Sunday, October 20, 2013

It's Sunday I'm In Love

My ability to care about anything else has hit an all time low, I am way, way too caught up in this food truck life. I'm in the last few weeks of my last semester of culinary school and I don't care, self set blog posting deadlines keep coming and going and I haven't done a wonderful job of keeping them up, but this day job of mine has become way too much fun.

This job came along at just the right time for me. I've always been so obsessed with rules and schedules and meticulous details and this chaotic changeable work situation is so very much the opposite of all that. The very nature of taking this job on a food truck has put me in the position to take work when there is work to be done regardless of notice and it's done wonders for my uptight Capricorn sensibilities.

Just a little Saturday night square dancing
Working the truck has been a bit like having a wild, no good, motorcycle riding boyfriend, that you can never pin down to set up a date. He just shows up at all hours of the day or night, randomly, asking if you want to go out in an hour (or worse, right now), and your instinct is to say "no boo, plans are necessary" and yet you know that if you say yes and go that you will without fail have a marvelous, unforgettable time.
So you make a choice, do you say no, stay home, and get a full night's sleep? Or do you roll with it, buy yourself some leather boots, pull all-nighters, and learn the time saving benefits of drinking coffee in the bathtub? Some weeks I say to myself that this is too much, it can't possibly last, and that I will die young from lack of sleep, but every Sunday morning I find myself with stories to tell.

Bluegrass in the boonies
Even my hours spent baking, away from all the action are blissful. I put on a spotify playlist in the empty commissary, get elbows deep in biscuit dough and sing and bake all night, (or morning, or afternoon) until 300 or 400 or 600 biscuits are buttery golden brown and wrapped. Then roll on out to the next chaotic shift of bluegrass parties in the middle of the woods, brushes with country stars ( just keep it cool, don't let on that you know), and the inside of more port-o-johns than any sane person should see.

The problem of course now is finding a way to break free from the snake charming skills of the 'no good boyfriend' to deal with things like swiftly approaching finals, blog post deadlines, etc. I know that somehow, some way I will find a balance...

All the same, it's very lucky I get paid to do this. Food Truckin is one hell of a drug.

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