icelandic incidents

This is just to say fuck I'm fine. I got a job at Indian Mango, a restaurant that's close to fine dining. I have been there a month now. There has been a bit of a exodus, I am the most experienced waiter there. Lot of responsibility. The owner George Holmes and that's an Indian - is a fruitbar, a crazy cracker, he whips around all over the place like cream.

He saved my bacon because my backside was going to go through the grinder. After leaving Birkir's place - he was going to grad school in Canada - I got a a place about 45 mins from where I work in 101 Reykjavik. It had no shower, no laundry facilities and no kitchen. The landlady wore a t-shirt saying "All I Want Is Sex" when I viewed the cell, and made me sign a contract. While I would quite happily have fucked her, I preferred to fuck her over. George offered me a job and a place to stay for the same price in the centre with all the facilities a prison can't offer. I got the hell out of there the next morning, the day my rent was due, found a trolley in a gas station and threw in my suitcase, pushing it down the side of the interstate, whistling to Vampire Weekend that blasted out from a car that drove past on this hot sunny day. The landlady ain't got back to me.

One day at work, on another hot day, Icelandic intern Siggi, who looks just like Fernando Torres - said "Marcus I need help moving some furniture". Turns out that the treasure trove of an antique shop next door wanted us to transport a 6 ft wide chest of drawers and an old oak wardrobe across the road. We realized this would be too much for two of us and so called in Jamie to help us. We had to dismantle them, take them across the road, drenched in sweat and put them back together in another crazy shop across the road, all the while thinking "What the shit is going on?" 45 minutes later and the lady in her late fifties who was uncomfortably flirty with us, asks the three of us to help ourselves to a pair of leather shoes of our choice. We spend a lengthy chunk of time trying brown ones, long black ones, ones not our size, trying with socks, without socks asking all kind of questions, american sizes, UK sizes and Bam! A pair of beautiful handmade brown leather boots are all mine and they retail at over 100 pounds. Now that's a slice of good luck.

I had my homesick period. I have spent so much money on eating out and partying at the weekends. I have seen Jonas leave to go to grad school in London. I have made some good friends. I pulled an Icelandic girl. I had a big learning curve about how to be professional when writing an article. I have written enough for tonight.

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CURRENT MUSIC --- Campus by Vampire Weekend