Well, C++ Instructor Dude's final wasn't the breeze that it might have been. Good thing I read through the handouts this afternoon. I probably did well, especially on the code writing parts. He lets us use the computers with MS .Net compilers installed, which is nice because if you get the exam code to run with the correct output, nobody can argue its rectitude. The penalty is that you have to type it in from the exam handout, but it's worth it.
The only ones I might have missed were some of the true/false things. He has a way of wording things so vaguely that many of his T/F questions are true if you look at it this way and false if you look at it that way. Does he do this on purpose to make us think really hard about the answer? Or does he just not right english so good?
Whatever. It's truly the end of a truly hideous semester. That's not really true. It wasn't hideous, it just wasn't easy. I took nine more credit hours this semester than I did last, but last semester, Summer 2005, was the spooky one. I had hell hounds on my trail that semester. In January I embark on what would be my senior year, if I or the college had any sense of time, and it's starting to look almost easy. There, again, no serious slacking till the diploma's in your hot greasy little hand, but I do think we've skated past more ogres than there are left to skate past. I should shut up before the Universe conspires to prove me wrong.
. . .
Speaking of hot greasy little hands. I stopped at Arby's for a Turkey Bacon Ranch Wrap or whatever they call it. It's been decades since Arby's had anything on their menu that didn't elicit a gag reflex, but these wrap things are actually edible. When I get to the drive up window, the kid says, "Five dollars even." I asked if he was sure, because the same order was six and change a week or two ago. He said, "I'm doin' deals tonight. We've got no change and the banks are all closed so everything's even tonight." He could have been telling the truth I guess, but he had to ask me what kind of drink I wanted at least four times before he got it right which made me wonder what sort of fumes we might have been inhaling earlier on. His buddy made me the biggest Turkey Bacon Ranch Wrap I've ever seen. It had about five strips of bacon on it (I think they usually have two) and tons of cheese that is usually so dear that it is weighed out in grains and served with tweezers.
I don't know if these guys were having a ball on their last day at Arby's or were just too recreationally blasted to care or what. I wonder if the owner will even see the five bucks he charged me. I wonder if they were selling off their "damaged goods" allotment and didn't want to open the register because it would record a sale.
I went from mowing lawns to rock n' roll to working the construction biz when I was a kid. I never worked the food biz like everyone else I know, but I did get to know this guy who ran a snack wagon in the middle of the race track at the Colorado State Fair. Most people couldn't get to the middle of the race track, only cowboys, horsemen and maintenance people like me, so this guy did not have a lot to do all day long.
The company he worked for had these wagons that sold beer and corn dogs and whatnot all over the fair grounds. Each operator was allowed so much for "damaged goods." That is, they could write off so many dropped corn dogs, ruptured bags of Fritos, refunded purchases or whatever before the boss got pissed and started asking hard questions. Most damaged goods were dropped food and things like having to take back a polish sausage that you put relish on when the guy asked for mustard. This happened a lot more frequently to the people operating the wagons out on the midway who would get swamped with orders and be working at breakneck speeds trying to keep up with them.
This guy in the middle of the track didn't have that problem. His customers were far and few enough between that he could work at a leisurely pace and almost never drop anything. So I would come by a couple times a day to help him eat the "damaged goods." And after the rodeo was over at night and all I had left to do was lock up the microphones at the Polka Pavilion when they were finished, we would even drink us a few "damaged" beers.
He was a music student at a college or university nearby and a really decent classical pianist. He came by once when we were setting up for some act and there was a grand piano on stage that the Fair had rented for whoever was playing that night. He sat down and whipped of some dazzling (to my ears) piano piece. My boss came over and whispered in my ear, "Is he with the band?" "Just testing the piano," I said and my boss went back to doing whatever he was about.