The party for a citizenship lasts all night, just in case you were wondering. Especially when the newly-minted citizen in question thinks that the best way to celebrate is by making 40 litres of sangria. (Seriously. Overkill. A tip for life, kids: when procuring drink for your party keep in mind how many people will be there. Never should the litres of booze be greater than the number of party attendees. Then you are left with gallons of drink that then must somehow be stored, or awkwardly given out, or tragically wasted. (Tragically wasted is also a good term to just generally avoid in any reference to a party. It’s just a downer for everyone.))
Since we were having the party at the restaurant, we just decided it would be a good idea to open early and make a kick-ass breakfast for any random joggers who might decide to drop in to see why in the world our strange little cafe would be open at seven in the morning. It was amazing.
It was so amazing that the restaurant manager put me on the roster as the breakfast chef for every day of the week.
I have an actual, official position now. I was given a key to the building this evening, so I can come in early and get everything set up.
I’m so happy. I don’t think I have words to express how excited I am.
I’ve officially gotten the position I’ve been working towards for the past months.
I’m so stoked. I can build up a new breakfast menu. I feel like I finally have enough room to really show people that I am really good at this. I can’t wait.
Additionally, as a chef, I am in a line of work that qualifies me as a candidate to sponsored for permanent residency.
I guess Office Space really was a life lesson…
I think maybe I could do this for a living (or at least the ten years it takes to get permanent residency). I love this city. I could stay for a while.