Fortunately, almost a month has past since I had to call for emergency backup. However, that doesn't mean my past 3 weeks have been uneventful.
1. I'm done at the coffee shop and even went in to get my last paycheck today (as well as an iced van/haz latte). My boss A wanted to get me on the schedule for the first week of August, but...
2. We are moving next weekend. That means that my family and I have been packing. It also means that we (meaning, my parents) found a house. It's a Sears house, an old house, but not old enough that I will be up until 4 in the morning looking for ghosts.
3. My mom and I took a 3-day trip to Chicago to visit relatives (and managed to sneak in a little shopping).
4. I am all set for college, and have been cooking more and more lately to prepare (or use as therapy, I can never tell). It was advised that I order my books after the first day of each class, so that is an uncompleted task.
5. I've been writing. I haven't been gotten very far, but I am now at 115,319 words.
I'd also like to make a special request of you. Yes, you, reading this now. My family and I used to be friends with another family at our church. They ended up switching churches, so we haven't seen them in a long time. A few years ago, they found out their son had lymphoma cancer. He's a little older than me.
Yesterday, we got an email prayer request saying that he's waiting for the Lord to call him Home. I did a little research, and found out that he has 2 weeks max.
He's always someone I've really looked up to, and envied, because he could make a whole room of people laugh.
I believe in miracles. Do you? You don't have to know his name, but the Lord will know exactly who you mean in your prayer.
Thanks
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
911 again
Earlier this week we had a family medical issue in which calling 911 became a factor. The main person involved is doing very well and is reenacting The Blues Brothers for me as I write. However, it was emotionally and mentally draining for us all. I'd rather not go back to that issue, but I ended up calling 911 again today on (or for) a customer at work and that's a story I'll be willing to repeat.
Carol is the sweetest old lady. She cackles, calls me her little girlfriend, and I think she might be trying to set me up with my boss (who is married, is 15 years old than me, and is, well, my boss) One afternoon last year, the end of my finger met a blender blade and Carol gave me a Band-Aid. Almost every time I cut myself (which is more frequent than I'd like), Carol comes in to get her iced coffee and we laugh about my clumsines.
Today she was in, and was very excited to see me, sweet thing. She seemed out of it and asked if my boss S was the owner, which was odd as I had introduced them on a previous occasion. I got her "the usual" and she went to sit out front. About half an hour later, she returned, shaking and trying to support herself as if her legs weren't quite working properly.
"Girly," she said, "I need you to take this cup and put ice in it with just a little water."
"Okay," I replied. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"You just look a little ill. I wanted to make sure."
"Oh no, I'm fine."
About three hours later, she returned. I saw her confront a young woman, who was sitting at one of the front, outdoor tables reading and listening to her iPod. A conversation took place, in which Carol ranted. I debated going out there to ask if everything was okay, but decided that I'm not the city cop and shouldn't butt in.
I decided not to take mind, picked up a piece of chalk and went to edit the soup-of-the-day title on the blackboard.
"Um," said a voice behind me. I turn around and it's the young woman. "There's something wrong with that woman. I think you need to call 911."
"Yeah. I noticed she was acting weird, too," I said. "She can't seem to walk straight."
"I think she's intoxicated," the woman added. "She asked me, like, what I did with her brother and why I sat there for three years. Then she started talking about horses."
We agreed that she wasn't feeling well, and I called 911. I told the dispatcher that Carol was possibly intoxicated (or may be diabetic, and her blood sugar was too high or too low) and that she bothered the young woman.
"Alright, I'll send an ambulance over with a squad car," said the dispatcher.
"Thank you," I said. "I can see in the reflection that she's sitting on a bench in front of the candy store. Should I talk to her or try to get her to stay if she walks off?"
The dispatcher said something along the lines of, "I wouldn't advise it, but if you feel that you should, go ahead."
The young woman stayed in the shop, and I went to talk to Carol. She was leaned back in a stiff white chair, and winced at the sun, but seemed unable to shade her eyes or look away. Her words were slightly slurred and she wasn't making much sense. I took advantage of her state to her a glimpse of what was to come.
"Carol," I said. "I'm really worried about you. You don't look well at all."
"I don't?" she asked.
"No," I replied. "In fact, I'm having a few friends come over to take a look at you. They're doctors, and they'll be able to see if everything is alright. Okay?"
She seemed almost relieved.
"Yeah, okay," she said. "You said they're doctors?"
"Mhm. Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah," she said, sounding about as unsure if she was answering the trivia question of the day. "I was just sitting out in the sun a little too long."
"Have you had anything to drink this afternoon?"
"No, just my coffee," she replied.
Just then, a utility vehicle rounded the corner with its red lights shining. It headed for us.
"Girly, what did you do?" Carol asked, appalled.
"I just want them to make sure you're okay," I assured her, and then lied: "They're not going to take you away."
The utility vehicle was able to pull up just feet from where she sat and I stood. Carol let out a little gasp at the bright red vehicle with gold decals shouting FIRE AND RESCUE 911. An ambulance appeared a short way down the road, and it pulled up behind the rescue vehicle. As EMTs jumped out onto the sidewalk, two black and white squad cars pulled up behind them.
"I just want them to make sure you're okay," I repeated to Carol. "I'm really worried about you."
"Girly, that's not what you do for someone you want to help!"
Several of the paramedics pulled on bright blue gloves, an item that I have become familiar with in the past week. I relayed part of the situation to a whisker-faced paramedic, who then began to ask Carol a few questions.
Carol looked at a bald officer, who I recognized as having come to my relief last March when I dialed non-emergency on two male customers who had harrassed me.
"Who are you?" asked Carol, pointing a shaky finger.
"I'm Officer M of the Township Police Department," the officer said, and nodded his head.
"No," Carol said, "I mean, who are you?" She looked at me, and then back at the officer. "I don't want anything to do with you."
I finished relaying the situation to the whisker-faced paramedic, who was joined by two other EMTs. One of them was grinning, because I guess not all that many 18 year old girls call 911 and are willing to participate afterwards. In the door, I could see my boss's dad watching us in amusement and amazement. He was also on the phone to, who I presumed, be S.
I went inside to grab a bottle of water (I was dehydrated and feeling a little bit of the heat from the sun and adrenaline) and caught the phone just as S called. I filled him in, told the young woman (who had stayed safely inside) that it was okay to come outside and we both went back out to the paramedics, cops, and a miserable-looking Carol.
I mentioned to one of the EMTs that it would have been easy for Carol to get a drink, because there was a bar right on the corner. He laughed (and I thought it was kind of funny, and thought about how the EMT who helped us immensely earlier this week was hotter and wasn't old enough to be my father). This EMT told me that after a person has a drink, even a small one, it's not good for them to sit out and roast in the sun. I mentioned to him (and the other two eager and listening medics) that when Carol handed me her nearly empty coffee cup to replenish with water, there was a substance inside that looked different than watered down coffee.
One of the officers said they were going to take Carol back to her apartment.
I went back inside to help a waiting customer, and then peeped out the door again. Carol was knelt down next to the squad car. They seemed to be waiting for her, but I didn't have time to watch.
I have a feeling that this was what happened: Carol wasn't feeling good after her coffee, and went to the bar to get a pick-me-up. The alcohol disagreed with her medication (I believe she told me she was diabetic) and couldn't muster enough mental energy on how to find her way home.
Either way, I have most of the week off and I'm looking to some quality time with my novel and my people. Baking and easy-listening music might be involved.
But I most certainly need to give full credit to God for handling many a difficult situation and helping me through them. That's what happens when you pray for courage and strength :D
Carol is the sweetest old lady. She cackles, calls me her little girlfriend, and I think she might be trying to set me up with my boss (who is married, is 15 years old than me, and is, well, my boss) One afternoon last year, the end of my finger met a blender blade and Carol gave me a Band-Aid. Almost every time I cut myself (which is more frequent than I'd like), Carol comes in to get her iced coffee and we laugh about my clumsines.
Today she was in, and was very excited to see me, sweet thing. She seemed out of it and asked if my boss S was the owner, which was odd as I had introduced them on a previous occasion. I got her "the usual" and she went to sit out front. About half an hour later, she returned, shaking and trying to support herself as if her legs weren't quite working properly.
"Girly," she said, "I need you to take this cup and put ice in it with just a little water."
"Okay," I replied. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"You just look a little ill. I wanted to make sure."
"Oh no, I'm fine."
About three hours later, she returned. I saw her confront a young woman, who was sitting at one of the front, outdoor tables reading and listening to her iPod. A conversation took place, in which Carol ranted. I debated going out there to ask if everything was okay, but decided that I'm not the city cop and shouldn't butt in.
I decided not to take mind, picked up a piece of chalk and went to edit the soup-of-the-day title on the blackboard.
"Um," said a voice behind me. I turn around and it's the young woman. "There's something wrong with that woman. I think you need to call 911."
"Yeah. I noticed she was acting weird, too," I said. "She can't seem to walk straight."
"I think she's intoxicated," the woman added. "She asked me, like, what I did with her brother and why I sat there for three years. Then she started talking about horses."
We agreed that she wasn't feeling well, and I called 911. I told the dispatcher that Carol was possibly intoxicated (or may be diabetic, and her blood sugar was too high or too low) and that she bothered the young woman.
"Alright, I'll send an ambulance over with a squad car," said the dispatcher.
"Thank you," I said. "I can see in the reflection that she's sitting on a bench in front of the candy store. Should I talk to her or try to get her to stay if she walks off?"
The dispatcher said something along the lines of, "I wouldn't advise it, but if you feel that you should, go ahead."
The young woman stayed in the shop, and I went to talk to Carol. She was leaned back in a stiff white chair, and winced at the sun, but seemed unable to shade her eyes or look away. Her words were slightly slurred and she wasn't making much sense. I took advantage of her state to her a glimpse of what was to come.
"Carol," I said. "I'm really worried about you. You don't look well at all."
"I don't?" she asked.
"No," I replied. "In fact, I'm having a few friends come over to take a look at you. They're doctors, and they'll be able to see if everything is alright. Okay?"
She seemed almost relieved.
"Yeah, okay," she said. "You said they're doctors?"
"Mhm. Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah," she said, sounding about as unsure if she was answering the trivia question of the day. "I was just sitting out in the sun a little too long."
"Have you had anything to drink this afternoon?"
"No, just my coffee," she replied.
Just then, a utility vehicle rounded the corner with its red lights shining. It headed for us.
"Girly, what did you do?" Carol asked, appalled.
"I just want them to make sure you're okay," I assured her, and then lied: "They're not going to take you away."
The utility vehicle was able to pull up just feet from where she sat and I stood. Carol let out a little gasp at the bright red vehicle with gold decals shouting FIRE AND RESCUE 911. An ambulance appeared a short way down the road, and it pulled up behind the rescue vehicle. As EMTs jumped out onto the sidewalk, two black and white squad cars pulled up behind them.
"I just want them to make sure you're okay," I repeated to Carol. "I'm really worried about you."
"Girly, that's not what you do for someone you want to help!"
Several of the paramedics pulled on bright blue gloves, an item that I have become familiar with in the past week. I relayed part of the situation to a whisker-faced paramedic, who then began to ask Carol a few questions.
Carol looked at a bald officer, who I recognized as having come to my relief last March when I dialed non-emergency on two male customers who had harrassed me.
"Who are you?" asked Carol, pointing a shaky finger.
"I'm Officer M of the Township Police Department," the officer said, and nodded his head.
"No," Carol said, "I mean, who are you?" She looked at me, and then back at the officer. "I don't want anything to do with you."
I finished relaying the situation to the whisker-faced paramedic, who was joined by two other EMTs. One of them was grinning, because I guess not all that many 18 year old girls call 911 and are willing to participate afterwards. In the door, I could see my boss's dad watching us in amusement and amazement. He was also on the phone to, who I presumed, be S.
I went inside to grab a bottle of water (I was dehydrated and feeling a little bit of the heat from the sun and adrenaline) and caught the phone just as S called. I filled him in, told the young woman (who had stayed safely inside) that it was okay to come outside and we both went back out to the paramedics, cops, and a miserable-looking Carol.
I mentioned to one of the EMTs that it would have been easy for Carol to get a drink, because there was a bar right on the corner. He laughed (and I thought it was kind of funny, and thought about how the EMT who helped us immensely earlier this week was hotter and wasn't old enough to be my father). This EMT told me that after a person has a drink, even a small one, it's not good for them to sit out and roast in the sun. I mentioned to him (and the other two eager and listening medics) that when Carol handed me her nearly empty coffee cup to replenish with water, there was a substance inside that looked different than watered down coffee.
One of the officers said they were going to take Carol back to her apartment.
I went back inside to help a waiting customer, and then peeped out the door again. Carol was knelt down next to the squad car. They seemed to be waiting for her, but I didn't have time to watch.
I have a feeling that this was what happened: Carol wasn't feeling good after her coffee, and went to the bar to get a pick-me-up. The alcohol disagreed with her medication (I believe she told me she was diabetic) and couldn't muster enough mental energy on how to find her way home.
Either way, I have most of the week off and I'm looking to some quality time with my novel and my people. Baking and easy-listening music might be involved.
But I most certainly need to give full credit to God for handling many a difficult situation and helping me through them. That's what happens when you pray for courage and strength :D
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Back to the Coffee Grinder
A banana, peanut butter and honey sandwich is sitting on a binder on my bed, nearly devoured. I am so hungry. But, oh gosh, I'm not picking up college habits this soon, am I?
Yesterday, I had two iced soy chais at work to soothe my savage stomach. However, I conveniently forgot that concentrated black tea is very high in caffeine, and I didn't get into a deep sleep until 2 o'clock the next morning. Inconveniently, I had to get up at 5:35 am, and found myself bright and chipper at 5:15. I got dressed and sent an excessively grateful prayer to God for a surprisingly supportive stomach.
And then, for the second time alone since I got my license, I drove all by my little lonesome. Mom said she didn't hear me leave, and I am so thankful because I lived through my older brother's crashings-around at 4:30 in the morning, back in the day. Cabinet doors and garage doors slamming, dishes falling...*insert anxious gasp here*
I clocked in at 6:30, and began all the morning duties. The ice cooler was 95% water and, after an assuring nod from my stomach, I took a five dollar bill from the register and left to go to the convenience store.
The cashier was sweet, but clearly exhausted. She was prepared for the long haul. The floor space behind the counter wasn't large enough for a baby turtle to roam free, and the ceiling was so low, I felt as if I were in a kid-sized gas station. Behind the register, there was a little gray desk area in front of a pint-sized window. On the desk was an unopened, bright blue, plastic cup filled with Fruit Loops. It added so much color to the area to the otherwise dreary atmosphere, I could tell it was the clerk's prompt to get her through the early morning hours. Her courteous and passive demeanor suggested that this cup of cheery cereal was her morning routine.
I left the store with a bag of ice and a feeling of renewed gratitude for my own job.
We have a new worker, Britney. At first, I couldn't tell if she was 16 or 30, but I was certain that she smoked and smoked heavily. I found out that she's 24, and has just "run away" from Florida, where she left a fiance, a boyfriend of five years. To start working at noon in a coffee shop, is to be thrown into the roaring fire from a warm pan. However, she was did perfectly fine and said she had worked in a coffee shop where there were more than ten people working at a time, instead of our--at most--two or three, and that there were always people at the registers, taking and sending orders down a moving belt. To me, it sounded like a factory line, with girls making lattes and cappucinos all day long.
At one point, the line was gone, and I was able to introduce Britney to our wrap menu. I was half-way through instructing her, when a man came in and stood for very nearly 30 seconds before I heard a very loud and urgent,
"Ma'am?"
You would have thought something was catching fire, or a pot of coffee was overflowing. I hurried over to see what the matter was and he instructed me that he had no intentions of waiting in line.
"You can make my coffee, and I'll sit at the computers until you're ready to take my order."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said earnestly. "I'm right in the middle of training someone and will be with you in one moment."
"I understand that," he said. "Just get me my coffee and I'll go sit down."
This is also the man who, when you ask which of three sides he would like for his meal, replies, "All three." That may not seem obnoxious, however, our baskets and to-go containers are meant to handle only one side. It's not easy as it is, to carry a basket and napkins and fetch silverware, while navigating a way to the computers.
Five minutes later, when I set the basket next the man, he replied with a brisk, "Hank-yuh."
I can't exactly say I wasn't brisk myself.
Uh oh--fireworks are going off at the moment, and the millions of geese are going insane. COVER YOUR CARS AND PUT ON YOUR HOODS. Yikes, I'm going to write.
Yesterday, I had two iced soy chais at work to soothe my savage stomach. However, I conveniently forgot that concentrated black tea is very high in caffeine, and I didn't get into a deep sleep until 2 o'clock the next morning. Inconveniently, I had to get up at 5:35 am, and found myself bright and chipper at 5:15. I got dressed and sent an excessively grateful prayer to God for a surprisingly supportive stomach.
And then, for the second time alone since I got my license, I drove all by my little lonesome. Mom said she didn't hear me leave, and I am so thankful because I lived through my older brother's crashings-around at 4:30 in the morning, back in the day. Cabinet doors and garage doors slamming, dishes falling...*insert anxious gasp here*
I clocked in at 6:30, and began all the morning duties. The ice cooler was 95% water and, after an assuring nod from my stomach, I took a five dollar bill from the register and left to go to the convenience store.
The cashier was sweet, but clearly exhausted. She was prepared for the long haul. The floor space behind the counter wasn't large enough for a baby turtle to roam free, and the ceiling was so low, I felt as if I were in a kid-sized gas station. Behind the register, there was a little gray desk area in front of a pint-sized window. On the desk was an unopened, bright blue, plastic cup filled with Fruit Loops. It added so much color to the area to the otherwise dreary atmosphere, I could tell it was the clerk's prompt to get her through the early morning hours. Her courteous and passive demeanor suggested that this cup of cheery cereal was her morning routine.
I left the store with a bag of ice and a feeling of renewed gratitude for my own job.
We have a new worker, Britney. At first, I couldn't tell if she was 16 or 30, but I was certain that she smoked and smoked heavily. I found out that she's 24, and has just "run away" from Florida, where she left a fiance, a boyfriend of five years. To start working at noon in a coffee shop, is to be thrown into the roaring fire from a warm pan. However, she was did perfectly fine and said she had worked in a coffee shop where there were more than ten people working at a time, instead of our--at most--two or three, and that there were always people at the registers, taking and sending orders down a moving belt. To me, it sounded like a factory line, with girls making lattes and cappucinos all day long.
At one point, the line was gone, and I was able to introduce Britney to our wrap menu. I was half-way through instructing her, when a man came in and stood for very nearly 30 seconds before I heard a very loud and urgent,
"Ma'am?"
You would have thought something was catching fire, or a pot of coffee was overflowing. I hurried over to see what the matter was and he instructed me that he had no intentions of waiting in line.
"You can make my coffee, and I'll sit at the computers until you're ready to take my order."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said earnestly. "I'm right in the middle of training someone and will be with you in one moment."
"I understand that," he said. "Just get me my coffee and I'll go sit down."
This is also the man who, when you ask which of three sides he would like for his meal, replies, "All three." That may not seem obnoxious, however, our baskets and to-go containers are meant to handle only one side. It's not easy as it is, to carry a basket and napkins and fetch silverware, while navigating a way to the computers.
Five minutes later, when I set the basket next the man, he replied with a brisk, "Hank-yuh."
I can't exactly say I wasn't brisk myself.
Uh oh--fireworks are going off at the moment, and the millions of geese are going insane. COVER YOUR CARS AND PUT ON YOUR HOODS. Yikes, I'm going to write.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
A Little Rat on My Head...
I worked six days in a row, each a 7 1/2 - 8 hour shift. Last Thursday, I got my driver's license (woohoo!!) and my boss A had her baby (woohoo!!). Yesterday was my first day off in a week, and I was not feeling great at all. My stomach was not happy.
Yesterday I called into work because I didn't think I would be able to work the 6:30 - 2 shift. My stomach doesn't handle mornings well on good occaisions, and I could barely handle the afternoon shift on Sunday. Such a trusting little Christian I am, I anticipated being really sick (due to past patterns), and my parents are gone for all of today. I didn't want to be sick my second time driving alone!
I slept from midnight to 7:15, and then 8 to 10:30. I curled up in bed and went on my iPod for a while, and then went downstairs to prepare lunch. I made French baguettes and a French cake recipe (I Mairead-ified the instructions, but I think it'll be okay).
At 1, I took a fresh, hot baguette, sliced it, and put cheese, packaged deli meat, pickles, tomatoes, and butter on it. It was quite amazing, and I ate it while watching a Planet Earth episode on the deep sea. Then I made the frosting from scratch, no recipe, just adding great amounts of anything unhealthy I could find. Then I watched some more Planet Earth. Then I took a 45 minute nap. Then I made dinner.
Dinner...I am quite excited about. I've recently discovered that God has given me the ability to make something I want with no recipe. Sometimes I do internet searches (common ingredients, how long to cook potatoes, etc), but I like to feel as though I'm channeling Ratatouille. It's so much fun!
I made soup. I've seen my momma make soup a million times, but I didn't want to make something ordinary. I filled a large sauce pan with about 1/3 of gallon of Ice Mountain water (I loathe our tap water, it leaves my mouth dry and it gives me blisters after I shower). I poured in a fair amount of egg noodles, that softened faster than I wagered. I poured in a can of cream-of-chicken soup and added about 3 teaspoons of chicken base. I also chopped up some carrots and added diced tomatoes and numerous spices: dill weed, minced onion, a bay leaf, a little garlic, celery salt, parsley and basil. Then I chopped up four small potatoes and boiled them in another saucepan (hence the search for how long to boil potatoes) and added them.
I heated up a baguette and voila!!
Now I'm off to write about the things happening in Maple Haven.
Yesterday I called into work because I didn't think I would be able to work the 6:30 - 2 shift. My stomach doesn't handle mornings well on good occaisions, and I could barely handle the afternoon shift on Sunday. Such a trusting little Christian I am, I anticipated being really sick (due to past patterns), and my parents are gone for all of today. I didn't want to be sick my second time driving alone!
I slept from midnight to 7:15, and then 8 to 10:30. I curled up in bed and went on my iPod for a while, and then went downstairs to prepare lunch. I made French baguettes and a French cake recipe (I Mairead-ified the instructions, but I think it'll be okay).
At 1, I took a fresh, hot baguette, sliced it, and put cheese, packaged deli meat, pickles, tomatoes, and butter on it. It was quite amazing, and I ate it while watching a Planet Earth episode on the deep sea. Then I made the frosting from scratch, no recipe, just adding great amounts of anything unhealthy I could find. Then I watched some more Planet Earth. Then I took a 45 minute nap. Then I made dinner.
Dinner...I am quite excited about. I've recently discovered that God has given me the ability to make something I want with no recipe. Sometimes I do internet searches (common ingredients, how long to cook potatoes, etc), but I like to feel as though I'm channeling Ratatouille. It's so much fun!
I made soup. I've seen my momma make soup a million times, but I didn't want to make something ordinary. I filled a large sauce pan with about 1/3 of gallon of Ice Mountain water (I loathe our tap water, it leaves my mouth dry and it gives me blisters after I shower). I poured in a fair amount of egg noodles, that softened faster than I wagered. I poured in a can of cream-of-chicken soup and added about 3 teaspoons of chicken base. I also chopped up some carrots and added diced tomatoes and numerous spices: dill weed, minced onion, a bay leaf, a little garlic, celery salt, parsley and basil. Then I chopped up four small potatoes and boiled them in another saucepan (hence the search for how long to boil potatoes) and added them.
I heated up a baguette and voila!!
Now I'm off to write about the things happening in Maple Haven.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Looking for a Storm
It's so windy right now, I hope a big storm is on it's way :-) That would be wonderful for my day off. Actually, I might ask for tomorrow off as well, because I am in an emotionally and physically undesirable state, some of which has to do with improper meals, being up at 3 in the morning loading Apple updates on my iPod, and constantly finding myself at work.
My mom and my boss, S, agree that I should sit down sometimes during my shift. I try to wolf down a panini inbetween customers and cleaning, and try so hard to stay ahead that I come home in a zombie-like state of mind.
Instead of Braaiiinss it's more often than not Piiiizzaaaa.
Part of my post-work state has led me to realize that my hard-working characters cannot come home after a day of grueling, and think Wow, I can't wait to tackle tomorrow. At least, not day after day. In fact, since I entered the work force, I like to believe that God has given me numerous circumstances to guide me in my writing.
For example: A person cannot have a large event happen in their lives, and not come out scarred, stronger, or both. If you're writing a scene about a weird person, they can't just be weird. There is a reason, and as a writer, it's up to you to figure out why they act as they do and what the philsophy is behind their actions.
Okay, enough psychology for today. Two paragraphs isn't a lot, but the bathroom downstairs just opened up. Woohoo!
My mom and my boss, S, agree that I should sit down sometimes during my shift. I try to wolf down a panini inbetween customers and cleaning, and try so hard to stay ahead that I come home in a zombie-like state of mind.
Instead of Braaiiinss it's more often than not Piiiizzaaaa.
Part of my post-work state has led me to realize that my hard-working characters cannot come home after a day of grueling, and think Wow, I can't wait to tackle tomorrow. At least, not day after day. In fact, since I entered the work force, I like to believe that God has given me numerous circumstances to guide me in my writing.
For example: A person cannot have a large event happen in their lives, and not come out scarred, stronger, or both. If you're writing a scene about a weird person, they can't just be weird. There is a reason, and as a writer, it's up to you to figure out why they act as they do and what the philsophy is behind their actions.
Okay, enough psychology for today. Two paragraphs isn't a lot, but the bathroom downstairs just opened up. Woohoo!
Finding Time to Write
It can be a very hard thing, but I like to think that there's one point in your novel where you are dragged to the finish line. Chris Baty (NaNoWriMo.org) referred to it as a magnetic force.
It happens somewhere just past that icky 3/4 mark. But sometimes work and other issues get in the way of that magnetic force. However, writing isn't just the process of putting your fingers to a keyboard, and at slow parts at work, I often imagine my characters in different circumstances. What would they do? How would they react?
In that brainstorming process, sometimes the craziest, most perfect scenarios come to mind, and that night I'm putting them to paper. (Or Microsoft Word)
When I was 5, I used to call it playing with my imaginary friends. Now, I call it plotting. Besides, Detective Booth and Marla are so much more agreeable than some of my customers...more to tell!
It happens somewhere just past that icky 3/4 mark. But sometimes work and other issues get in the way of that magnetic force. However, writing isn't just the process of putting your fingers to a keyboard, and at slow parts at work, I often imagine my characters in different circumstances. What would they do? How would they react?
In that brainstorming process, sometimes the craziest, most perfect scenarios come to mind, and that night I'm putting them to paper. (Or Microsoft Word)
When I was 5, I used to call it playing with my imaginary friends. Now, I call it plotting. Besides, Detective Booth and Marla are so much more agreeable than some of my customers...more to tell!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
DL, streamers & steamers
At 9 o'clock this morning, I was scheduled to take my driver's license test. I did not have to take a written test, and after all the paper work (I felt very much like Detective Booth) the instructor gathered his infamous clipboard and requested that we start.
I expected the stereotypical DMV worker (grumpy, cynical, boring, kind of like me haha) but this man was nice and even looked like Santa Clause. No, really. He did. When he got in the car, I mentioned that I was warned of DMV worker's tricks. (Driver's Ed is mostly scare tactics)
"I've been doing driver's tests for 26 years," the instructor sad. "If I had any sadistic ideas, they were just after I began. No, I'm not going to trick you. If I wanted to, I could, and you'd fall for them because I would have had a long to perfect them. Just remember this: If I tell you to turn the wrong way on a one-way street, you'll be headed into oncoming traffic. But guess who will also be headed into oncoming traffic?"
The entire test was about 15 minutes long. It went very quickly, and as soon as I started the ignition, I wasn't scared or nervous at all. Since this town is either packed or deserted on certain streets, I was asked to pull up next to a red jeep.
"Are you going to have me do a parallel park?" I asked.
"Yes," the instructor said. "But I was hoping you wouldn't figure that out so quickly."
It was just behind the jeep, instead of in between two cars. But I did it perfectly. Thank you so much to my dad, who spent many nerve-wracking moments with me as he tried to teach me the manuveurs. With that, and with the grace and mercy of God, I completed the task quite well.
Needless to say, I passed.
*insert huge grin here*
I am now on a probationary license for 9 months, which will pass quickly, I am sure. Now I can go to Target whenever I want...MAHAHA.
To speak of another 9 months...
On our way back, I stopped at work to get muffins to share and an iced latte for my dad. My boss, S, was there. He looked so tired. Poor man. He informed me that his wife was in labor all of yesterday late-afternoon and evening. As soon as he got back from his second job, she told him to catch up on some sleep, while he could. Around midnight, they were off to the hospital.
At 5:30 this morning, baby T was born! He's a little guy (17 inches, 7 pounds) and I can't wait to meet him!
Meanwhile, S opened shop at 7:45 and was scheduled to work until closing (a whole 12 hours later). I told him I would come in at 1, so he could spend time with the baby. After he left, I posted a sign on the wall, put up blue streamers, and set a few pieces of cardstock on the counter for people to sign.
Some people thought I was crazy. I guess they haven't had the experience of having bosses who are kind and gracious (something I am certain I will miss, after we move!).
I also got to hold a 4-month-old baby today. She weighed nothing, and I sort of cuddled her against my left shoulder. She saw her momma and burst into this huge toothless grin. And then her head fell onto my shoulder, because she was so excited. How cute!!
I expected the stereotypical DMV worker (grumpy, cynical, boring, kind of like me haha) but this man was nice and even looked like Santa Clause. No, really. He did. When he got in the car, I mentioned that I was warned of DMV worker's tricks. (Driver's Ed is mostly scare tactics)
"I've been doing driver's tests for 26 years," the instructor sad. "If I had any sadistic ideas, they were just after I began. No, I'm not going to trick you. If I wanted to, I could, and you'd fall for them because I would have had a long to perfect them. Just remember this: If I tell you to turn the wrong way on a one-way street, you'll be headed into oncoming traffic. But guess who will also be headed into oncoming traffic?"
The entire test was about 15 minutes long. It went very quickly, and as soon as I started the ignition, I wasn't scared or nervous at all. Since this town is either packed or deserted on certain streets, I was asked to pull up next to a red jeep.
"Are you going to have me do a parallel park?" I asked.
"Yes," the instructor said. "But I was hoping you wouldn't figure that out so quickly."
It was just behind the jeep, instead of in between two cars. But I did it perfectly. Thank you so much to my dad, who spent many nerve-wracking moments with me as he tried to teach me the manuveurs. With that, and with the grace and mercy of God, I completed the task quite well.
Needless to say, I passed.
*insert huge grin here*
I am now on a probationary license for 9 months, which will pass quickly, I am sure. Now I can go to Target whenever I want...MAHAHA.
To speak of another 9 months...
On our way back, I stopped at work to get muffins to share and an iced latte for my dad. My boss, S, was there. He looked so tired. Poor man. He informed me that his wife was in labor all of yesterday late-afternoon and evening. As soon as he got back from his second job, she told him to catch up on some sleep, while he could. Around midnight, they were off to the hospital.
At 5:30 this morning, baby T was born! He's a little guy (17 inches, 7 pounds) and I can't wait to meet him!
Meanwhile, S opened shop at 7:45 and was scheduled to work until closing (a whole 12 hours later). I told him I would come in at 1, so he could spend time with the baby. After he left, I posted a sign on the wall, put up blue streamers, and set a few pieces of cardstock on the counter for people to sign.
Some people thought I was crazy. I guess they haven't had the experience of having bosses who are kind and gracious (something I am certain I will miss, after we move!).
I also got to hold a 4-month-old baby today. She weighed nothing, and I sort of cuddled her against my left shoulder. She saw her momma and burst into this huge toothless grin. And then her head fell onto my shoulder, because she was so excited. How cute!!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tips, trips and candlesticks
SO doesn't rhyme, but I most certainly have a customer story that is worth posting.
A lady came in the shop today at 12:15. She ordered a veggie sandwich, which is microwaved, assembled, coated with olive oil and set on the panini grill for a good 5 minutes. She asked me how long it would take, and I saw that my co-worker (and employer) was getting ready to ship out a few sandwiches. So I told her 10 minutes.
"Okay, I'm going outside, but I'll be back," the customer told me.
Meanwhile, I handled a drink order or two, and wrote in more sandwich orders. A man wanted to get a BLT and a bagel with lox sandwich, for him and his son. My boss finished his projects and made the sandwiches for the man, neither of which take very long to prep. The BLT and bagel/lox do not have to be grilled, but (at most) toasted.
I delivered the sandwiches to the man and his son, and go on to take the order of the next customer in line. She would like an iced coffee.
Just then, the first customer (who ordered the veggie sandwich) came in the door and saw the man and his son with their lunch. She pushed right up next to my current customer and, while the customer is talking to me, begins to talk.
"Where is my sandwich?" she asked, in a seemingly anguished tone, like I had attempted to steal her purse. "You told me it would take 10 minutes, and it's been 15. I'm going to be late for work."
She said this while the other customer and I were talking.
"Just one minute, please. I'm with another customer," I said.
The woman continued to make noises, so the iced coffee lady shook her head and told me to help the veggie sandwich woman.
"I want my money back," the woman was loud, and rude. "I'm now late for work."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," I replied. "It's on the grill right now--you can see it. It's done, my boss just needs to package it up for you and you'll be on your way."
"I don't want it, I want my money back!" the woman cried. "You told me it would only take 10 minutes. That man ordered after me and got his food before me!"
"Ma'am, some foods take longer to prepare than others," I explained. "You can see my boss is working hard. The veggie sandwich has to be grilled, and takes longer."
She continued to fight with me, demand her money back and tell me that she was officially "late for work." I turned to my boss and inquired his input on the situation.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
The woman explained it all in half a breath.
"Ma'am, you heard her explain everything, and we're not going to explain it again," my boss replied emphatically. "You have no right to talk to my employees that way."
"I want my money back."
"Okay, fine."
He opened up the register and took out the proper amount of change. The sandwich was packaged and ready to go, sitting on a nearby counter. For one sick minute, I thought he had given it to her with her money back, but he hadn't (for which I was excessively releived). After he handed her the money, she made one more demanding inference:
"I gave her a one dollar tip."
My boss made an irritated noise, reached into my (our) tip bucket and gave her a dollar bill, which he later refunded from his own stash of tips.
The woman took the money and flew out the door.
Lesson of the day: If you are going to order the most complicated item on the menu, at lunch hour--expect delays. Not a smart move when you have a 15 minute lunch break.
:)
A lady came in the shop today at 12:15. She ordered a veggie sandwich, which is microwaved, assembled, coated with olive oil and set on the panini grill for a good 5 minutes. She asked me how long it would take, and I saw that my co-worker (and employer) was getting ready to ship out a few sandwiches. So I told her 10 minutes.
"Okay, I'm going outside, but I'll be back," the customer told me.
Meanwhile, I handled a drink order or two, and wrote in more sandwich orders. A man wanted to get a BLT and a bagel with lox sandwich, for him and his son. My boss finished his projects and made the sandwiches for the man, neither of which take very long to prep. The BLT and bagel/lox do not have to be grilled, but (at most) toasted.
I delivered the sandwiches to the man and his son, and go on to take the order of the next customer in line. She would like an iced coffee.
Just then, the first customer (who ordered the veggie sandwich) came in the door and saw the man and his son with their lunch. She pushed right up next to my current customer and, while the customer is talking to me, begins to talk.
"Where is my sandwich?" she asked, in a seemingly anguished tone, like I had attempted to steal her purse. "You told me it would take 10 minutes, and it's been 15. I'm going to be late for work."
She said this while the other customer and I were talking.
"Just one minute, please. I'm with another customer," I said.
The woman continued to make noises, so the iced coffee lady shook her head and told me to help the veggie sandwich woman.
"I want my money back," the woman was loud, and rude. "I'm now late for work."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," I replied. "It's on the grill right now--you can see it. It's done, my boss just needs to package it up for you and you'll be on your way."
"I don't want it, I want my money back!" the woman cried. "You told me it would only take 10 minutes. That man ordered after me and got his food before me!"
"Ma'am, some foods take longer to prepare than others," I explained. "You can see my boss is working hard. The veggie sandwich has to be grilled, and takes longer."
She continued to fight with me, demand her money back and tell me that she was officially "late for work." I turned to my boss and inquired his input on the situation.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
The woman explained it all in half a breath.
"Ma'am, you heard her explain everything, and we're not going to explain it again," my boss replied emphatically. "You have no right to talk to my employees that way."
"I want my money back."
"Okay, fine."
He opened up the register and took out the proper amount of change. The sandwich was packaged and ready to go, sitting on a nearby counter. For one sick minute, I thought he had given it to her with her money back, but he hadn't (for which I was excessively releived). After he handed her the money, she made one more demanding inference:
"I gave her a one dollar tip."
My boss made an irritated noise, reached into my (our) tip bucket and gave her a dollar bill, which he later refunded from his own stash of tips.
The woman took the money and flew out the door.
Lesson of the day: If you are going to order the most complicated item on the menu, at lunch hour--expect delays. Not a smart move when you have a 15 minute lunch break.
:)
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Moth - Live Storytelling Performances
I found The Moth Podcasts on iTunes a few months ago, and they are great for long road trips. I no longer am in a seat that is slowly trying to eat me, but I find myself on a hot, sandy island off the coast of Africa, or in a gray prison.
For a writer, it is important to listen to stories, especially told directly (or almost directly) from the mouths of others. It not only developes jargon, or the manner in which a person speaks, but also perspective. Who knows? It may even help strengthen your characters.
The stories are anywhere from 10-20 minutes long, but the time passes much quicker. Some are hilarious, others nostalgic. Why don't you find out for yourself?
Click here to go to TheMoth.org
For a writer, it is important to listen to stories, especially told directly (or almost directly) from the mouths of others. It not only developes jargon, or the manner in which a person speaks, but also perspective. Who knows? It may even help strengthen your characters.
The stories are anywhere from 10-20 minutes long, but the time passes much quicker. Some are hilarious, others nostalgic. Why don't you find out for yourself?
Click here to go to TheMoth.org
Monday, June 22, 2009
Awesomeness in its purest form
New blog, new look, new vibe :)
As some of you may know, I was a little fed up with my Wordpress blog because I couldn't edit it very much. The look was theirs. The widgets were theirs. I wanted to make it my own.
And now, with my book on the horizon, I thought perhaps I should dedicate a blog more for writing than my own ramblings. But don't think you're getting out of my ramblings that easily.
However, I wish to share more customer stories. They are excellent writing prompts, and I take no credit. God is the writer for those.
As some of you may know, I was a little fed up with my Wordpress blog because I couldn't edit it very much. The look was theirs. The widgets were theirs. I wanted to make it my own.
And now, with my book on the horizon, I thought perhaps I should dedicate a blog more for writing than my own ramblings. But don't think you're getting out of my ramblings that easily.
However, I wish to share more customer stories. They are excellent writing prompts, and I take no credit. God is the writer for those.
Awesome site
Today is my first day off since the middle of last week, and I decided to spend it by listening to podcasts and designing my book cover. Which is done. I’ve finished it. It’s when I lose hope and decide not to invest all my energy in a project that I find something really cool pop up on the screen.
Only by God’s grace…
Anyway, here’s a cool site I thought was worth posting about: http://www.bookcoverarchive.com/
It’s chocolate for designers.
Only by God’s grace…
Anyway, here’s a cool site I thought was worth posting about: http://www.bookcoverarchive.com/
It’s chocolate for designers.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
It’s Official: I’m Crazy
The day started at 5:25, exactly ten minutes before my alarm.
I got dressed in leisure, washed my face, applied makeup, and hopped in the car. Dad drove me to work. By the ripe ol’ hour of 6:30, I began my earliest day of work ever. No one was at the shop, so I let myself in. My boss arrived shortly after and we talked for a while. There are a lot of coffee craving people out between the hours of 7 and 8 o’clock.
One family had lunch at 10 o’clock. I don’t even eat breakfast until noon on most occasions, much less wake up before 10 o’clock.
My IBS wasn’t too good today, but I’ve learned to pray, and keep moving. Nothing happens. I never faint, or throw up, no matter how much I want to sometimes. However, at noon, my boss returned just for the beginning of the lunch rush. Rush is a major understatement. He let me “take 5″ and I hung out in the bathroom for a little while. I took a deep breath or two and updated my Twitter.
Lunch rush was mostly over by 1:30, but I was able to eat my first meal before then. My favorite is a grilled panini sandwich with deli-sliced ham, provolone cheese, presto sauce, and spinach. So good.
I have many, many, many customer stories to tell, but I’m too exhausted. However, I was confronted by a woman. Let me just tell you that this is the first time I’ve been in a coffee shop and they handed me cream cheese packets instead of spreading it on themselves. You would have thought I kicked a puppy or something.
2 o’clock, I punched out. Mom met me at a nearby shop and we looked at cute baby clothes (for no one in particular), and went to my favorite African store where I bought another ring. It’s brown and made out of a nut. Pretty cool, huh?
Then, we went to my bank and closed my account. That took about 30 minutes. We went to another bank, and opened checking and savings account for me, and that took at least an hour.
After that, we headed back into town, and back into the coffee shop. I made a half-caf iced mocha with whip for my mom, and a mostly-caf iced vanilla latte with whip for myself. We shared a frozen brownie and it was very good.
By the time we got home, we were both on caffeine buzzes, and mine just ended (some five hours later). My brother and Dad got back from a bike ride and I decided Hey, my brother likes to help me rearrange my room and I need to spend time with him, so let’s rearrange my room!
There was much giggling, and laughing, and I now have my hutch on my dresser again. It hasn’t been like that since the move (August 2007), so I am very happy. As soon as the big wooden piece of furniture landed on the dresser, my brother (holding up one end) burst into a fit of giggles. It was great :- )
Then I decided I should rearrange my entire room to make a better sleeping and writing environment. The two are interchangable by the way.
By 9 o’clock, the caffeine buzz wore off, and I had one heck of a messy room. It’s better now, but I’m looking forward to some shut eye by 10:30.
It’s 9:45 right now.
How many hours have I been awake? I’d never make it as a cop, haha. But I can't go on duty---I’m tiiiiiireeeeedddd.
Peace out, all. I have another long day ahead of me tomorrow: I work 1-7, but might come in early for the lunch rush. Better tips, and I feel so bad leaving just one person to deal with all those viscious, teeth-gnashers and wolves that we call customers @_____@ Haha, it really wasn’t all that bad. My IBS was the worst, but I’m still here. Part of my thumb isn’t…I took off about 1/2 a centimeter while cutting tomatoes last night….That got me to wake up!
I got dressed in leisure, washed my face, applied makeup, and hopped in the car. Dad drove me to work. By the ripe ol’ hour of 6:30, I began my earliest day of work ever. No one was at the shop, so I let myself in. My boss arrived shortly after and we talked for a while. There are a lot of coffee craving people out between the hours of 7 and 8 o’clock.
One family had lunch at 10 o’clock. I don’t even eat breakfast until noon on most occasions, much less wake up before 10 o’clock.
My IBS wasn’t too good today, but I’ve learned to pray, and keep moving. Nothing happens. I never faint, or throw up, no matter how much I want to sometimes. However, at noon, my boss returned just for the beginning of the lunch rush. Rush is a major understatement. He let me “take 5″ and I hung out in the bathroom for a little while. I took a deep breath or two and updated my Twitter.
Lunch rush was mostly over by 1:30, but I was able to eat my first meal before then. My favorite is a grilled panini sandwich with deli-sliced ham, provolone cheese, presto sauce, and spinach. So good.
I have many, many, many customer stories to tell, but I’m too exhausted. However, I was confronted by a woman. Let me just tell you that this is the first time I’ve been in a coffee shop and they handed me cream cheese packets instead of spreading it on themselves. You would have thought I kicked a puppy or something.
2 o’clock, I punched out. Mom met me at a nearby shop and we looked at cute baby clothes (for no one in particular), and went to my favorite African store where I bought another ring. It’s brown and made out of a nut. Pretty cool, huh?
Then, we went to my bank and closed my account. That took about 30 minutes. We went to another bank, and opened checking and savings account for me, and that took at least an hour.
After that, we headed back into town, and back into the coffee shop. I made a half-caf iced mocha with whip for my mom, and a mostly-caf iced vanilla latte with whip for myself. We shared a frozen brownie and it was very good.
By the time we got home, we were both on caffeine buzzes, and mine just ended (some five hours later). My brother and Dad got back from a bike ride and I decided Hey, my brother likes to help me rearrange my room and I need to spend time with him, so let’s rearrange my room!
There was much giggling, and laughing, and I now have my hutch on my dresser again. It hasn’t been like that since the move (August 2007), so I am very happy. As soon as the big wooden piece of furniture landed on the dresser, my brother (holding up one end) burst into a fit of giggles. It was great :- )
Then I decided I should rearrange my entire room to make a better sleeping and writing environment. The two are interchangable by the way.
By 9 o’clock, the caffeine buzz wore off, and I had one heck of a messy room. It’s better now, but I’m looking forward to some shut eye by 10:30.
It’s 9:45 right now.
How many hours have I been awake? I’d never make it as a cop, haha. But I can't go on duty---I’m tiiiiiireeeeedddd.
Peace out, all. I have another long day ahead of me tomorrow: I work 1-7, but might come in early for the lunch rush. Better tips, and I feel so bad leaving just one person to deal with all those viscious, teeth-gnashers and wolves that we call customers @_____@ Haha, it really wasn’t all that bad. My IBS was the worst, but I’m still here. Part of my thumb isn’t…I took off about 1/2 a centimeter while cutting tomatoes last night….That got me to wake up!
Friday, May 29, 2009
A Cop Story
Prologue: Cleaning up took me ages tonight. I had several customers knocking on the window, wanting to ask me questions, and my boss called, wanting to know what he wrote on his grocery list, and then I called him to ask if I should clean the grinder. My boss also wants the floor cleaned real well. I feel really bad taking so long to clean up, but part of the reason was because my blood sugar started to crash and I just can’t move as fast when that starts to happen.
Real story: I was fighting with the mop bucket when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone come into our little, deserted parking lot. There were two men, muscular, wearing all black. There was no one else around.
I think Who am I going to have to scream off? and then I see the little gold accessories and the radios.
“Did you call us?” a brown-haired officer hollered to me.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Okay," he said. "…What’s your address?”
I told him, and he nodded to the bald officer behind him. One went ahead and the other backtracked.
So there I am, wearing my shirt that reads DETECTIVE - WE’LL SOLVE NO CRIME ‘TIL OVERTIME. Then, I realize that there are apartments above the shop. I’ve only ever seen people going into them two or three times since last summer, but I thought it possible that someone from there could have called 911. The brown-haired officer reappeared, I called out my suggestion.
“Nah, it’s okay. We got it,” he said.
That was when I heard someone yelling from the alley. As much as I wanted to drop the mop bucket and run down the parking lot to see if someone was getting tased, an uneasy thought entered my brain. Hey, it said, you’re by yourself and someone nearby just called 911. Stop thinking about the fun that could be just around the corner, and concentrate on getting cleaned up and going home.
So I did. By the time I walked my bike across the alley, there was no sign of cops, victims, and the accused. I was sad. (LOL)
But now I really want to watch COPS. Maybe someday, my mad cooking skillz will get me into a police department. I can brew cofffee, too.
How Ratatouille Started
Breakfast:
A partially-scrambled egg with carrot, green pepper, brocolli and corn wrapped in a tortilla with a half slice of cheese.
Lunch:
(No pic, saahhry)
Fresh deli ham, provolone cheese, pesto sauce and spinache on Italian bread, and grilled on a panini grill.
Dinner:
Fresh lettuce, bacon, tomato sprinkled with red wine vinegar, a little mayo on a hamburger bun.
I love food. I love cooking.
A partially-scrambled egg with carrot, green pepper, brocolli and corn wrapped in a tortilla with a half slice of cheese.
Lunch:
(No pic, saahhry)
Fresh deli ham, provolone cheese, pesto sauce and spinache on Italian bread, and grilled on a panini grill.
Dinner:
Fresh lettuce, bacon, tomato sprinkled with red wine vinegar, a little mayo on a hamburger bun.
I love food. I love cooking.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Happiest Person
At the grocery, there was a man who I guessed was mentally handicapped from the way he talked, walked and reacted to things. He was with a woman, and the two were probably in their late 30’s. When he was coming through the aisle, he said asked me to move and then added “I didn’t want to hit you!” and we both kind of laughed. At first I was annoyed, and it caught me a little off guard to realize that–hey, maybe that person can’t help that behavior.\
Our clerk scowled and whipped each and every can of orange juice into the empty cart, almost with added emphasis. My dad asked her to please not throw in the cartons of yogurt because they would break and splatter. She set one down roughly, tossed the other in, and winged more hard things on top of them. Yes, I know clerks want to get to the next person, but this was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.
I stepped back, not wanting to be in the line of fire, and noticed that the man and woman were finishing with their order a few registers away. The clerk finished their order, took the woman’s money, but then scanned two more things on a separate order. The man watched and grinned, like these were his items.
“9.78,” the cashier said.
The woman handed him a $10 bill and the man next to her put an arm around her and, beaming, said “Thanks, sis!” He seemed so happy. Our clerk was still scowling and waited in frustration as my dad took out his wallet.
In the meantime, the man and his sister were getting ready to bag up their items, when the man turned to his own cashier and said “God bless you!”
It was really sweet, but got me thinking…Between our clerk and the man, who was the happiest and most full of life? Why do we expect it to be differently?
Our clerk scowled and whipped each and every can of orange juice into the empty cart, almost with added emphasis. My dad asked her to please not throw in the cartons of yogurt because they would break and splatter. She set one down roughly, tossed the other in, and winged more hard things on top of them. Yes, I know clerks want to get to the next person, but this was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.
I stepped back, not wanting to be in the line of fire, and noticed that the man and woman were finishing with their order a few registers away. The clerk finished their order, took the woman’s money, but then scanned two more things on a separate order. The man watched and grinned, like these were his items.
“9.78,” the cashier said.
The woman handed him a $10 bill and the man next to her put an arm around her and, beaming, said “Thanks, sis!” He seemed so happy. Our clerk was still scowling and waited in frustration as my dad took out his wallet.
In the meantime, the man and his sister were getting ready to bag up their items, when the man turned to his own cashier and said “God bless you!”
It was really sweet, but got me thinking…Between our clerk and the man, who was the happiest and most full of life? Why do we expect it to be differently?
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