Monday, August 9, 2010 / Tuesday, August 10, 2010
We made it safely to Colorado yesterday. Christy lives just outside of Denver, and we reached her house in the mid-afternoon. We took a walk around her neighborhood, saw the lake, and walked to the library. Lindsey and I were ready to walk almost anywhere at that point. Then Christy took us to see the Columbine Memorial. That was sobering. It is a beautiful monument, and well constructed. When the rain came we left.
For dinner we had pizza and salad, along with the wine we brought as a hostess gift. After dinner we watched “Miss Congeniality”. I hadn’t seen that for a long time.
Colorado is gorgeous. The Eastern part is the same as the Western part of Kansas, which is more flat and dead than the other, though nowhere near as flat and brown as I was expecting. The Rockies took longer to appear than we thought they would. Little hills popped up here and there, and we, thinking they were the foothills, kept looking for the actual mountains. Seeing none, we wondered if they weren’t as big as we’d always been told, like Kansas isn’t as flat, dead, and boring as we were always told. Eventually, though, we were met with walls of stone. Denver is one mile in altitude, and behind it the Rockies looked very imposing. We stopped doubting and started wondering how we’d make it over.
We left this morning at 7:30, and three hours later we’re a little ways into Wyoming, which already looks vastly different from Colorado. It has its plains and hills, but the colors are different. The grass is still green, but more on the yellow side. The trees are becoming less and less deciduous and more coniferous. We’ve gone through one or two of what looked like mountain passes, but they probably weren’t. At all. The Rockies are still in the distance, but we’re feeling the effects of the real foothills. It is incredible country, though. We see lots of cows (no cowboys yet), deer lazily munching their way through a pasture, rocky outcrops, cliffs, rolling hills, horses, and these strange wooden walls that we can’t quite figure out what they’re for. They’re either wind breakers or snow drift preventers. They’re regular 2x4s nailed horizontally to vertical posts, with a few inches of space between each horizontal. The fences are between six and eight feet tall, but are definitely not fences in the enclosing sense. They seem more or less randomly placed, sometimes in rows. Very interesting. Since Colorado we’ve also seen groups of the giant energy windmills. Right now there’s a long row of them across the horizon. It is very windy up here. Last I saw we were almost 7000 feet in elevation. When we stopped for gas in Cheyenne, we were blown perpetually. Temperatures are still pleasant; we have the AC running.
While gassing up in Cheyenne, Lindsey called home to check in and mom told her about the convicts that escaped from Arizona about a week ago. Apparently in the last day or two, one was caught in Wyoming. The search has been extended to Montana. We’re guessing they convicts are on their way to Canada. But, since we’re in Wyoming, we’re being very watchful. We’re not taking hitchhikers anymore, so that should help. Just kidding, we never had any. But we’re keeping a weather eye out for them. Well, it’s time to stick the bike in the car; it’s way too windy for it to stay on top.
Back in the saddle again and running better with the bike in the back seat. I’ve been watching the clouds and seeing some lenticular clouds. They only happen in areas with mountains or high elevations. The warm air rises, collides with the colder mountain air, the moisture from the warm air forms a cloud, but the cloud is punched in from the bottom like a lens. They’re fascinating; being at sea level, we never see them back home.
We've stopped for the night in Tremonton, Utah, which is on the corner of No and Where. Hopefully we'll get into Moscow tomorrow around noon.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
On the Road Again
Sunday, August 8, 2010 / Monday, August 9, 2010
Life got a teeny bit interesting after I took the wheel. We started having car troubles, so we pulled over and talked to dad. He advised us to push through to Paden and Jasmine’s, and to keep him posted. The problems seemed to resolve themselves once we eased back a little. I think the car was just tired.
We arrived a little after 7:00 P.M., just in time for dinner. Jasmine made taco salads, and used a neat pan to make the tortilla shell bowls. It looked a little like a Bundt pan, only without the spike in the middle. She oiled the tortillas, stuck them in the pan, and put it on the stove. We had such a good time seeing them again. Paden pulled out all the stops as far as drinks went. He made Margaritas with dinner, and served a nice rum with dessert, which was excellent. Jas had sliced peaches and fried them in sugar and cinnamon. Absolutely delicious. We hit the sack around 10:30, since Jasmine gets up a little after 5:00 for work. Paden made us breakfast the next morning, and we got on the road at 8:00.
What has surprised me most about Kansas so far is that it is not what I thought it would be; I was expecting to cross the border and immediately find flat, dead, brown grass. There are hills. There are trees. Green trees. Green grass. And, most surprising of all, water! At dinner I expressed this surprise, and Paden laughed and told me to just wait; it gets like that later. It is really beautiful in this North Eastern part, though. Very different from Maryland, but stunning. I still can’t believe it.
Now we’re on the way to Colorado. We’re getting on I-70W, and should be here for another 450 miles.
Maybe if I ever find Internet I can actually post this.
Life got a teeny bit interesting after I took the wheel. We started having car troubles, so we pulled over and talked to dad. He advised us to push through to Paden and Jasmine’s, and to keep him posted. The problems seemed to resolve themselves once we eased back a little. I think the car was just tired.
We arrived a little after 7:00 P.M., just in time for dinner. Jasmine made taco salads, and used a neat pan to make the tortilla shell bowls. It looked a little like a Bundt pan, only without the spike in the middle. She oiled the tortillas, stuck them in the pan, and put it on the stove. We had such a good time seeing them again. Paden pulled out all the stops as far as drinks went. He made Margaritas with dinner, and served a nice rum with dessert, which was excellent. Jas had sliced peaches and fried them in sugar and cinnamon. Absolutely delicious. We hit the sack around 10:30, since Jasmine gets up a little after 5:00 for work. Paden made us breakfast the next morning, and we got on the road at 8:00.
What has surprised me most about Kansas so far is that it is not what I thought it would be; I was expecting to cross the border and immediately find flat, dead, brown grass. There are hills. There are trees. Green trees. Green grass. And, most surprising of all, water! At dinner I expressed this surprise, and Paden laughed and told me to just wait; it gets like that later. It is really beautiful in this North Eastern part, though. Very different from Maryland, but stunning. I still can’t believe it.
Now we’re on the way to Colorado. We’re getting on I-70W, and should be here for another 450 miles.
Maybe if I ever find Internet I can actually post this.
Free and Easy down the Road We Go
*I'll post pictures when I get a chance*
Saturday, August 7, 2010 / Sunday, August 8, 2010
When driving across the country, time passes abnormally. So long as you’ve got good company, good music, and a good attitude, you’re OK.
Lindsey and I left Maryland at 5:00 A.M. Saturday morning, travelled through Maryland to West Virginia, where we crossed the Appalachians and made it down to Kentucky by 4:00 that afternoon. The scenery was very beautiful. Before exiting Maryland, we visited an old abandoned settlement called Twiggtown. I know a man in Idaho with that last name, and he told me about that settlement, started by his ancestors. Apparently, the Twiggs were so numerous at one point that they feuded over a certain house. The Twiggs on one side of the pond warred with those on the other side. It was easy to tell who was on which side; the blue-eyed Twiggs fought the brown-eyed ones. No, I did not make that up. When we reached Twiggtown, though, there was nothing. We were back in the sticks, and saw trashy trailers scattered here and there. We had hoped to find the house that was fought over, or some tumbled-down cabins. Finally we asked a man about it, and he said there wasn’t anything, but there was a Twigg that lived down the road. We didn’t have the time or guts to go knocking on some stranger’s door at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, so we simply left.
Before leaving Maryland, we went through Cumberland (very close to Twiggtown; we saw a Twigg’s Auto Shop). The historic section was very nice. There were about six large, beautifully constructed churches that appeared to be in use. One had a banner trumpeting its 200th anniversary this year.
We hit Kentucky around 4:00 where we stayed with friends, enjoyed their company, and especially enjoyed getting to know Lindsey W.’s new boyfriend. We, being such good friends, did our best to break Aaron in. He took it well. We had a blast with all of Lindsey’s family; she is the second of ten children, and most of them were there the whole time. We brought them two dozen ears of Maryland sweet corn in exchange for a night, and that was a good deal. Mrs. W. and Lindsey fixed dinner, breakfast, and packed us an excellent lunch to take the next day. Because their church service didn’t start until 11:00, Lindsey W. found another church with an earlier service. We three girls went to the 8:30 service at Walnut Memorial Baptist Church, where Aaron joined us.
We left directly from the church for Kansas. We travelled through Kentucky to the toe of Indiana, into Illinois, passed through St. Louis, and crossed the Mississippi River without even knowing it. In St. Louis, we saw the famous arch, some lovely stone churches, and the Cardinals’ Stadium. There’s something different about the land further South and West. When we reached Kentucky, we commented on how similar it looked to Western Maryland, and yet how different. We couldn’t figure out what exactly is different. We think it’s that the land begins to open up and flatten slightly. It seems wider, but not overtly. We’re passing through Missouri right now, and here the difference is very noticeable. There are still lots of trees, but they’re not so dense; the fields are larger. This is due in part to the increasing flatness. I think the lack of rivers also has a lot to do with it. Our area of Maryland is chopped up by rivers, creeks, and ponds. There are ponds and creeks out here, even rivers, but being so far from a major source of water like the Chesapeake, they’re much smaller.
My turn to drive.
Saturday, August 7, 2010 / Sunday, August 8, 2010
When driving across the country, time passes abnormally. So long as you’ve got good company, good music, and a good attitude, you’re OK.
Lindsey and I left Maryland at 5:00 A.M. Saturday morning, travelled through Maryland to West Virginia, where we crossed the Appalachians and made it down to Kentucky by 4:00 that afternoon. The scenery was very beautiful. Before exiting Maryland, we visited an old abandoned settlement called Twiggtown. I know a man in Idaho with that last name, and he told me about that settlement, started by his ancestors. Apparently, the Twiggs were so numerous at one point that they feuded over a certain house. The Twiggs on one side of the pond warred with those on the other side. It was easy to tell who was on which side; the blue-eyed Twiggs fought the brown-eyed ones. No, I did not make that up. When we reached Twiggtown, though, there was nothing. We were back in the sticks, and saw trashy trailers scattered here and there. We had hoped to find the house that was fought over, or some tumbled-down cabins. Finally we asked a man about it, and he said there wasn’t anything, but there was a Twigg that lived down the road. We didn’t have the time or guts to go knocking on some stranger’s door at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, so we simply left.
Before leaving Maryland, we went through Cumberland (very close to Twiggtown; we saw a Twigg’s Auto Shop). The historic section was very nice. There were about six large, beautifully constructed churches that appeared to be in use. One had a banner trumpeting its 200th anniversary this year.
We hit Kentucky around 4:00 where we stayed with friends, enjoyed their company, and especially enjoyed getting to know Lindsey W.’s new boyfriend. We, being such good friends, did our best to break Aaron in. He took it well. We had a blast with all of Lindsey’s family; she is the second of ten children, and most of them were there the whole time. We brought them two dozen ears of Maryland sweet corn in exchange for a night, and that was a good deal. Mrs. W. and Lindsey fixed dinner, breakfast, and packed us an excellent lunch to take the next day. Because their church service didn’t start until 11:00, Lindsey W. found another church with an earlier service. We three girls went to the 8:30 service at Walnut Memorial Baptist Church, where Aaron joined us.
We left directly from the church for Kansas. We travelled through Kentucky to the toe of Indiana, into Illinois, passed through St. Louis, and crossed the Mississippi River without even knowing it. In St. Louis, we saw the famous arch, some lovely stone churches, and the Cardinals’ Stadium. There’s something different about the land further South and West. When we reached Kentucky, we commented on how similar it looked to Western Maryland, and yet how different. We couldn’t figure out what exactly is different. We think it’s that the land begins to open up and flatten slightly. It seems wider, but not overtly. We’re passing through Missouri right now, and here the difference is very noticeable. There are still lots of trees, but they’re not so dense; the fields are larger. This is due in part to the increasing flatness. I think the lack of rivers also has a lot to do with it. Our area of Maryland is chopped up by rivers, creeks, and ponds. There are ponds and creeks out here, even rivers, but being so far from a major source of water like the Chesapeake, they’re much smaller.
My turn to drive.
The Last of the Work
Well, life has been busy, and now summer is basically over. But, here’s the last of the work stories.
I did the BARS Program a few more times. I revisited the store where that one kid had gotten so upset and torn his red card. He was working again. I suspected it was he, and that suspicion was confirmed when he looked at me hard, crossed his arms, and said mockingly, “Can I see some ID?” I chuckled and said, “I thought that was you.” He took his green card, then began questioning me about the whole process, and why it was he would get in trouble for not carding someone obviously of age. He pointed out that he could just say he thought I was over 30, and how would I be able to get him in trouble? I shrugged and told him he’d found the loophole, and I had no idea. Best to just card everyone.
I had another assignment that was interesting, a one day job. Coca-Cola has a call center near my house that needs two people to come in once a month and sort Coke products. They give their employees a discounted group order, and when it ships, we come in and sort it for them. So I spent the morning making Bob’s pile, Sally’s pile, and so forth. The only reason I was excited was that I’ve wanted to see the inside of that place for a long time. I wanted to know what happened there, whether it was a bottling location, or what. It’s actually rather boring, but I enjoyed getting paid to discover that.
The job I most enjoyed was a 3.5 day project. A company wanted to test their EZ-Pass technology, and hired some experts from New York, Canada, Ohio, and the Carolinas to come and run the show. They came and used the Crofton Raceway, and hired us to drive the cars they rented. I drove a 2010 Toyota Corolla, which was nice, but had a lame engine. A few times I worried I would burn it out just trying to keep up. Each car had a number, and we were assigned walkie-talkies. They had a variety of vehicles, and arranged us in ‘platoons’ to simulate as many real life situations possible. There were ten of us in sedans, SUVs, a minivan, a cube truck (the smaller kind of moving van), and an 18-wheeler. We had a varying number of lanes, and would go through as a group, one row at a time, one column / lane at a time, sometimes at 5mph, 25mph, and 65mph. It was very fun. During breaks, you could read, walk around, do whatever. The minivan had a TV and DVD player, so that was the movie van. I had better books, though, and I had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near the driver of that van. The reason for that goes back to the very first day of that job.
The morning of day one was spent familiarizing ourselves with our cars, walkies, each other, the process, etc. My car happened to be parked next to the minivan, which was driven by Yuri, a guy from Ukraine who immigrated with his family when he was a kid. He was in his upper twenties, arrogant, sort of belligerent, and had a case of localized fat such that he looked 9 months pregnant. And that is not an exaggeration. Anyway, he was blaring his techno music, of which I was not fond, and trying to talk to me through the windows as I adjusted my settings. We wound up shouting to each other because of the volume. I sat in the passenger seat of his van, which meant we could talk at a polite yell. I decided I didn’t like him, and he made an impolite comment, and thankfully just then we had to get to work, so I left. We drove 5 laps in each platoon, and after a few platoons, they told us to park in the new order, but wait for about 30 minutes before getting on the racetrack while they fixed something. Out of nowhere, Yuri (or Urine, as my sister dubbed him) popped into my car and started talking again. He looked at the car in front of us and noticed it was filled with males. “They seem to prefer male company,” he said. “I don’t understand that at all.” Oh geez, I thought. He told me all about his girlfriend in Ukraine that he had just met online a few weeks before, and that they talk for hours every day over Skype, and how he can’t wait to get a real job so he can take time off right away and visit her, blah.
Somehow we began talking about drinking, and I mentioned that I only drink what I like and when it pairs well with the food, not just drinking to drink. Well this seemed to impress him, because he said, “Wow, we should hang out.” Now the correct response to this would have been, “Um, no.” but I am plagued with the desire to be polite as often as possible, which can get me in trouble. I told him my parents wouldn’t be comfortable with that, which he tried to work around, but I blocked him at every pass. A simple “No” would have been better. “Anyway,” I continued, “I don’t think your girlfriend would like that.” He got offended and said, “I didn’t imply anything more than hanging out!” “I didn’t say you did,” I replied. And then he began his soliloquy about her again. He complained about the inadequacies of Skype, and I told him to be grateful for it. “Not too long ago, you would have had to write a letter that may or may not make it to her, and wait for weeks for a reply.” “Well I’m something of a romantic,” he responded; “I like writing letters.” “So do I,” I said. “I bet your boyfriend gets a kick out of that,” he replied sarcastically. I told him I don’t have a boyfriend. “What? You don’t? Wow! If I weren’t already sort of in a relationship, I’d say, ‘In that case, what are you doing tomorrow night?’” I was secretly appalled. I wondered if I had a neon sign that said, “Desperate! Date me or I die!” One again I was saved by the walkie, and from that moment on I studiously avoided him. This happened about a week and a half after my first experience along these lines, so I hadn’t fully recovered yet. Honestly, though, what conceit to just assume I’d actually want to go out with him! Ugh. Looking 9 months pregnant seriously didn’t help.
For lunch, everyone generally drove off to get fast-food. I always brought my lunch, and sat with Rusty, the guy who took notes. He was a brick mason from Ohio out of a job. His cousin got him the job, and he told me he was shocked people got paid to write things in a notebook, but was glad for the work since he’d been laid off. He told me about his family, let me try some of the venison he grilled for his lunch (one of his sons had shot it and he brought it with him, and it tasted great), and told me about brick laying. I always felt at ease around him, Bob (the big boss), Glen (second-in-command, who made faces at me when I drove by and laughed when I cracked Star Wars jokes over the walkie), and Adam (he sometimes drove, directed traffic, and sat at the entrance to the racetrack). There was also an old man from Canada who was always puffing on his pipe. I knew I recognized the tobacco, and he told me it was Black Cavendish. Glen laughed and said, “Yeah, you should see him when he goes back home; he stops off at the last CVS on this side of the border and gets a few pounds and smuggles it in, since they don’t sell it in Canada!”We never interacted with the people who had hired them to do the testing. Some of my fellow drivers were OK. I knew two from Nordstrom, one of whom was Enon. I asked him how he was enjoying Alice in Wonderland, and he said he liked it. I’m not sure if he had even cracked the cover, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
We had an interesting incident on the third morning. When arranging ourselves in a new platoon, one of the SUVs clipped a sedan. I looked in time to think, “Huh, she’s cutting it close.” Yeah, that was too close. So that put a stop to work until after lunch, because there was paperwork and stuff for them to fill out. While we waited, I hunted bugs in the area. I earned the nickname “The Bug Lady” since I was always finding them, holding them, etc. There were lots of cool varieties I’d never seen before, even though it was about 30 minutes from my house. There were also a lot of trucks processing gravel, dirt, and stuff like that since there was a quarry of sorts right there. A few hours later, the walkie crackled and Bob said, “Kathleen, where are you? We need to give you your reward.” I waved, and he and Adam came over. I had no idea what to expect. Bob said, “Since the sedan is out of commission, we need to shuffle the vehicles a little. Your reward for being the best driver here is that you now get to drive the cube truck.” I was scared. “Are you serious? I’ve never driving anything that big before!” I protested. “You can do it,” Adam said. “You’re the best driver we have; you’ll be fine.” I was having flashbacks to my car flip in Idaho, so I wasn’t so sure. But I said I’d do it, and thanked them. It was so fun! It was much easier than I’d expected, and it was neat being up so high. And the fact that I had my hair in pigtails that day just made the whole picture funnier. Glen laughed and said, “It’s always fun seeing women drive huge trucks!” Adam sat at the entrance to the track and thumbs upped me as I went by. He took a turn driving one of the SUVs and gave me tips here and there. When I gave the keys back at the end of the day, I thanked Bob again and told him how much I enjoyed driving that truck. He said, “Now you can tell your friends when they move that if they load, you’ll drive, and charge them for it!”
I really enjoyed working for Bob & Co., and since they were all polite, fun, hardworking blue collar men I felt right at home. I learned a lot from that job, and more than just driving a cube truck. I learned about brick laying, bugs, making dirt and gravel, and that I need to sacrifice manners to give the right answer to fat, pushy Ukrainians.
I did the BARS Program a few more times. I revisited the store where that one kid had gotten so upset and torn his red card. He was working again. I suspected it was he, and that suspicion was confirmed when he looked at me hard, crossed his arms, and said mockingly, “Can I see some ID?” I chuckled and said, “I thought that was you.” He took his green card, then began questioning me about the whole process, and why it was he would get in trouble for not carding someone obviously of age. He pointed out that he could just say he thought I was over 30, and how would I be able to get him in trouble? I shrugged and told him he’d found the loophole, and I had no idea. Best to just card everyone.
I had another assignment that was interesting, a one day job. Coca-Cola has a call center near my house that needs two people to come in once a month and sort Coke products. They give their employees a discounted group order, and when it ships, we come in and sort it for them. So I spent the morning making Bob’s pile, Sally’s pile, and so forth. The only reason I was excited was that I’ve wanted to see the inside of that place for a long time. I wanted to know what happened there, whether it was a bottling location, or what. It’s actually rather boring, but I enjoyed getting paid to discover that.
The job I most enjoyed was a 3.5 day project. A company wanted to test their EZ-Pass technology, and hired some experts from New York, Canada, Ohio, and the Carolinas to come and run the show. They came and used the Crofton Raceway, and hired us to drive the cars they rented. I drove a 2010 Toyota Corolla, which was nice, but had a lame engine. A few times I worried I would burn it out just trying to keep up. Each car had a number, and we were assigned walkie-talkies. They had a variety of vehicles, and arranged us in ‘platoons’ to simulate as many real life situations possible. There were ten of us in sedans, SUVs, a minivan, a cube truck (the smaller kind of moving van), and an 18-wheeler. We had a varying number of lanes, and would go through as a group, one row at a time, one column / lane at a time, sometimes at 5mph, 25mph, and 65mph. It was very fun. During breaks, you could read, walk around, do whatever. The minivan had a TV and DVD player, so that was the movie van. I had better books, though, and I had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near the driver of that van. The reason for that goes back to the very first day of that job.
The morning of day one was spent familiarizing ourselves with our cars, walkies, each other, the process, etc. My car happened to be parked next to the minivan, which was driven by Yuri, a guy from Ukraine who immigrated with his family when he was a kid. He was in his upper twenties, arrogant, sort of belligerent, and had a case of localized fat such that he looked 9 months pregnant. And that is not an exaggeration. Anyway, he was blaring his techno music, of which I was not fond, and trying to talk to me through the windows as I adjusted my settings. We wound up shouting to each other because of the volume. I sat in the passenger seat of his van, which meant we could talk at a polite yell. I decided I didn’t like him, and he made an impolite comment, and thankfully just then we had to get to work, so I left. We drove 5 laps in each platoon, and after a few platoons, they told us to park in the new order, but wait for about 30 minutes before getting on the racetrack while they fixed something. Out of nowhere, Yuri (or Urine, as my sister dubbed him) popped into my car and started talking again. He looked at the car in front of us and noticed it was filled with males. “They seem to prefer male company,” he said. “I don’t understand that at all.” Oh geez, I thought. He told me all about his girlfriend in Ukraine that he had just met online a few weeks before, and that they talk for hours every day over Skype, and how he can’t wait to get a real job so he can take time off right away and visit her, blah.
Somehow we began talking about drinking, and I mentioned that I only drink what I like and when it pairs well with the food, not just drinking to drink. Well this seemed to impress him, because he said, “Wow, we should hang out.” Now the correct response to this would have been, “Um, no.” but I am plagued with the desire to be polite as often as possible, which can get me in trouble. I told him my parents wouldn’t be comfortable with that, which he tried to work around, but I blocked him at every pass. A simple “No” would have been better. “Anyway,” I continued, “I don’t think your girlfriend would like that.” He got offended and said, “I didn’t imply anything more than hanging out!” “I didn’t say you did,” I replied. And then he began his soliloquy about her again. He complained about the inadequacies of Skype, and I told him to be grateful for it. “Not too long ago, you would have had to write a letter that may or may not make it to her, and wait for weeks for a reply.” “Well I’m something of a romantic,” he responded; “I like writing letters.” “So do I,” I said. “I bet your boyfriend gets a kick out of that,” he replied sarcastically. I told him I don’t have a boyfriend. “What? You don’t? Wow! If I weren’t already sort of in a relationship, I’d say, ‘In that case, what are you doing tomorrow night?’” I was secretly appalled. I wondered if I had a neon sign that said, “Desperate! Date me or I die!” One again I was saved by the walkie, and from that moment on I studiously avoided him. This happened about a week and a half after my first experience along these lines, so I hadn’t fully recovered yet. Honestly, though, what conceit to just assume I’d actually want to go out with him! Ugh. Looking 9 months pregnant seriously didn’t help.
For lunch, everyone generally drove off to get fast-food. I always brought my lunch, and sat with Rusty, the guy who took notes. He was a brick mason from Ohio out of a job. His cousin got him the job, and he told me he was shocked people got paid to write things in a notebook, but was glad for the work since he’d been laid off. He told me about his family, let me try some of the venison he grilled for his lunch (one of his sons had shot it and he brought it with him, and it tasted great), and told me about brick laying. I always felt at ease around him, Bob (the big boss), Glen (second-in-command, who made faces at me when I drove by and laughed when I cracked Star Wars jokes over the walkie), and Adam (he sometimes drove, directed traffic, and sat at the entrance to the racetrack). There was also an old man from Canada who was always puffing on his pipe. I knew I recognized the tobacco, and he told me it was Black Cavendish. Glen laughed and said, “Yeah, you should see him when he goes back home; he stops off at the last CVS on this side of the border and gets a few pounds and smuggles it in, since they don’t sell it in Canada!”We never interacted with the people who had hired them to do the testing. Some of my fellow drivers were OK. I knew two from Nordstrom, one of whom was Enon. I asked him how he was enjoying Alice in Wonderland, and he said he liked it. I’m not sure if he had even cracked the cover, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
We had an interesting incident on the third morning. When arranging ourselves in a new platoon, one of the SUVs clipped a sedan. I looked in time to think, “Huh, she’s cutting it close.”
I really enjoyed working for Bob & Co., and since they were all polite, fun, hardworking blue collar men I felt right at home. I learned a lot from that job, and more than just driving a cube truck. I learned about brick laying, bugs, making dirt and gravel, and that I need to sacrifice manners to give the right answer to fat, pushy Ukrainians.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Dancing with the Drunks
Just to set the record straight, I did no drinking or dancing myself. I was working. The drunks, however, covered both bases fairly well. I decided to make this post about the two banquets I've served at.
Banquet serving is very fun! The first one I did was a wedding reception. There were two of us girls and one guy. He tended the bar, while Tara and I covered the tables. It was buffet style, so we didn't have to take orders or anything, but it was still busy! We had to set the tables for about 150 guests, run food back and forth from the buffet table, and clear the dishes and trash. It seemed reasonable enough to me, but Tara was rather upset that there were so few of us in ratio to the number of guests. She's been doing every part of the restaurant business for half her life, from waitressing to owning, so I figured she knew what she was talking about. It didn't bother me, though, since I had never worked in another setting. Sometimes, having no point of comparison is great. The only annoying part to me was that I had to wear a tux and felt like a cross-dresser. Oh well. The things we do for money. It was a good evening, all in all. I dropped an empty beer bottle once, which shattered in a million pieces, but that was outside, and the worst thing I did all night. At the end of the night, we helped the caterer and his nephew load their truck with everything, and a whole cart of dishes fell over and exploded in the parking lot. That was really bad. Thankfully, not as much was damaged as it first appeared, so that was good. At midnight, though, that was really not what people wanted to have happen. Then I got lost going home. I finally made it around 1:30. This one can't really be blamed on me, though; Route 32 in Maryland runs North-South AND East-West. How's that for confusing? Well it confused me. But mom got me home.
Banquet #2 was more interesting. It was an outdoor party on the river. Some rich people had a work party the night before, and decided to keep the pavilion another day and throw a party for friends. So they hired us to serve, a band, and got $500 of food from Adam's Ribs. I got to go pick it up, and I don't think I've ever seen so much food packed into a normal little car. Tara and I got to work together again, and this time she tended the bar. Megan and I covered the buffet. Mrs. T. promised us it would be a 'wild party', with guests ranging from twenty-one to her age. She had no idea how many people would show. The band came and set up, we had the food out, tiki torches lit (which was a nightmare; a hard breeze was blowing off the river, which made lighting them very hard. The tip of my thumb is still tender from being burnt.), and the bar stocked. Megan and I were supposed to leave at 10:00, and Tara at 12:00. We were all asked to stay 'til 12:00, which was no problem. At first. Music blared all night, people were talking, laughing, eating, dancing, and drinking like fish. 10:30 was the magic hour; at that point, almost everyone was drunk. I saw a bunch of kids playing some drinking game, two girls and a guy sharing a huge bottle of wine, and people were just getting strange. I'd never been around drunks before, so it was quite the experience. My job at that point was to carry plates of cookies and brownies around and make people eat them. I was asked if they were pot brownies, which they weren't. I saw a girl at a table holding her head with one hand and drunkenly draping her arm around his neck. Later she was passed out on the ground. I saw one guy stand too close to a tiki torch and set his shirt on fire, while a girl slapped it out and almost set her hair on fire. That was actually kind of funny. I saw one guy stagger up to the guest house, aided by his girl friend. The funny cartoons and movies where they weave and zig-zag unbelievably are actually accurate; he couldn't travel in a straight line to save his soul. He stumbled all over the place, while she expertly guided him by tugging his sleeve. He got up on the stone porch and fell. I laughed. He was back in about twenty minutes, able to walk again. I assume he puked his guts out and felt better. He was kind of menacing at that point, so I avoided him. Some guy wandered into the woods and never came out. A happy drunk gave us high-fives for doing a good job, put his arm around Megan and talked to the other people at the bar. He asked if anyone had given us a problem, and to tell him if they did. "You're giving me a problem," I thought to myself. Probably the funniest drunken moment was when Mrs. T. was signing our paper. We were standing at the bar, and Tara was getting this guy a drink. He saw Mrs. T. signing, and said to me, "Is she famous?" "Yep!" I replied. "Wow," he said, "you got her autograph?" I nodded. "Wow. Should I get one?" "Why not?" I asked. "We did." He turned to Megan. "You got her autograph?" He was excited now. "Uhhh...yeah." Megan responded. "She's really famous, isn't she?" he asked again. "No," Megan replied, "she's not famous." He was crestfallen. "Oh, I knew that!" he said. I'm sure. Those last few hours were a mystery to me. I saw no appeal in what they were doing. What's so great about getting so smashed that you set yourself on fire by accident, can't walk straight and fall onto stone porches, or think your friend's mom is famous? What's fun about kneeling before the porcelain god and summoning Rolf? I don't get it. One thing is for sure, though. Rich, high-class folks do NOT make high-class drunks.
Banquet serving is very fun! The first one I did was a wedding reception. There were two of us girls and one guy. He tended the bar, while Tara and I covered the tables. It was buffet style, so we didn't have to take orders or anything, but it was still busy! We had to set the tables for about 150 guests, run food back and forth from the buffet table, and clear the dishes and trash. It seemed reasonable enough to me, but Tara was rather upset that there were so few of us in ratio to the number of guests. She's been doing every part of the restaurant business for half her life, from waitressing to owning, so I figured she knew what she was talking about. It didn't bother me, though, since I had never worked in another setting. Sometimes, having no point of comparison is great. The only annoying part to me was that I had to wear a tux and felt like a cross-dresser. Oh well. The things we do for money. It was a good evening, all in all. I dropped an empty beer bottle once, which shattered in a million pieces, but that was outside, and the worst thing I did all night. At the end of the night, we helped the caterer and his nephew load their truck with everything, and a whole cart of dishes fell over and exploded in the parking lot. That was really bad. Thankfully, not as much was damaged as it first appeared, so that was good. At midnight, though, that was really not what people wanted to have happen. Then I got lost going home. I finally made it around 1:30. This one can't really be blamed on me, though; Route 32 in Maryland runs North-South AND East-West. How's that for confusing? Well it confused me. But mom got me home.
Banquet #2 was more interesting. It was an outdoor party on the river. Some rich people had a work party the night before, and decided to keep the pavilion another day and throw a party for friends. So they hired us to serve, a band, and got $500 of food from Adam's Ribs. I got to go pick it up, and I don't think I've ever seen so much food packed into a normal little car. Tara and I got to work together again, and this time she tended the bar. Megan and I covered the buffet. Mrs. T. promised us it would be a 'wild party', with guests ranging from twenty-one to her age. She had no idea how many people would show. The band came and set up, we had the food out, tiki torches lit (which was a nightmare; a hard breeze was blowing off the river, which made lighting them very hard. The tip of my thumb is still tender from being burnt.), and the bar stocked. Megan and I were supposed to leave at 10:00, and Tara at 12:00. We were all asked to stay 'til 12:00, which was no problem. At first. Music blared all night, people were talking, laughing, eating, dancing, and drinking like fish. 10:30 was the magic hour; at that point, almost everyone was drunk. I saw a bunch of kids playing some drinking game, two girls and a guy sharing a huge bottle of wine, and people were just getting strange. I'd never been around drunks before, so it was quite the experience. My job at that point was to carry plates of cookies and brownies around and make people eat them. I was asked if they were pot brownies, which they weren't. I saw a girl at a table holding her head with one hand and drunkenly draping her arm around his neck. Later she was passed out on the ground. I saw one guy stand too close to a tiki torch and set his shirt on fire, while a girl slapped it out and almost set her hair on fire. That was actually kind of funny. I saw one guy stagger up to the guest house, aided by his girl friend. The funny cartoons and movies where they weave and zig-zag unbelievably are actually accurate; he couldn't travel in a straight line to save his soul. He stumbled all over the place, while she expertly guided him by tugging his sleeve. He got up on the stone porch and fell. I laughed. He was back in about twenty minutes, able to walk again. I assume he puked his guts out and felt better. He was kind of menacing at that point, so I avoided him. Some guy wandered into the woods and never came out. A happy drunk gave us high-fives for doing a good job, put his arm around Megan and talked to the other people at the bar. He asked if anyone had given us a problem, and to tell him if they did. "You're giving me a problem," I thought to myself. Probably the funniest drunken moment was when Mrs. T. was signing our paper. We were standing at the bar, and Tara was getting this guy a drink. He saw Mrs. T. signing, and said to me, "Is she famous?" "Yep!" I replied. "Wow," he said, "you got her autograph?" I nodded. "Wow. Should I get one?" "Why not?" I asked. "We did." He turned to Megan. "You got her autograph?" He was excited now. "Uhhh...yeah." Megan responded. "She's really famous, isn't she?" he asked again. "No," Megan replied, "she's not famous." He was crestfallen. "Oh, I knew that!" he said. I'm sure. Those last few hours were a mystery to me. I saw no appeal in what they were doing. What's so great about getting so smashed that you set yourself on fire by accident, can't walk straight and fall onto stone porches, or think your friend's mom is famous? What's fun about kneeling before the porcelain god and summoning Rolf? I don't get it. One thing is for sure, though. Rich, high-class folks do NOT make high-class drunks.
Monday, June 28, 2010
The Chronicles of Workia
If I tried to communicate all of my adventures in one post, I think the Internet would crash. So to remedy that, I am splitting this up into three posts, one for each type of job. This will mess up the chronology slightly, but that doesn't actually matter. So here goes! This post will be about my adventures with the BARS Program, gotten through the temp agency.
The BARS Program is a company that hires people between twenty-one and twenty-five. They are given a list of convenience stores, gas stations, restaurants, liquor stores, and the like. They go to each on one day, ask for cigarettes or liquor, as per the list, and give the clerk a card depending on their performance. If they ask for ID, a green card and a smile. This they deliver to their manager. The secret shopper leaves, writes down such information as date, time, color card, and employee's name. If they ask for money before ID, they get a red card, which they also have to give to the manager. At the end of the route, the secret shopper calls in and reports the results of each stop, and the BARS Program later checks in with those stores to see if the S.S. was indeed there at that time on that date and if Joe really did receive a green card. That's the way it works.
My first route was a disaster. That evening I discovered that I inherited what we call my mom's "directionally challenged" gene. I got it bad. I started at 4:00 P.M. My first stop should have been around 4:30, since it was a little bit out there. It was 6:00 by the time I got there. Not a good way to start. I was so lost I didn't even know where I was. I pulled into a shopping center and walked through the Home Depot quickly, looking for someone who looked like they could help me. Simply by looking at the clientele, I realized I'd gotten myself into Prince George's County. "Oh crud, not here!" was about the extend of my thought process. I promptly left the store, began walking back to my car, and saw a man and woman wearing T-shirts advertising their Baptist church. I decided to ask them for help before I left, and they informed me that I was in Bowie. I wanted to be in Columbia. Darn. But, at least I knew where in the world I was. I was SO glad I had a map in the car. I think I would have given up without it. I got myself back on track and did about half the route before more trouble happened.
I had wandered through Bowie, Columbia, Glen Burnie, Severna Park, and Pasadena. I was almost done, just a few more stops, when suddenly I realized I'd skipped one. I had no idea which 7-11 I'd missed, but I had. I started to panic, but decided to finish the route and then go back and find that last store. I knew it had to be somewhere in Pasadena, which helped. I did everything else, and it was 10:30 by this point (because I'd gotten turned around a few times in there), and I was so ready to go home. I called the BARS people, hoping they could help me figure out how to find this stop. The guy said, "Uhhh, I only take completed route calls. I have no idea how this works. Uhhh, I hope you find it?" That was reassuring.
I looked at the address of the one I thought I missed, and looked at my map. For whatever reason, I was convinced I had to go around all four sides of the square rather than just travel that one leg of it, and didn't realize how dumb that was until I was half way around the square. I was hungry, tired, overwhelmed, and barely holding myself together. I just wanted to cry. I've never felt like such a royal failure. I got onto the B&A Boulevard again, and suddenly realized that wasn't where I wanted to be, and had no idea where I was (again). I pulled into a 7-11 to check my map (AGAIN), and thought, "Wouldn't it be crazy if this were the one I need?" But I knew that wasn't possible. I hadn't been to this 7-11 yet, and happened to glance at the store address. Then, looking down to my sheet to find the address of the one I was looking for, I saw the same address! I was right where I needed to be! I was so excited I almost started crying. I pulled myself together, finished the job, and adjusted my list. As I drove home, I had a panic attack because I thought I was going the wrong way. Then I thought, "NO! You're heading South! Riva is South of Severna Park! KEEP GOING!" So I did. Then I passed where I worked last Summer and sobbed a little, because I now knew absolutely where I was. I got home around 11:30, and called in my list. My mom poured me a very large glass of wine, and we stayed up talking until 1:00, which was much nicer than bawling.
It was really interesting noticing the reactions people had to their cards. The first was a red card, and he tried to get out of it by protesting that he could tell I was over eighteen. Tough luck. Whenever a girl got a red card, she accepted her fate, so to speak. One man really got angry with me. He was around forty, and had had a difficult time with the customer in front of me, so I kept thinking, "Please card me. Please card me. You don't want a red card right now. Please card me." He didn't. He used the same excuse about being able to tell I was over age, and I said, "I'm sorry, but you have to card." I walked away, and he yelled after me, "Well thank you! Thank you very much! I LOVE getting red cards!" As I drove off, I thought, "Well, keep it up. I'm sure you'll love getting a pink slip." I always think of good come-backs when it's too late.
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My second round with the BARS Program went MUCH more smoothly. I used my dad's GPS, which I didn't even know we had, so I didn't get lost. Everyone was a winner that day. It was a little more exciting, since I got to go to restaurants too and wait for a drink at the bar. My first stop was fun. I popped into a gas station, and asked for whatever my favorite cigarette brand was that time. The lady behind the counter was probably in her sixties, and looked like she should work at a pancake house. I asked for the cigs, and she looked at me with a calculating expression. She asked for my ID, and I gave her the green card. She chuckled and said, "I thought so. I didn't recognize you." That was unbelievable to me. I hadn't realized Stevensville was that small an area that she could recognize her customers. My stop at the Dave & Buster's in the Marley Station Mall was probably the most fun. I saw a mall cop on a segue. I didn't know they actually rode those. I thought that was a joke. It is a joke, made all the more hilarious because it actually happens. I walked in, ordered a Miller Lite, because it's a girlie beer, and was carded. In the restaurant situations, you have to take the card directly to the manager, so the guy behind the bar went to get him. I followed him, which he didn't realize. He disappeared into an Employee's Only door. A few minutes later, I heard, "...another one! I'm on a roll! Woohoo!" At this point, he came out and saw me. He stopped dead. "Umm yes, this is the young lady right here. Yes." I shook hands with his boss, who exclaimed over the hardness of my grip and told the bartender to watch out for my handshake, and then left. I was actually home at a decent hour that time.
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My third and, so far, final experience with this job was also fine. I didn't take the GPS because I was very familiar with the area, having gotten lost in it so many times the first night. It was an eight stop route, and I was allowed to do it in the morning, which was quite nice. Everything went without hiccup until the second-to-last stop. Up to this point, nobody had received a red card. I walked in to the Sunoco and asked for some cigarettes (again, whatever my favorite brand was that day). The teller was short, pasty white with glasses, pale hair, and bad teeth. Your typical basement dwelling fungi. He looked like he spent all day playing Dungeons and Dragons. I bet he was a level seventeen warlock. I placed my order, he sized me up, and asked for the money. I pulled out a red card. "How old are you?" he blurted. "Twenty-one," I replied. "I knew it! I knew you were old enough! Didn't you see the way I looked at you?" "Yes," I said, "but that doesn't matter. You must card anyone who appears to be under thirty." "But I knew you were old enough! I didn't want to insult you!" "Sorry," I responded. "The law's the law." He took the card. "Yeah?" he asked. "And anger is anger and temper is temper." He ripped the card into tiny pieces. I shrugged. "And a pink slip is a pink slip," I said and walked away. Later, when I called in my list, I told the lady that he had ripped it up, so that his manager would have no record of the incident. "But why would he do that?" she asked. "Because he was mad that he got a red card," I said. She couldn't believe it. I was surprised no one had done that before. I'm not sure how he'll fare, but I can't imagine his boss being too pleased with that. The stores pay to have the BARS Program check them, so it really won't go over well. It was fun, though, and so satisfying to say that. I was a little afraid, though, and I don't know why. He couldn't have beat me up. Maybe I was afraid he'd fly over the counter at me and try one of his D&D spells or something.
Well, that's enough for now. Maybe I'll get another route sometime.
The BARS Program is a company that hires people between twenty-one and twenty-five. They are given a list of convenience stores, gas stations, restaurants, liquor stores, and the like. They go to each on one day, ask for cigarettes or liquor, as per the list, and give the clerk a card depending on their performance. If they ask for ID, a green card and a smile. This they deliver to their manager. The secret shopper leaves, writes down such information as date, time, color card, and employee's name. If they ask for money before ID, they get a red card, which they also have to give to the manager. At the end of the route, the secret shopper calls in and reports the results of each stop, and the BARS Program later checks in with those stores to see if the S.S. was indeed there at that time on that date and if Joe really did receive a green card. That's the way it works.
My first route was a disaster. That evening I discovered that I inherited what we call my mom's "directionally challenged" gene. I got it bad. I started at 4:00 P.M. My first stop should have been around 4:30, since it was a little bit out there. It was 6:00 by the time I got there. Not a good way to start. I was so lost I didn't even know where I was. I pulled into a shopping center and walked through the Home Depot quickly, looking for someone who looked like they could help me. Simply by looking at the clientele, I realized I'd gotten myself into Prince George's County. "Oh crud, not here!" was about the extend of my thought process. I promptly left the store, began walking back to my car, and saw a man and woman wearing T-shirts advertising their Baptist church. I decided to ask them for help before I left, and they informed me that I was in Bowie. I wanted to be in Columbia. Darn. But, at least I knew where in the world I was. I was SO glad I had a map in the car. I think I would have given up without it. I got myself back on track and did about half the route before more trouble happened.
I had wandered through Bowie, Columbia, Glen Burnie, Severna Park, and Pasadena. I was almost done, just a few more stops, when suddenly I realized I'd skipped one. I had no idea which 7-11 I'd missed, but I had. I started to panic, but decided to finish the route and then go back and find that last store. I knew it had to be somewhere in Pasadena, which helped. I did everything else, and it was 10:30 by this point (because I'd gotten turned around a few times in there), and I was so ready to go home. I called the BARS people, hoping they could help me figure out how to find this stop. The guy said, "Uhhh, I only take completed route calls. I have no idea how this works. Uhhh, I hope you find it?" That was reassuring.
I looked at the address of the one I thought I missed, and looked at my map. For whatever reason, I was convinced I had to go around all four sides of the square rather than just travel that one leg of it, and didn't realize how dumb that was until I was half way around the square. I was hungry, tired, overwhelmed, and barely holding myself together. I just wanted to cry. I've never felt like such a royal failure. I got onto the B&A Boulevard again, and suddenly realized that wasn't where I wanted to be, and had no idea where I was (again). I pulled into a 7-11 to check my map (AGAIN), and thought, "Wouldn't it be crazy if this were the one I need?" But I knew that wasn't possible. I hadn't been to this 7-11 yet, and happened to glance at the store address. Then, looking down to my sheet to find the address of the one I was looking for, I saw the same address! I was right where I needed to be! I was so excited I almost started crying. I pulled myself together, finished the job, and adjusted my list. As I drove home, I had a panic attack because I thought I was going the wrong way. Then I thought, "NO! You're heading South! Riva is South of Severna Park! KEEP GOING!" So I did. Then I passed where I worked last Summer and sobbed a little, because I now knew absolutely where I was. I got home around 11:30, and called in my list. My mom poured me a very large glass of wine, and we stayed up talking until 1:00, which was much nicer than bawling.
It was really interesting noticing the reactions people had to their cards. The first was a red card, and he tried to get out of it by protesting that he could tell I was over eighteen. Tough luck. Whenever a girl got a red card, she accepted her fate, so to speak. One man really got angry with me. He was around forty, and had had a difficult time with the customer in front of me, so I kept thinking, "Please card me. Please card me. You don't want a red card right now. Please card me." He didn't. He used the same excuse about being able to tell I was over age, and I said, "I'm sorry, but you have to card." I walked away, and he yelled after me, "Well thank you! Thank you very much! I LOVE getting red cards!" As I drove off, I thought, "Well, keep it up. I'm sure you'll love getting a pink slip." I always think of good come-backs when it's too late.
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My second round with the BARS Program went MUCH more smoothly. I used my dad's GPS, which I didn't even know we had, so I didn't get lost. Everyone was a winner that day. It was a little more exciting, since I got to go to restaurants too and wait for a drink at the bar. My first stop was fun. I popped into a gas station, and asked for whatever my favorite cigarette brand was that time. The lady behind the counter was probably in her sixties, and looked like she should work at a pancake house. I asked for the cigs, and she looked at me with a calculating expression. She asked for my ID, and I gave her the green card. She chuckled and said, "I thought so. I didn't recognize you." That was unbelievable to me. I hadn't realized Stevensville was that small an area that she could recognize her customers. My stop at the Dave & Buster's in the Marley Station Mall was probably the most fun. I saw a mall cop on a segue. I didn't know they actually rode those. I thought that was a joke. It is a joke, made all the more hilarious because it actually happens. I walked in, ordered a Miller Lite, because it's a girlie beer, and was carded. In the restaurant situations, you have to take the card directly to the manager, so the guy behind the bar went to get him. I followed him, which he didn't realize. He disappeared into an Employee's Only door. A few minutes later, I heard, "...another one! I'm on a roll! Woohoo!" At this point, he came out and saw me. He stopped dead. "Umm yes, this is the young lady right here. Yes." I shook hands with his boss, who exclaimed over the hardness of my grip and told the bartender to watch out for my handshake, and then left. I was actually home at a decent hour that time.
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My third and, so far, final experience with this job was also fine. I didn't take the GPS because I was very familiar with the area, having gotten lost in it so many times the first night. It was an eight stop route, and I was allowed to do it in the morning, which was quite nice. Everything went without hiccup until the second-to-last stop. Up to this point, nobody had received a red card. I walked in to the Sunoco and asked for some cigarettes (again, whatever my favorite brand was that day). The teller was short, pasty white with glasses, pale hair, and bad teeth. Your typical basement dwelling fungi. He looked like he spent all day playing Dungeons and Dragons. I bet he was a level seventeen warlock. I placed my order, he sized me up, and asked for the money. I pulled out a red card. "How old are you?" he blurted. "Twenty-one," I replied. "I knew it! I knew you were old enough! Didn't you see the way I looked at you?" "Yes," I said, "but that doesn't matter. You must card anyone who appears to be under thirty." "But I knew you were old enough! I didn't want to insult you!" "Sorry," I responded. "The law's the law." He took the card. "Yeah?" he asked. "And anger is anger and temper is temper." He ripped the card into tiny pieces. I shrugged. "And a pink slip is a pink slip," I said and walked away. Later, when I called in my list, I told the lady that he had ripped it up, so that his manager would have no record of the incident. "But why would he do that?" she asked. "Because he was mad that he got a red card," I said. She couldn't believe it. I was surprised no one had done that before. I'm not sure how he'll fare, but I can't imagine his boss being too pleased with that. The stores pay to have the BARS Program check them, so it really won't go over well. It was fun, though, and so satisfying to say that. I was a little afraid, though, and I don't know why. He couldn't have beat me up. Maybe I was afraid he'd fly over the counter at me and try one of his D&D spells or something.
Well, that's enough for now. Maybe I'll get another route sometime.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
No More Nordstrom
Last night was my last night at Nordstrom. The job is finished, so we move on. But before I talk about yesterday, I need to jump back to the day before, since I didn't post yesterday. I know. I'm a sinner.
Not a whole lot worth mentioning happened Tuesday night. I sat with Mr. Perry at dinner, which was a blast. We talked about movies, and he started telling me about serving in Korea. All I can say is wow! He got into the Army at fifteen, because he lied about his age. He was captured pretty soon and was in a POW camp for two and a half years, while he was sixteen and seventeen. He said they were served a single bowl of rice every day; he showed me with his hands the size of the bowl, and it was between a tea cup and a coffee mug. That's it. He said he can't eat much now because he's positive his stomach shrunk after two and a half years of that. When he was first captured, they stuck him in a mud room with a single light bulb that they left on constantly for two weeks. Then they turned it off for two weeks. Then on for two weeks. And so on and so on, until he didn't care anymore and they found something new to do. Every morning, though, for the first month they would come in to wake him and the others up by putting a rifle barrel to the head and pulling the trigger. You never knew if it would go off or not. He said by the end of the month you didn't care if it did go off, and rather hoped it would. Once they reached that point, the enemy stopped that tactic and found some other way to mess with their minds. They were beaten every day with bamboo poles. He didn't say much more, except that to this day he'll wake up in a cold sweat because of nightmares. He hates how people say we should just forget about the war. He can't. He has shrapnel in his hip and hearing aids to remind him every second of every day, and dreams at night. His two older brothers, who were much older than him, both served at Normandy in WWII. One was a paratrooper and the other came in on a pontoon boat. Both made it. He's a pretty tough man. I can't imagine somebody joining the military at fifteen. That would be my little brother next year. He probably joined right as the war started, which means he was in training and served for six months, then spent the rest of the war in the POW camp. I guess the only reason he got out was because the war ended. That was pretty much all that happened Tuesday night; I went home at 2:30 A.M. which was exciting. Not.
The reason going to bed at 3:00 in the morning was so difficult was because I had to be up again at 6:30 to get cleaned up and go to Baltimore for training for my banquet serving job. The location was Sylvester's Saloon in Essex, close to Rosedale. I read the map, and, being thoroughly unfamiliar with Baltimore, I thought that Sylvester's Saloon must be slightly upscale. After all, it's a saloon and not a bar. No. I was so in the ghetto! Sylvester's Saloon is this white trash honky tonk right next to Sylvester's Garage, a white trash mechanic shop. All right in the middle of the ghetto, at 8:30 A.M. I thought, "What in the WORLD am I doing here? What have I gotten myself into?" I went into the upstairs room that we had for our uses, filled out my paper work, and felt more comfortable when I found out that my bosses know the guy who owns the place. He let them borrow the room when they couldn't borrow a hotel dining room. So in the upper room of a trashy ghetto bar, I learned French service, timed sweep, and other various techniques. We had a table set formally, and were practicing French serving the soup. We had no tureen, just a stainless steel mixing bowl filled with water and a cheap ladle. That was classy. My boss said, "Yes, and if you're ever at a banquet and that's what you're using to French serve the soup, fire me." It was so much fun! Right about that time the hilarity of the situation hit me. The complete and utter divide between where I was and what I was doing was incredible. I think God is just having fun messing with me this Summer. So after that, I was planning on meeting one of my pastors for lunch and catching up, but he was sick, but I went to the church office anyway and hung out with all of my old coworkers. They got me up to speed with all of the latest news in the office. One lady is now a grandma, and her family came in and paraded the baby around. It was so good to be with them again! Then I went home, took care of a few things, and napped for about an hour. Then it was dinner time and off to work for one last night.
The first exciting part of last night was that the trucks were actually on time! That meant we were an hour ahead of where we'd been the previous nights. During break I gave Enon Alice in Wonderland, since I hadn't been able to the night before. He must have thought I was kidding before, because he seemed really touched. He wanted my number so we could read it together and talk about it. I slipped out of that one, but I think we'll be working on the same assignment in a week or so, so we'll be able to discuss it then. I'll have to read it in the meantime. Mr. Perry came in his uniform last night and had his Purple Heart pinned on. Apparently management gave him a hard time about not wearing his uniform and only wearing a security T-shirt. I got off work at 10:30, which was great. There just wasn't that much to do. About 10:15, I was asking various managers what I could do, when Shawn came up. He made one more valiant (HA!) effort. "What's up? I heard you was looking for me," he said. "No. I'm looking for Elizabeth." "Oh OK, I must have been misinformed." He sauntered off and went outside. He walked right past Mr. Perry, who was sitting behind a stack of dollies. He must have noticed that Shawn was wearing his dorky blue hat again, because he poked his head around the dollies, pointed to the door, and mouthed, "That him?" I made a face and nodded. He started chuckling to himself, and I heard him say, "Pah, Burger King!" I never gave Shawn I Kissed Dating Goodbye because my dad really did not like the idea. He said that's not the kind of crowd to joke around with like that. He didn't want me getting shot on the way out. I agree, it would have been a pretty dumb idea, but the death-and-mayhem part of me really wonders what would have happened if I had given it to him. Oh well!
So that was pretty much the extent of my night shift adventures. In a few hours I'm going into the office to get briefed on my next assignment. I'll be driving to various 7-11s tonight to see if they card me when I try to buy cigarettes. I guess I should figure out what brand I like. =P This job will only be a two day assignment, tonight and Monday night. It should be really fun! I'm also working my first banquet Saturday night. I'll be wearing a tux, except for the jacket. It should be interesting!
Not a whole lot worth mentioning happened Tuesday night. I sat with Mr. Perry at dinner, which was a blast. We talked about movies, and he started telling me about serving in Korea. All I can say is wow! He got into the Army at fifteen, because he lied about his age. He was captured pretty soon and was in a POW camp for two and a half years, while he was sixteen and seventeen. He said they were served a single bowl of rice every day; he showed me with his hands the size of the bowl, and it was between a tea cup and a coffee mug. That's it. He said he can't eat much now because he's positive his stomach shrunk after two and a half years of that. When he was first captured, they stuck him in a mud room with a single light bulb that they left on constantly for two weeks. Then they turned it off for two weeks. Then on for two weeks. And so on and so on, until he didn't care anymore and they found something new to do. Every morning, though, for the first month they would come in to wake him and the others up by putting a rifle barrel to the head and pulling the trigger. You never knew if it would go off or not. He said by the end of the month you didn't care if it did go off, and rather hoped it would. Once they reached that point, the enemy stopped that tactic and found some other way to mess with their minds. They were beaten every day with bamboo poles. He didn't say much more, except that to this day he'll wake up in a cold sweat because of nightmares. He hates how people say we should just forget about the war. He can't. He has shrapnel in his hip and hearing aids to remind him every second of every day, and dreams at night. His two older brothers, who were much older than him, both served at Normandy in WWII. One was a paratrooper and the other came in on a pontoon boat. Both made it. He's a pretty tough man. I can't imagine somebody joining the military at fifteen. That would be my little brother next year. He probably joined right as the war started, which means he was in training and served for six months, then spent the rest of the war in the POW camp. I guess the only reason he got out was because the war ended. That was pretty much all that happened Tuesday night; I went home at 2:30 A.M. which was exciting. Not.
The reason going to bed at 3:00 in the morning was so difficult was because I had to be up again at 6:30 to get cleaned up and go to Baltimore for training for my banquet serving job. The location was Sylvester's Saloon in Essex, close to Rosedale. I read the map, and, being thoroughly unfamiliar with Baltimore, I thought that Sylvester's Saloon must be slightly upscale. After all, it's a saloon and not a bar. No. I was so in the ghetto! Sylvester's Saloon is this white trash honky tonk right next to Sylvester's Garage, a white trash mechanic shop. All right in the middle of the ghetto, at 8:30 A.M. I thought, "What in the WORLD am I doing here? What have I gotten myself into?" I went into the upstairs room that we had for our uses, filled out my paper work, and felt more comfortable when I found out that my bosses know the guy who owns the place. He let them borrow the room when they couldn't borrow a hotel dining room. So in the upper room of a trashy ghetto bar, I learned French service, timed sweep, and other various techniques. We had a table set formally, and were practicing French serving the soup. We had no tureen, just a stainless steel mixing bowl filled with water and a cheap ladle. That was classy. My boss said, "Yes, and if you're ever at a banquet and that's what you're using to French serve the soup, fire me." It was so much fun! Right about that time the hilarity of the situation hit me. The complete and utter divide between where I was and what I was doing was incredible. I think God is just having fun messing with me this Summer. So after that, I was planning on meeting one of my pastors for lunch and catching up, but he was sick, but I went to the church office anyway and hung out with all of my old coworkers. They got me up to speed with all of the latest news in the office. One lady is now a grandma, and her family came in and paraded the baby around. It was so good to be with them again! Then I went home, took care of a few things, and napped for about an hour. Then it was dinner time and off to work for one last night.
The first exciting part of last night was that the trucks were actually on time! That meant we were an hour ahead of where we'd been the previous nights. During break I gave Enon Alice in Wonderland, since I hadn't been able to the night before. He must have thought I was kidding before, because he seemed really touched. He wanted my number so we could read it together and talk about it. I slipped out of that one, but I think we'll be working on the same assignment in a week or so, so we'll be able to discuss it then. I'll have to read it in the meantime. Mr. Perry came in his uniform last night and had his Purple Heart pinned on. Apparently management gave him a hard time about not wearing his uniform and only wearing a security T-shirt. I got off work at 10:30, which was great. There just wasn't that much to do. About 10:15, I was asking various managers what I could do, when Shawn came up. He made one more valiant (HA!) effort. "What's up? I heard you was looking for me," he said. "No. I'm looking for Elizabeth." "Oh OK, I must have been misinformed." He sauntered off and went outside. He walked right past Mr. Perry, who was sitting behind a stack of dollies. He must have noticed that Shawn was wearing his dorky blue hat again, because he poked his head around the dollies, pointed to the door, and mouthed, "That him?" I made a face and nodded. He started chuckling to himself, and I heard him say, "Pah, Burger King!" I never gave Shawn I Kissed Dating Goodbye because my dad really did not like the idea. He said that's not the kind of crowd to joke around with like that. He didn't want me getting shot on the way out. I agree, it would have been a pretty dumb idea, but the death-and-mayhem part of me really wonders what would have happened if I had given it to him. Oh well!
So that was pretty much the extent of my night shift adventures. In a few hours I'm going into the office to get briefed on my next assignment. I'll be driving to various 7-11s tonight to see if they card me when I try to buy cigarettes. I guess I should figure out what brand I like. =P This job will only be a two day assignment, tonight and Monday night. It should be really fun! I'm also working my first banquet Saturday night. I'll be wearing a tux, except for the jacket. It should be interesting!
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