Anatomy Of A Sparking Memory.

I'm a wee skinny boy. No kidding. An Ordinary weight for one man will have me groaning and huffing. But that's fine right? Every body's different. For someone who's reached and passed their 2nd Decade of life, I appear closer to have just nudged my toe out from behind my first. After spending an hour in the Fort William library, surfing the net and discreetly picking my nose with my pinky, I met one of my newest mates; Chad, a Queenslander out the Library's front doors. Chatting away about our interests in the Internet Movie Database (IMDB), Boardshorts and our evolving opinion on the Scottish accent, we were slowly surrounded by one very large group of School children. We kept chatting, concluding that the 3rd Harry Potter film was the best, when unexpectedly Chad started laughing.
"What"? Said I, confused.
Chuckling as he spoke, "You blend in"!
Indeed I did.

I've had 2 separate coworkers say the same thing - "At first, I thought you were real young, but when you talk, I gather your alot more mature than your appearance lets on."

When my old mate, Luke Dockrill visited us on his long journey home, we went out for drinks at the Cappercallie. A Pub/ Club (apparently, all thats required to make the transition from a pub to a club these days, are applying window blinds, removing the pool table and changing the music to something thumpy and repetitive.). The barmaid regrettably re-framed from asking for my ID and as I was seated, I irritably watched 2 seperate employees skirter on some invisible boundary, juggling the idea on whether to approach me or not. It was partly amusing, I must admit; watching one woman, her eyes fixated on mine, lurch forwards, hesitate then resist as her mind and her body played out some internal struggle for control over her legs. To be honest, mostly it just infuriated me. If you want to ask me, then just ask me. Do it, then piss off and leave me alone. There I was trying to enjoy a drink and a laugh with 2 of my best friends, but I couldn't because I was instead, stalked by fat, ugly incompetent and indecisive barmaids.

At work the next day, having convinced myself that those barmaids were insignificant losers, free of distortions I pushed on (with a smile) and concluded to myself that I was being paranoid. I'd entangled myself in whatever concerned them that night. Breathing unneeded life into another self doubt of mine, I didn't look young and whats further they probably weren't even looking at me. At that point, I was hurled back into reality, recollecting my 'normal' disposition as a Bartender, I looked up and had the inkling that the person who know stood in front of me , who i know recognised as John Brown, the head chef had said.....something, what was it though, a Hello or something. Guessing that's what it was, I risked a rather flimsy Hello in return.
"What?" John Brown said, looking puzzled.
"Aah...Nothing. How can I help you?"
"Your one of the Australians, aren't you?"
"Yes I am, it seems like we're taking ov-"
"How old are you?" John Brown continued, cutting me off.
With a smile, as both of us knowingly knew where the conversation was headed, I replied, "Aah...Im 20, actually."
"Ho!" Half a laugh, half leering, "You look bloody 12!" And he said no more.

Reflecting on the previous night out, I concluded that perhaps I wasn't being paranoid at all. Make way for the twelve year old.

Brad, Chad, Brinn and Tristan have all been working out at Lochaber Leisure centre, which to me sounds like one of the most inaccurate names given to a Fitness clinic. Last time I exercised with weights, I pushed myself so hard I generally nearly poo-ed myself. Imagine 50 or more people, all exercising to the degree where they too reach that physical threshold where they are all on the verge of pooping themselves as well. Why then would a gym, where the majority of patrons come to over-exert themselves, pull muscles and dehydrate, call itself a 'Leisure Centre'?

Beats me.

Going back, the idea of putting on some weight, if that's possible for me, to appear a little older (and perhaps a little bit more irresistible) was always a half-hearted option. Making muscle requires consistent hard work, motivation and a £30 membership. 3 things I wasn't very good at supplying. But after beating my last ingrown toenail and caving in to the constant barrage of "When are you gonna come to they Gym Joel, you Pussy!" and "Buy a Membership, you dickhead"! 9 times a day. I went to check it out with the idea of perhaps receiving an initial fee-free workout. Handing the woman my expired Student I.D. card, I asked, "So whats the deal...just for the Gym and Sauna?"
"£8.50 or a Membership is £30."
"What! How long does a membership last?"
"A Month, unlimited visits." She replied.
"So basically, 4 individual visits will cost me more than a membership."
"Yes, exactly. Your better off with a membership."
Still surprised that an individual visit could cost so much, I continued...."Are you sure its £8.50, I mean, I have a friend who comes here for something like a Poun-"
Interrupting - "Yeah you'd really be bet-er off with a membership."
"I might be, but are you sure its that much, I mean, seems and awful lot for just one-"
"You'd be better off with a membership." She says again.
I paused. Attempting to give her one of my strongest snooty looks, that conveys something along the lines of You really shouldn't interrupt people, least of all me. And you shouldn't assume I'd be better off with a membership after only exchanging a dozen words with me. Your hair looks awful untamed and if I ever had children like you, I'd slap them with the spoon they eat from.

Needless to say she failed to completely read my expression.

People here talk about 2 things. Firstly, its the Weather, which is pointless because its always the same, and secondly 'Ben Nevis'. UK's largest mountain. Its been both mine and Brads intention to climb, ever since taking that first step off the bus [and into a puddle]. We talk about it at least twice a day and yet we still haven't really taken any steps to furthering our goal, except for going to the gym.

Work is grim. And I don't like talking about it. My stomach starts paining with butterfly's and thunderstorms at the thought. I could really cleverly tell you about work by not telling you about it. It goes a little something like this. Let me inform you that Ive worked in hospitality before, at a Restaurant back home [Relish by the River], and that it was run by a family with personality, a sense of humour, charisma a foundation of trust and openness. A place that generally didn't take things too seriously, a place that was what it was. Cherished for giving its customers value for money, time to dine, good music and atmosphere. Well, work at the Alexandra is it's complete opposite. Heck, its a hotel, it's a lot more than just a Restaurant. But mostly everything about it, (save some of the people,) is inversed. I have left Relish with good memory's and friends. Here in Fort William, Scotland I doubt I'll do much solemn reflection, that instills me with a calming warmth, unlike what Relish does.

Staff accommodation at The Alex consists of A) An Actual Hotel Room, B) A room in a Bungalow or C) A room the size of a School locker in the staff block. Fortuneatley, as we are both 2 of the newest recruits, we get a hotel room. Which makes it incredibly convenient for work. W can wake up 10 minutes before a shift, get ready and go. And we'll be fine. This morning, we gave ourselves 3 minutes for Breakfast before heading down, where we still weren't quick enough as all the Polish and Hungarian cleaners make for the hot breakfast like a pack of seagulls for a hot chip, scrambling over each other, sqawking and pooing all over the floor. (I'm just kidding.)

My Job hits both extremes, extremely quiet to flat out. One incredible Saturday night we were so busy we had 7 people in the bar (usually we have only 3) and at the end of the night, we were down £60 in the till. Usually this means big business. Being under by quite a vast sum, but as there were so many people in the bar that night, making so many mistakes, there's really no one to blame. However, Brad did inadvertently overhear the 2IC (who I would like to refer to from now on as Mr Humungo On a Power Trip or MHOPT) advising a coworker of mine to look out for anything suspicious. Funny thing, he never had that chat with me. This infuriates me. The suspicion that I may be stealing, and its very much the same for Brad, and all the other Australians. We've considered leaving.

The boss and his cohort, MHOPT, glide stiffly around the hotel, pointing and shaking the heads, prying and meddling in the most pathetic and trivial aspects of dress-ware (Bradley your tie is in-cor-rect. Ho ho ho.), routine and manner. They'd prefer to ignore you than acknowledge you. MHOPT's attitude in life is to command respect, but not to earn it. Which I found highly arrogant and obnoxious. Dont you?

Juxtaposing the boss's are the 3 other Australian boys. Tristan, a lone traveller and Sydney boy, versed in today's city-hip dress-ware, he consistently wears a smile that is largely attributed to some smart-ass comment he lets fly every 5 - 12 seconds. He approaches people with a tongue inexperienced with consequence, he says what most of us feel like saying - but don't. An Australian sense of humour that's (to his misfortune) lost in translation (but appreciated by Brad and I), he's gutsy, bumbling gullible, as tall as a gum tree and brilliant fun.
Brin and Chad are, like Brad and I, two warring best friends who live like a married couple. They nitpick, swear, 'have their quiet/ alone time' just like us, and who live on to do it all again the very next day, They're both freaks. Chad runs, Brin does the weights. Unless of course when Brin is running, then Chad does the weights. It must be a very balanced relationship - like nature. Pfft.

Chad's easy. He looks something like Chad Michael Murray. Tall, crew cut and fit. Brin looks like, well, not like Chad Michael Murray, which makes it also pretty easy. Tristan works as a Waiter, Brinn's a kitchen porter (dish pig) and Chad's a cleaner. Despite their different positions, each job carries with it a sense of great dislike. Like mine and like Brads.