game Saturday. I actually think I may have offended the entire University of Alabama softball team. That's what happens when you go to football games drunk and shout profanity-laden insults at the opposing team. It's funny though, to get dirty stares from other people wearing crimson and white.
There's a lady next to me in the library that is coughing so hard I think she's about to lose her lungs. Not even covering her mouth. Eww. Doesn't she know that the television tells us that we're going to catch swine flu? Cunt.
I'm 3 posts into this and I can already tell that it's pointless. Maybe it's cool that no one reads this and I can just ramble on and clear my head.
First math test of the semester one hour from now and 700 years of Russian history to read tonight.
Here's Tim Barry.
Pretty good stuff, even though I've heard it all in person.
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