16 September 2005

The Iceland Diaries III -- Day 4

I'm an idiot.

I mixed a lot of beer and a lot of gin last night.

I didn't make make any plans with án. I left my shampoo in DC and there's none in the hotel. A crazed girl almost stabbed me with a fork but wasn't aiming for me. I'm not getting out to do touristy things to entertain myself and others.





I woke up expecting to go to Þorlákshöfn to see Stefán so I sent him an SMS. The phone kept storing it in Outgoing rather than sending the damned message. I went downstairs for a smoke and to go to the store for shampoo and water. Before going in I walked up a little further towards the í and looked for an antenna that had to be close by. I found it in about seconds, told the phone to send and pointed the antenna. . I'd let him know the only bus there left at and arrived at , and the bus back leaves at 7. I got an answer back from án saying he had to work past 7.

A few more messages passed between us and basically the only chance for us to meet (and see the factory) before I leave is to rent a car. Ugh.

I went to and did some prep with Halli. The day was pretty quiet, cooking occasionally, talking about politics, people, that documentary last night (which showed the city before íú was built), wolves, and various things restaurant people talk about when it's slow.

At about I was buried in my computers when Hebba the bartender screamed my name. I looked up and then heard a sort of thwack above and behind me. I looked back and there was some large girl turning around. I turned back to who just sat there staring at me. I looked up to my left again and finally saw the fork that this girl had jammed into the nice large photo mounted on 1. thick foam core, slightly above my head. Haa...

I looked around again. None of the customers did or said anything. No one really moved. I looked out the front window: the girl was calmly walking towards a car. I looked around once more, grabbed the camera and went outside. She got into her car and I took a photo of the back, getting the number plate. A passing car blocked me from getting a decent of her face as she got in but I got enough through the window despite a reflection that it would stand up in court.

There aren't many mulattoes here in Iceland, not even at the height of tourist season. Judging by the staff reaction this one's gotta be a local.

When I came back in the other staff asked me if I'd got the tag. Yep, and a couple pics. The people at the table next to me asked if I knew her. Nope. She was clearly sending a message to the owner or manager. I showed Halli the picture and he told me David will be very happy. He's the owner. You do not fuck with him. Doing so can lead to a drastic decrease in your oxygen consumption.

Her actions resembled those of a woman angered or scorned rather than some garden variety vandal. Indeed, when another employee came in later, he identified her as having been there with the owner the night before. I just don't want to know any more of this saga.

There's a play I'm interested in going to called "On the Way to Heaven", based on the famous (in Iceland, anyway) folk tale Sálin Hans Jóns Míns, or "My John's Soul". It's in English but only plays Mondays and Fridays. Missed it today, Friday I'm probably working, so it's either next Monday or not at all.

So Halli's getting a day off tomorrow and I'm covering the kitchen for him so he can see the wife and kids. I'm working, but not in an official capacity, so this shouldn't cause me any problems with the authorities. Er allt í lagi, tollhúsfolk?

The potential new cook is coming Friday to try out -- he's only ever been kitchen help before. This weekend is a huge party and they're expecting to be slammed, so I'm making myself available Friday in case the need arises, and I'm working together with Halli on Saturday.

Karen, Leo and I played cards, closing and leaving at 1:, too late to go to Sírkus and return to the regular levels of stupidity. No big deal; I'd already had a bit to drink. I went back to the hotel and read nursery rhymes.

Not a terribly adventurous day, really.


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