Just recently, I got a job working as an asistant manager in a fish and chips shop in a local mall food court. I know it's not the kind of job you expected me to have, if you indeed had any expectations at all. In fact, it's not the type of job I ever expected to have either. But when the going gets tough, the tough do strange things and necessity makes tough bedfellows, so here I am.

At least I finally figured out why it's called fast food. After seeing the way food is made/treated/handled all I want to do is fast. I'm never going to eat again...well, at least until my next meal.

I can't really malign my place any more than other other place. They're not breaking any health and safety regulations. In fact, everything I've had from there tastes great. And since it's battered and fried, I know it'll make a lot of heart specialists happy. Give them something to do in a few year's time.

It's just that the more I handle and prepare this stuff, the less I want to eat it.

What I love about the job is the pace. I'm having to move all the time, which keeps me from thinking about how my feet have swelled up to the size of watermelons.

The other beautiful thing is that during this training period, I'm not making much above the Australian minimum wage which, unlike the American minimum wage, is at least livable.

Hopefully, in a couple of weeks, when the swelling goes down and I can stand again without crutches, I'll enjoy the job more.

Until then, I think I might go and have some health food.