I've had three long, or longish term relationships as an adult woman. Each helped define me, term, label and mark the consistency of otherwise un-named or recognized parts of me. I otherwise took for granted: Oh, this reminds me of camping with Brandon, wow he really, really brought out the nature-lover in me....or Oh, there I go again setting aside my decision making power just like I always did with Grimaldi, how I wanted him to be my dad....etc etc... Dynamics of ourselves are deeply rooted, so much so that it's easy for them to remain just part of our natural landscape and not even notice. Even more interesting is how I will learn something about myself, inspect that newly recognized aspect, then watch as it gets reintegrated back in to the whole of who I am anyway... Life is funny--changing but subtle in its evolution most of the time and most often how it all circles back around--which is why I guess that it means so much when someone comes along and really helps me flesh some new understanding or experience of me out.
Last week I was on a roll writing, literally delving bravely forward into subject matter that once evoked usually puts me in a testy place. It was Tuesday, I was on the back porch of the Pines just me and my laptop and the forest breathing. Late hanging red and brown leaves still leaf-talking their funny crinkly leaf-talk ways. The ground all rich and moist and aerobic in how it expands on the air. One of those amazing fall days warm and full that backsteps all fast to the summer again, so that it's full life and full death all at once. I stood to take a coffee break and then a message come through from facebook on my phone: my first real love and first real relationship, the guy I was with after highschool died. I met Joe right around age 20 and was with him for a year and a half and got my heart broken by him in the end, which was the reason I decided to apply to college on the Eastern Shore to just get away...
God damn did that news turn me on my head. I was kind of a ravaged wreck, but as I said I'd literally just finished writing about some painful subject matter involving my own battles with drugs and alcohol and loss and without meaning to I slipped on that slippery crevice, that place where, it's been said, we dance on the rim with the duende hand-to-hand in combat in hopes of not falling. Well, I. Fell. In. Thank god thank god thank god I am older now and have learned to reach out and scream HELP, to be honest, to pick up the phone and be a fucking hysterical mess, thank god I have good friends.
I went to the funeral and Mandy came too and it was awkward and also beautiful and we were in the back against the wall because as customary when someone dies too young there was only standing room. It was the day before Thanksgiving and the day after I had to be back in the Pines to start my new job. And I am here now, working which equals writing not Java-ing, on the most beautiful spot by the Bay on my day off. Happy to be alive and happy for Joe and sad as hell for his family and grateful as hell for awareness and just the little things that mean fuck yea, I am living and therefor going to enjoy this my precious precious miracle life.
Showing posts with label Team YC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Team YC. Show all posts
December 2, 2010
November 12, 2010
WAITING
I am a waitress.
Do you understand the implications of that sentence?
I laugh at all manners of corny jokes in a way that doesn't seem forced or annoyed. I balance trays the size of small Volkswagen's on my shoulder without spilling any of the glass-encased liquid-bearing weigh-the-same-as-small-boulders drinks that impare your ability to make good decisions when it comes to what is appropriate for a retiree to say to a smiling chipper young lady. I recite with a genuine smile answers about any and all of the food on our menu and I dont bat an eye when you ask do we have salmon EVEN THOUGH DESPITE YOUR FIVE MINUTES OF STARING AT THE MENU NOWHERE DOES IT SAY WE HAVE SALMON and I already told you the catch of the day. I SEPARATE YOUR CHECKS. I make you smile even when you are short or rude to me, because I truly believe that serving you is a way to be of service and lift me up out of me, a way to touch hearts that are charged with being in my presence for the hour or so that you are, and I really mean that: making you feel good is my goal. I can remember six things at once. Including cocktail sauce for the guy in the corner two soda refills at the highboy that kid needs extra napkins (oh god somebody sit those kids down before I "accidentally" spill the Volkswagen on them) ask the kitchen to get that salad out before the soup for the man who just decided at the last minute he wants a salad too oh god I wonder if the boys are in the kitchen check and see if the boys are in the kitchen no they gotta be in the kitchen because table 101 is still waiting on that steak up-cook get the steak up-cook out oh that works perfect because you can drop the bill to the table next to them, ok check on the steak up-cook grab the naps and coc say hi to your two new tables on the way let them know you'll be right with them and o yea, that table Jen just picked up says they know dad dont forget to go by and smile, and make an ironic comment about golfing in the cold and let them know how he's been. I remember all this and still I keep my cool--I smile! when you come to me with an impatient look on your face waving a credit card at me wanting me to stop everything else I am doing now in order to SEPARATE YOUR CHECKS. I SEPARATE YOUR CHECKS. Oh wait, did I already mention that?
I am a waitress. I listen to your problems and also to your complaints and I smile anyway even though you are 68 years old and just tried to pick me up. You think it's okay to sit down all eight of you and run me back and forth because I am young and that is my job--which I make less than $3 an hour doing and you still seperate your check, all eight of you, eight seperate burgers or rockfish sands with water to drink and then you each leave me one dollar and some change. I smile anyway.
KNOW WHY?
Because I am a writer and even though waiting demands my physical energy it leaves my emotional untouched, which is what I require to give it all to the page. And it teaches me about life, again and agian reminds me the basics of human nature. People just like a little attention, and to feel good. They like to be warm, and full. So simple, so very very simple. The people I work with have fun, they dont stress, it's great. I am almost always so happy to be around them that by the end of the night I feel light and renewed, no matter what. And then I get to come home late and leave work at work when I walk out the door, which is AMAZING. And even though I'm keyed up adrenaline-full it's cuz I got my exercise tonight, and when it was all done I assed-up with the guys in the kitchen until I was chill enough again to remember life's all good. I am responsible for your happiness but only for the hour or so you are in my charge, and 9.5 times out of 10 we both walk away authentically smiling. And whether or not that means anything to you at the time, it's hell of a good practice for me.
I have been a teacher,(a good one), an intake counselor, a resource manager, a team leader, a troubleshooter, a secretary, a tech-writer and in all things those roles easily still come out of me. But the one thing I've done on and off for 17 years now that might well be the most useful and far-reaching role, especially when the mutherfuckingwheels are fallin off this bitch, is WAITRESS. Because 17 years has taught me how to smile and keep it cool, and to trust. Tonight, even tonight even this too shall come to an end.
Do you understand the implications of that sentence?
I laugh at all manners of corny jokes in a way that doesn't seem forced or annoyed. I balance trays the size of small Volkswagen's on my shoulder without spilling any of the glass-encased liquid-bearing weigh-the-same-as-small-boulders drinks that impare your ability to make good decisions when it comes to what is appropriate for a retiree to say to a smiling chipper young lady. I recite with a genuine smile answers about any and all of the food on our menu and I dont bat an eye when you ask do we have salmon EVEN THOUGH DESPITE YOUR FIVE MINUTES OF STARING AT THE MENU NOWHERE DOES IT SAY WE HAVE SALMON and I already told you the catch of the day. I SEPARATE YOUR CHECKS. I make you smile even when you are short or rude to me, because I truly believe that serving you is a way to be of service and lift me up out of me, a way to touch hearts that are charged with being in my presence for the hour or so that you are, and I really mean that: making you feel good is my goal. I can remember six things at once. Including cocktail sauce for the guy in the corner two soda refills at the highboy that kid needs extra napkins (oh god somebody sit those kids down before I "accidentally" spill the Volkswagen on them) ask the kitchen to get that salad out before the soup for the man who just decided at the last minute he wants a salad too oh god I wonder if the boys are in the kitchen check and see if the boys are in the kitchen no they gotta be in the kitchen because table 101 is still waiting on that steak up-cook get the steak up-cook out oh that works perfect because you can drop the bill to the table next to them, ok check on the steak up-cook grab the naps and coc say hi to your two new tables on the way let them know you'll be right with them and o yea, that table Jen just picked up says they know dad dont forget to go by and smile, and make an ironic comment about golfing in the cold and let them know how he's been. I remember all this and still I keep my cool--I smile! when you come to me with an impatient look on your face waving a credit card at me wanting me to stop everything else I am doing now in order to SEPARATE YOUR CHECKS. I SEPARATE YOUR CHECKS. Oh wait, did I already mention that?
I am a waitress. I listen to your problems and also to your complaints and I smile anyway even though you are 68 years old and just tried to pick me up. You think it's okay to sit down all eight of you and run me back and forth because I am young and that is my job--which I make less than $3 an hour doing and you still seperate your check, all eight of you, eight seperate burgers or rockfish sands with water to drink and then you each leave me one dollar and some change. I smile anyway.
KNOW WHY?
Because I am a writer and even though waiting demands my physical energy it leaves my emotional untouched, which is what I require to give it all to the page. And it teaches me about life, again and agian reminds me the basics of human nature. People just like a little attention, and to feel good. They like to be warm, and full. So simple, so very very simple. The people I work with have fun, they dont stress, it's great. I am almost always so happy to be around them that by the end of the night I feel light and renewed, no matter what. And then I get to come home late and leave work at work when I walk out the door, which is AMAZING. And even though I'm keyed up adrenaline-full it's cuz I got my exercise tonight, and when it was all done I assed-up with the guys in the kitchen until I was chill enough again to remember life's all good. I am responsible for your happiness but only for the hour or so you are in my charge, and 9.5 times out of 10 we both walk away authentically smiling. And whether or not that means anything to you at the time, it's hell of a good practice for me.
I have been a teacher,(a good one), an intake counselor, a resource manager, a team leader, a troubleshooter, a secretary, a tech-writer and in all things those roles easily still come out of me. But the one thing I've done on and off for 17 years now that might well be the most useful and far-reaching role, especially when the mutherfuckingwheels are fallin off this bitch, is WAITRESS. Because 17 years has taught me how to smile and keep it cool, and to trust. Tonight, even tonight even this too shall come to an end.
September 3, 2010
Season's over...
My window's only partway down and when I get in the car and get going, my wheels are smooth on the pavement and my ride feels so at one with the road that it makes me want to drive for a long straight shot through some farm country in some random central America land hundreds of miles away. Somewhere unknown with stars like crazy and flowing grain. Common is on, I downloaded tons of hiphop today and I've been listening to him for hours. At the stop light I switch over to Badu.
The hurricane isn't here yet. The air is balmy, the wind is definitely starting to pick up. Hours ago, before I left Ocean Pines to go out, the satellite showed it was already above us. Town is dead. It's 3:30 in the morning and there's no one at all on the road.
The guys in the car in front of me in the drive thru try to pick me up--it's been like that all night--some nights just are. They are from Jersey and actually get out of the car to holla. It feels good, I feel good, and Badu and me are jammin for sure. The guy at the window gives me an extra large soda for free.
When we got home from the second club she changed immediately and kept making that pouty thing she does with her face, what I always chop her balls about but what actually is the thing about her I most love. We walked arm in arm to the pizza joint but it's closed and this adds to her bummer. She's annoyed she keeps saying. At her man, at the fact that all her friends have left now, and because she has to work so much now that everyone at the restaurant have also gone home. Season's over is all I can think, and I secretly love this, this time of respite and pause. Time of in-between. It's the first time all summer just me and her have kicked it on our own and I am enjoying the hell out it, have all night. She's 21, gorgeous like a model is and hands down the most outstanding player I have ever seen, guy or girl. The whole room bows to her wherever she's at without even thinking about it, and she can easily take home any single man she wants strictly by virtue of the fact that she knows she can. Sometimes I just watch her go, it's unreal like you see in a movie or something.
It was fun tonight. We picked up a set of brothers for a while and she got drunk on shots and I cracked up at my guy's moves and then was struck by how much we had in common. I asked him a version of my standard set of get to know yous and was wowed, totally wowed by his answers. I told him so, and then felt bad later when we went from the bar on the beach back in to the club and lost him on the dance floor. The guy I wanted to talk to from earlier in the night was back in there creeping again but there were too many meatheads dancing up on us for me to make any kind of second move. In the end we danced a whole lot together, me and her, and I left smiling and so happy and ready to listen to hiphop on the ride back to her pad.
I read this article in Vogue last week about a woman in arrested development because she was going out with a much, much younger man. She is non-committal to the idea, as to whether or not it really is something about her psychology she is trying to work out by having such a young live-in lover. All she knows is that she is happy and her needs are met, and she long ago quit judging herself so it's just a passing thought that she bats at for a moment. My mom said something similar to me in the middle of the summer, asked what it was I was attempting to work through by hanging out all night every night like I was 22 again. I was unsure, and still am, though I must say it's made the subject matter in my novel much easier to delve inside of and write from the inside out. The real truth is I love my friends, I love my job here, I love my life.
Where I work is like a family and I haven't been surrounded by such intimate connections in a resteraunt since years ago at the pizza shop before Eddie died. I am fiercly loyal now towards my crew of young friends. The seventeen-year-old whose folks just split up, the other seventeen-year-old all the guys in the kitchen pick on for trying so hard. The big guy with the soft heart that I've never ever heard raise his voice or mutter a harsh word. The twenty-four year-old cutie with worlds inside of him that he ignores who's totally confused and uncertain about his next move in life. The 20 year-old who just said goodbye to his summer love, a nineteen year-old wilen ass girl who speaks in funny moosh mouth tongues and goes to raves except their not called that anymore and who loves her drugs. The fourteen year-old with the cruel stepdad who wears the flourescent shoes and knows too much. The suntouched highschool senior who never ever doesn't smile. The recent college graduate who works way too much and complains about it but never says no and who wants me to take her shopping for sophisticated clothes. The gorgeous mom going through a divorce re-finding her self much as I am, too. The nineteen year-old blonde bombshell who was like a little sis to me before she left to go back to school...They all are, like little brothers and sisters to me. It started with Eddie and Timmy Mac, my cous's, and hanging with them and then I got tight with all the others, too. When we go out at night I always drive so that everyone gets in safe, and also because I think it matters that they see someone in her thirties hot, still down, and chillin without any lick of drugs or booze. They are funny and loud and mellow, very mellow, and bitch alot and also show one another so much love. I am so, so blessed to get to be a part of the lives of each one of them I've gotten to know, if only for this minor fleeting moment.
And also, because it is fun, why shouldn't I live it up? On our walk back to her house tonight once we realized the pizza shop was closed she was talking about her last year and her different men and mentioned a point when her heart was vulnerable.
And I thought, when are they not?
When are we ever so lucky enough to not have them out and hungry, our fierce little hearts openmouthed to the world? And would that even be luck, to not have the awful and glorious misery of being here alive, showing up day after day to the fresh new world? No, it would be terrible. To miss out. Life is awful and it is beautiful. It is the calm eye of the hurricane and the whippin winds on the edge and the blue skies or rain in between. It is waiting, that still and silent waiting before the storm hits and changes the landscape again. It is full of greasy stale food and overtime and complaining retirees. And hunger and love and fucking and pain and laughing, and dancing and feeling sexy and beautiful and totally alive. It is going to bed alone or with another breathing, confused body next to your side. It is it is it is...
And oh, some nights, it just feels so good to ride.
The hurricane isn't here yet. The air is balmy, the wind is definitely starting to pick up. Hours ago, before I left Ocean Pines to go out, the satellite showed it was already above us. Town is dead. It's 3:30 in the morning and there's no one at all on the road.
The guys in the car in front of me in the drive thru try to pick me up--it's been like that all night--some nights just are. They are from Jersey and actually get out of the car to holla. It feels good, I feel good, and Badu and me are jammin for sure. The guy at the window gives me an extra large soda for free.
When we got home from the second club she changed immediately and kept making that pouty thing she does with her face, what I always chop her balls about but what actually is the thing about her I most love. We walked arm in arm to the pizza joint but it's closed and this adds to her bummer. She's annoyed she keeps saying. At her man, at the fact that all her friends have left now, and because she has to work so much now that everyone at the restaurant have also gone home. Season's over is all I can think, and I secretly love this, this time of respite and pause. Time of in-between. It's the first time all summer just me and her have kicked it on our own and I am enjoying the hell out it, have all night. She's 21, gorgeous like a model is and hands down the most outstanding player I have ever seen, guy or girl. The whole room bows to her wherever she's at without even thinking about it, and she can easily take home any single man she wants strictly by virtue of the fact that she knows she can. Sometimes I just watch her go, it's unreal like you see in a movie or something.
It was fun tonight. We picked up a set of brothers for a while and she got drunk on shots and I cracked up at my guy's moves and then was struck by how much we had in common. I asked him a version of my standard set of get to know yous and was wowed, totally wowed by his answers. I told him so, and then felt bad later when we went from the bar on the beach back in to the club and lost him on the dance floor. The guy I wanted to talk to from earlier in the night was back in there creeping again but there were too many meatheads dancing up on us for me to make any kind of second move. In the end we danced a whole lot together, me and her, and I left smiling and so happy and ready to listen to hiphop on the ride back to her pad.
I read this article in Vogue last week about a woman in arrested development because she was going out with a much, much younger man. She is non-committal to the idea, as to whether or not it really is something about her psychology she is trying to work out by having such a young live-in lover. All she knows is that she is happy and her needs are met, and she long ago quit judging herself so it's just a passing thought that she bats at for a moment. My mom said something similar to me in the middle of the summer, asked what it was I was attempting to work through by hanging out all night every night like I was 22 again. I was unsure, and still am, though I must say it's made the subject matter in my novel much easier to delve inside of and write from the inside out. The real truth is I love my friends, I love my job here, I love my life.
Where I work is like a family and I haven't been surrounded by such intimate connections in a resteraunt since years ago at the pizza shop before Eddie died. I am fiercly loyal now towards my crew of young friends. The seventeen-year-old whose folks just split up, the other seventeen-year-old all the guys in the kitchen pick on for trying so hard. The big guy with the soft heart that I've never ever heard raise his voice or mutter a harsh word. The twenty-four year-old cutie with worlds inside of him that he ignores who's totally confused and uncertain about his next move in life. The 20 year-old who just said goodbye to his summer love, a nineteen year-old wilen ass girl who speaks in funny moosh mouth tongues and goes to raves except their not called that anymore and who loves her drugs. The fourteen year-old with the cruel stepdad who wears the flourescent shoes and knows too much. The suntouched highschool senior who never ever doesn't smile. The recent college graduate who works way too much and complains about it but never says no and who wants me to take her shopping for sophisticated clothes. The gorgeous mom going through a divorce re-finding her self much as I am, too. The nineteen year-old blonde bombshell who was like a little sis to me before she left to go back to school...They all are, like little brothers and sisters to me. It started with Eddie and Timmy Mac, my cous's, and hanging with them and then I got tight with all the others, too. When we go out at night I always drive so that everyone gets in safe, and also because I think it matters that they see someone in her thirties hot, still down, and chillin without any lick of drugs or booze. They are funny and loud and mellow, very mellow, and bitch alot and also show one another so much love. I am so, so blessed to get to be a part of the lives of each one of them I've gotten to know, if only for this minor fleeting moment.
And also, because it is fun, why shouldn't I live it up? On our walk back to her house tonight once we realized the pizza shop was closed she was talking about her last year and her different men and mentioned a point when her heart was vulnerable.
And I thought, when are they not?
When are we ever so lucky enough to not have them out and hungry, our fierce little hearts openmouthed to the world? And would that even be luck, to not have the awful and glorious misery of being here alive, showing up day after day to the fresh new world? No, it would be terrible. To miss out. Life is awful and it is beautiful. It is the calm eye of the hurricane and the whippin winds on the edge and the blue skies or rain in between. It is waiting, that still and silent waiting before the storm hits and changes the landscape again. It is full of greasy stale food and overtime and complaining retirees. And hunger and love and fucking and pain and laughing, and dancing and feeling sexy and beautiful and totally alive. It is going to bed alone or with another breathing, confused body next to your side. It is it is it is...
And oh, some nights, it just feels so good to ride.
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