Let Them Eat Bread

Between film and TV projects, I have been working for a temp agency. The agency has been slow, lately, and I haven't been getting much work. This has resulted in a bit of a financial crisis for me. Today, thankfully, I had work, in the restaurant of a golf club. Usually, when I have work at a restaurant, I get a free meal, or two, which helps me save money on groceries. If I can have a big enough meal at work, for free, I can skip dinner at home. For some reason, this particular restaurant never offers me a meal. I don't know why not, as the permanent staff eat, but they leave me out. Go figure! If it's because I am a temp, well...other restaurants feed me and I am a temp there, as well. All they ever offer me, at this one, is the odd bit of leftovers.
Most times I have been at this club, I have managed to procure some meat and vegetables from the serving trays, using slight of hand, before the waiting staff throw what's left down the waste disposal (garbage disposal for America readers...isn't it funny how many expressions are different in Britain, compared with America?). Last time I was there, I had a plate of chips (french fries for American readers) that were left from the staff lunch. Today, the pickings were very slim. I managed to have some tuna mayonnaise. Then one of the waitresses, a 57 year old from Scotland, who looks hot in her black skirt with the slit up the back, offered me some left over bread and butter. Maybe she thinks she's Marie Antoinette. I accepted it, as it was better than nothing. At least it was whole grain bread. You know things are bad when you are grateful for some brown bread with butter, from a 57 year old Scottish woman in a black slit skirt.
When I got home, I was sitting in my car, listening to the 3 and 1/2 hour, 3 to 6:30, Iain Lee Afternoon Wireless Show on LBC 97.3, London (Sky Channel 0177 or via the net at: http://www.lbc973.co.uk/ ). I was waiting for an ad break so I could go inside without missing any. I saw the old lady who lives next door and a woman, who I think is her daughter, walking from a car to her door. I didn't want to get out then, as I might end up with her taking to me. I think I have inherited my mother's compulsion to avoid speaking to neighbors. Fortunately, there was no ad break, yet. I decided to fill out my paperwork for the agency, while waiting. After I finished that, I was looking out of the window at this bird hopping around on the lawn in front of my house. I have no idea what kind of bird it was, although I am certain it wasn't a penguin. It was brownish grayish in color and had feathers. The bird bent over and picked up something from the lawn, possibly a worm. The bird didn't swallow this worm, but proceeded to hop around the lawn with the worm hanging from it's beak. I was wondering why the bird didn't either eat the worm, or fly back to its nest, if the worm was for its young. Suddenly a thought popped into my head. Birds have no hands! Can you imagine going your whole life with no hands? Finally, the bird finished hopping around the fecking lawn and flew away, still with the worm hanging from it's beak. In due course, Ian went to an ad break and I was able to go inside. I guess birds have some compensation for having no hands, in that they don't have to buy groceries, nor accept leftover bread and butter from Scottish women, but can just get food for free, from people's lawns.