He's Ablaze!

“86 the Chicken Fried Steak!” & “4 Top at table A-4.” –I love restaurant lingo!

 Working in a restaurant during college was one of the most entertaining jobs I’ve ever known.  If you have ever worked as a food server you know the rush that comes when your section is full, the bus person didn’t show up, one of your co-servers has come to work hung over and you are down to one coffee maker.  It is nothing short of a miracle what you can do when your resources are limited in a restaurant.  You suddenly emerge into a plate stacking/balancing wizard who whisks through the dining room with trays of food, empty glasses, towels, milkshakes, and side orders of fries, bacon and hash browns.  You pour coffee with such speed and skill that they named the dance move “The Waiter” after you.  Yes, a restaurant job can be fun.  That is, unless you work with a few unsafe clowns. 

Take into consideration the following scenario…

…I was in the break room sucking down a crispy Coca-Cola one evening while shooting the breeze with one of the chefs.  This was in the early 90’s when restaurants allowed people to smoke inside.  The chef was a smoker.  So, the break room was like a mysterious land with a haze of smoke billowing up and around those who were on break.  This particular chef was taking canned hair spray and spraying it into the open flame of his lighter.  Mmmm Hmmmm.. I worked with some very safe and intelligent people back then. Oddly enough this behavior was mild compared to other things I had witnesses.

I left the break room, walked down the hallway, around the corner through the server station and onto the dining room floor to an awaiting table of patrons.  It wasn’t long before one of the guests in the booth said, “You are on fire!”  Sure enough, I was ablaze.  The apron strings were on fire as they hung down past my rear end, which had caught the back side of my shirt on fire- creating gaping holes in my back.  Funny how I could have made it down the hall, through the server station and onto the dining room floor and not realized that I was ablaze, but I didn’t.  So, in a gesture that can only be seen as helpful as I reflect back, the guest in the booth threw his glass of water onto me to douse the flame.  There was much hubbub on the dining room floor that evening, people.  Patrons from other tables stomped over to see if the tower of inferno was now OK. I was.  The real miracle here, people, is how my head of hair didn’t become engulfed in flames.  It was the early 90’s. You may recall that people lubed up their hair with all kinds of hairspray, gels and other hair holders.  I was no different. 

Through careful research I learned that this cigarette smoking, hairspray/fire playing chef thought it might be a gas to spray the back of my uniform with hairspray and set a flame to it with his lighter.  – Not too terribly funny I thought as I stood there, uniform smoldering, but alas he gets an A for effort.  Back then I didn’t assert myself as much as I do now, which I know is going to be a huge shock to those of you who know me- the one who ALWAYS demands what I want nowadays.  Instead I was granted permission to leave work early.  After all, my uniform was newly redesigned and my backless shirt top didn’t seem to so appropriate in a family dining restaurant. 

It’s funny how you romanticize past jobs, past loves, your first apartment, etc. when you are feeling overwhelmed with your current job, love, house, or (insert whatever here).  After thinking this story through I am reminded that my job isn’t so bad after all.  In fifteen years of teaching I have yet to be set on fire...

The Visitor to the Pool

There I was on another “Putting Myself First” vacation in the desert, traveling companion in tow.  We were splayed out at the pool soaking up as much Vitamin D as possible when what to our wondering eyes could appear? – A man skipping/dancing into the pool area with a small bag, leather bound notebook and can of sunscreen.  Now, the skipping/dancing was enough to grab our attention.  I got a side jab from my friend and she said, ‘You are going to want to see this.  What is going on by that tree?”  I turn to the left to see this man hugging the palm tree and talking to it.  Odd? Yes. Completely crazy?  Not enough input to determine so just yet.

It wasn’t long before I rendered a verdict.  This man skipped/danced over to the pool chair next to where we were camped out and by camped out I mean we had our floaties, sodas, sun screen, books, iPods, snacks and flip flops strewn around us.  What happens next seemed like something that should have been kept for indoors.  This guy opens a plastic baggie with some dried brown/green leaves.  Mmm Hmmm.  You know where this is going, don’t you?  He sprinkles some of this out into a white paper and begins to roll it up cigarette style. By now, our books are placed in our laps and our eyes are looking as far to the left as possible without turning our heads.  My friend and I are mumbling to one another short phrases that encapsulate the sentiment of “WHAT THE HECK?” 

Soon enough he lights this cigarette up and is up dancing again.  He then sprayed sunscreen on his face in such a caked on fashion that it pooled and was running down his nose and cheeks, dripping onto everything within a three foot radius.

It gets better.  The cigarette is extinguished and he tells my friend and me that he has found God. Now, I am a believer in the Almighty.  It was a hard sell for me that this guy was a true convert though, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.  It hadn’t been my experience that people who find God smoke odd smelling cigarettes at resort pools in broad daylight, but perhaps I was up for a new learning curve. He continues to tell us, well really just me because my friend had already decided that she was no longer interested in him and buried her nose in her book, that he and his boss were selling these cigarettes and wondered if we wanted to buy some.  My dropped jaw summed up my reaction.  For sake of conversation I asked, “Well, what are they?”  His response?  “I don’t know.  My boss won’t tell me what is in it, but I promise it is legal.”  With that my friend let out an audible gasp.  I pretended not to hear her and politely declined.  So, instead, he left a business card and a “sample” on the pool table next to us saying, “Try it.  You will love it.”  -  One thing I am sure of is that I am too old to be smoking anything, let alone something that I don’t know the contents of.

He then moved to the pool.  He jumped off of the hand railing.  My friend and I look at each other in disbelief as he climbs up the water fall that is about 15 feet in the air at the south end of the pool and begins shouting Bible verses out to the small crowd of pool goers.  After all it is 109 degrees in Scottsdale this July day. Only the strong at heart face this kind of heat.  He then leapt into the pool.  On his return trip to the fountain he brought his camera to a pool goer and asked if they will take a video clip of him doing another stunt.  The pool goer smiles and agrees.  The man then climbs back up to the fountain and starts yelling out something about the Prophet and how none are righteous, no not one. That wasn't a news flash to me.  I spent a lot of time in church and had heard similar statements many times before.  Then he started back floating in the top section of the fountain.  This is simply too much for my friend and I, and the other 8 people at the pool, to not drop everything and tune in.  In an instant he is up and shouting more Bible verses before plunging from the top tier of the fountain back into the pool.

This theatrical acrobatic show goes on for the better part of an hour.  We make our way into the pool to conference with some other pool goers who also look alarmed.  “Is he with you?” That is the opening line we use with every person we chat with in the pool about this odd, yet highly entertaining, situation.

It just goes to show that you never know when you are going to be entertained and you must always be ready to ride that wave when it comes because it comes when you least expect it, people.

On The Loose~

“It’s out!  One of ‘em is out!”

I whipped around from the counter where I was mixing tempera paint for the next project.  Sure enough, “it” was out.  One of our fine feather friends was darting around the classroom quacking as loud as could be.  Well, quacking isn’t the exact sound it made.  It was more of a peep similar to chicks, but none the less it was LOUD and the tone was alarming.

We incubated duck eggs for 28 days before they began to hatch.  This experience is thrilling for all members of the school house, regardless of grade or age.  My colleagues even stomp down to the primary wing to check out the eggs and ducklings.  In the end we had seven of the eggs hatch in the last week and it has been non-stop enthusiasm ever since the first egg cracked.

So, here we are, twenty four humans, held captive by the lone duckling on the loose.  Zoooooooom, it raced under a table and hid next to the leg of a six year old.  Screams and shrieks from the student body alerted the lone duckling that trouble lurked, and it was off…..This time is stopped, but only for a moment, near the kidney bean table before zooming over to my desk.  By now I was “shushing” the student body and on all fours crawling around trying to sneak up on this bandit.  My shushing spooked the duckling and it was off again.  This time it didn’t stop racing around and around. This delighted the twenty-three Kindergarteners! Or, maybe it was their teacher chasing the thing around and around that was most entertaining.  This bird was running around the brooder and tub we had made into a make-shift swimming pool peeping its head off!  If that wasn’t enough, the six other ducklings were squeaking and peeping at the top of their lungs from the swimming pool as if to let the bandit know he was close and should re-join the group.

Finally, by some stroke of luck I managed to capture the lone bird and re-united him with his siblings.  In an instant the peeping stopped and the swimming commenced.  This wasn’t the first time I had broken a sweat in Kindergarten chasing things, but usually it is a five year old early in the year who decides school isn’t the place for them and they attempt a mad get away on day three or four of the year.  This was a first.

My Technology Quest

I stumbled into Barnes and Noble today to check out the Color Nook E-Reader.  They have several tables reserved to showcase this fancy electronic device.  What would make it even better would be some chairs at the tables so you can really get comfortable during your review/contemplation of purchase period.  You could bring your own folding lawn chair, but it might not be welcome.

That Color Nook even has Internet capabilities.  So, I cracked open my email, surfed the web, read a few blurbs from the New York Times and then……I found out the Nook has apps, people.  Angry Birds is my new favorite game.  You can whip those suckers all over the place and knock things down.  If reading in color wasn’t enough, this Angry Birds app was enough to seal the deal.  Then I perused the Nook Color covers on the adjacent wall.  I liked the vivid orange one.  I also liked the bright, bright kiwi green one.  You need a cover, don’t you?  $85 for these covers.  I don’t need a cover.  So, just as I was about to give the “Go-Ahead” to the clerk, who I might add was hot on my heels through the entire review and contemplation period, it hit me….You really want an iPad, don’t you?  Yes, yes, I do!

So, I carefully caught my own attention and skated toward the door to slide over to the Apple store.  That place is great fun, people.  What isn’t fun is the swarm of employees who tend to sidle up next to you with, “Do you have any questions?” and “If you get this you really want to think about getting the 64 gig, 3G with Wi-Fi.  This way you can be connected anywhere Verizon or AT&T has coverage.”  Mmm Hmmm… My irritation level skyrocketed, people. Why do these workers have to take all the joy out of this fantasy fun electronics shopping trip?  Yet, I am intrigued.  I stifle my irritation and ask, “What’s the cost difference?”  Then it happened.  My jaw….hit the floor…. Only $330 more than the Plain Jane $499 16 gig Wi-Fi only model I was warming up to.

So, not one to be ordered around I figured I just show this employee and not buy anything.  Throwing a tantrum seemed out of place, but highly desirable. So, I stomped out the front door technology less.  But don’t worry people.  I will be back!  I will soon have a portable Internet consumption device!  Of course, the real issue here is what kind of a person is pushed over the edge by suggestive selling?  - I think I may be the only one in my world who is so easily irritated with things so trivial.  Maturity is a characteristic yet to be acquired. 

A Tooth, a Tic-Tac and Two Dollars

I have a kidney bean shaped table in the back of the classroom where I meet with small groups of kids and sometimes kids one on one for an assessment.  When kids come to the kidney bean shaped table it is an honor!  They have the teacher captive and most of the kids are thrilled to have one-on-one attention from the Chief!  So, I make it a habit to engage in some small talk before we start the testing so as to lighten the mood and help them feel comfortable.  The student before me had a gaping hole in his mouth where a tooth used to be and he pried open his mouth saying, “See!  I lost my tooth!”

This is big news when you are in your single digit years.  Money accompanies this occurrence for 9 out of 10 kids. (No real hard data to back it up, people.  However, I have taught for many years and rarely do I hear a kid say they didn’t get cold hard cash from the ‘ole Tooth Fairy)

Me: (Wearing the usual look of surprise and excitement), “How much did the Tooth Fairy leave?” (Every time I ask that I could sock myself for asking such a question.  The emphasis in this question is on HOW MUCH, as if it means something if the Tooth Fairy leaves you a fiver over a single.)

Him:  “Two one dollar bills!”

Me: “Wow!  What are you going to do with it?”

Him: “Oh, I gave it to (He inserted a peer’s name in our room.)”

Me: “Oh?  How come you did that?”

Him: “Cause I have enough money and he gave me a piece of candy.”

Me: (pressing further) “That was nice of him, but why did you think you needed to pay him?”

Him: “Cause he gave it to me before school the other day and I ate it.  Then he said I could give him a dollar tomorrow cause the Tooth Fairy was gonna come to my house that night.” – (This happened on the heels of the student losing his tooth by a matter of mere minutes.)

Me: (eyebrows rising with a slight sense of panic – We had a sort of ring going on here right under my big fat nose and I didn’t know it!) “What? – When did he tell you to pay him?”

Him: “After I ate it.”

Me: “Did you want to pay him?”

Him: “Yeah, I have enough money already for Star Wars 3.”

Me: “Oh, but could you have saved the two dollars for something else later?”

Him: “No, I don’t need it. I have enough for Star Wars 3.”

Now I was at a crossroads, people.  I had pre-judged student number two as a swindler in the making, but wasn’t sure how to help student number one come to the same conclusion without a full on jury trial.

I threw caution to the wind realizing we were not going to doing too much reading assessment at this time and called student number two over.

Me: “Tell me about the candy you gave (insert boy number one’s name) and the $2 he gave you.”

Boy 2: “Oh, he gave me the $2 cause I gave him a piece of candy on Tuesday.”

Me: “How did he know he was supposed to give you money?”

Boy #2: “I told him that he could just give me a dollar cause the Tooth Fairy paid him already.”

Me: “Did you tell him before or after he ate the candy you gave him?”

Boy #2: “After.”

Me: “Oh, why do you need the money?” (Probably wayyyyy out of my line of jurisdiction to ask such questions, but inquiring minds want to know.)

Boy #2: “Cause I need 19 cents to buy another box of candy.”

Me: “If I give you 19 cents, will you give the $2 back to him?”

Boy #2: “But if I give it back then I will need two dollars and nineteen cents.  I already have two dollars.”

Well, the upshot of the whole exchange was that Boy #2 did in fact cough up the two dollars and I swore up and down to both of them that they were not in trouble.  We did have a chat about how friendship usually works.  I asserted that it is common place for friends to share a stick of gum or piece of candy and not expect each other to pay for it.  Boy # 2 piped up, “Oh, yeah.  My mom shares her gum with her friends all the time.”

Me: “Does she make them pay for it?”

Boy # 2: “Nope!”

Now, I run the risk of tooting my own horn here, but I do it often enough that this shouldn’t be too big of a surprise to anyone… It seemed right to put the academic task aside to address the more pressing issue that had emerged.  Seeing both boys smile as they walked away from the table and boy number one stuffing two dollar bills, which he had been re-united with, back down inside of his sock was quite satisfying.  What I was left wondering was why is it so easy to explain complex concepts like this to six year olds and yet it remains so difficult as an adult to be so willing to change your thinking when someone lays the facts out in front of you….…

The 3 Bad Guys- Sarcasm, Cynicism & Flippancy

 Sarcasm, cynicism, or flippancy...These things are the core of who I am. Typically these are the things that get a laugh from close friends and colleagues, but what do they really mean?

Experts assert that sarcasm, cynicism and flippancy are just disguised anger.  I am stopped in my tracks wondering if this could be true, people.  (Then I come to the realization that anything that makes me stop and re-evaluate must have an element of truth or I would dismiss it without slowing the pace. – I mentally pat myself on the back because this seems very grown up of me to recognize this.  I’ve always been my best fan.) 

So, here I am, displacing anger left and right. (Expert at it) – I should stop here and apologize unilaterally to all those who have been in the path of my displaced anger.  Sorry to all those who have been on the receiving end of a zinger haphazardly cast onto them in my craze of displacing anger.  I am a dolt, but I appreciate your willingness to receive the bountiful unpleasantness that I tend to give…  I really do.…But what has me so angry? – Now, I know what I am angry about, but I am good at ignoring the truth. So, I look further for a more convenient source to blame so as not to have to uncover and expose the real root of the problem.  (This is where you nod because you do the same thing, right?)

Then, reluctantly, I read about other behavior that indicates one might be angry.  I read that the “angry” (apparently there is a growing mass of us out there) need to maintain control in their life and it can present itself in ways that are illogical. (I smile because I think I know this…even without a psychology background) Examples of the illogical include telling yourself that if you “let go” you are somehow signaling to whomever you are mad at that they are right and you are somehow admitting you are wrong. Logically, all you are really doing is letting go of frustration.  You are not giving up your personal power.  (Novel idea.) This makes me want to know more.

I cringe as I read what experts say you should do about this. These know it alls say if you can “let go” of the negative loop that plays in your mind you can again release patterns of thinking or behavior that have control over you.  So, I can’t ignore this one. The negative loop in my mind is often directed at me with such tracks as “You are not too smart.” – Though I use other more derogatory words. This is the G version of what is played.  Or, “You will never be able to do better.” – All negative, and the funniest thing is that whatever happens that I am angry about is somehow flipped back on me.  It happens so automatically now that I have to catch myself to stop the track. Too late. Often it has already played a dozen times as breakneck speed.  Interesting… and I am not sure I fully believe that is what is happening, but for the sake of conversation I will agree.

So, how do the bull-headed “let go”? – I stare in the mirror and identify that I am one of them, but how does one “let go”? – What does it look like?  What does it feel like and most importantly, how will you know when you have succeeded in letting go?   Well, people, I tell you... we are about to find out~

The Haircut

I stumbled down the street tonight to meet a friend for dinner.  I was about thirty minutes early.  So, it was a slow stumble.  I whizzed by a barber shop and did an about face.  I could get a trim before dinner.  I opened the door and walked back in time, people.  This barber shop looked like it was erected in 1960.  The barber sat in the barber chair watching the evening news.  There wasn’t another person in the store.  (Clue # 1 that I should have run for my life.)  I stomped in and asked, “Have time for a haircut?” 

Barber: “Fo Sho, man.  I do.” 

Me: “Great!”

By now I was committed to the experience, but it was only now, after spewing “GREAT!” that I realized this might have been a mistake.  Of the three barber chairs in the joint, only one was operational.  The other two were piled HIGH with magazines, newspapers, bottles of shaving cream, paper bags, etc.  As I set my big rear end down in the only operational chair I looked to the counter behind me.  Same kind of deal there, too.  There were newspapers, bottles, bags from the drug store, and stacks of papers.  The mirrors were hazy.  Clearly they hadn’t been washed in at least five years, maybe longer.  I looked to the floor.  Big mistake….BIG mistake…..The black and white checkered tile was no longer black and white.  It was black and dark gray.  The corners of the barber shop had visible dust and dirt piled up.  One corner had an ash tray full of cigarette butts and two empty bottles of Ocean Spray cranberry juice.  Mmm Hmmm.. This looked like my oldest brother’s room when we were growing up.  (He is my favorite brother, but neat he is not.)

Directly across from the chair I sat in was a late 70’s sofa sleeper that wasn’t unfolded, but the once cream colored fabric was dark gray in most places with spots of heavy black.  I assumed this wasn’t from the shoe polish, people.  It was a dirt trap.

The gentleman, who I learned was the shop owner who had run this shop for the past 39 years,  reached for the clippers to start buzzing my hair.  Then he spoke, “Man, you sho got a lot of grease in your hair.”

Me: “Oh, no…no.. That is gel.  I lather that stuff up so I won’t catch lice.  I read an old tale that claims lice don’t like sticky or slippery surfaces.  So, I gel up daily so I don’t get any.”

Him:” Nope, never heard ‘dat befo.”

Then he wet down a towel and started to wipe my hair clean of the “grease”.  It was like I used to do when I was washing something off of my dog’s coat.  Because the place was surrounded in hazy mirrors, I could sort of see everything that was happening.

Finally he finished the “washing” and proceeded with the cutting.  I kept surveying the room making small talk. “Busy in here today?”

Him: “No, not too much.  This cut cost $17, cash only. ‘Dat ok?”

Me: After doing some quick number crunching in disbelief that this joint could charge $17 for a cut said, ‘Mmm Hmmm. I have a 20,” and I patted my pocket.  This was as if patting somehow signified that I was telling the truth and that by doing so would surely indicate that there was in-fact a 20 in my pocket.

So, there I sat and watched the most unusual haircut unfold in my life.  To my dismay, the door opened and a “regular” stomped in for his cut.  He was met with a warm greeting and took a seat on the 70’s gray/black dirt couch and thumbed through a newspaper. I counted cobwebs and wondered when the “work” would be done on my head.

Before long I was done and my neck was washed with an alcohol based product.  Never had that done to me at the barber before, but I allowed it not wanting to look like I was new to the haircut scene.  I paid and walked down the street to meet my friend for dinner.

I stopped at the restroom in the restaurant and was dumbfounded.  The sides of my hair were cut with a #2 razor guard.  I liked that part.  The trouble was on the upper sides of my head.  It looked like I had winglets, like 7-47’s do.  The hair on the top of my head was short, short, super short.  It was so short that it wouldn’t stand up when damp.  How do I know this?  I wet my hair down in the bathroom of the restaurant and nearly let out an audible sound of disbelief.

I stomped to the table where my friend was waiting and she said, “Great haircut!” – Was this a joke?  I said, “Thanks, I am going to work on it when I get home.”  Work on it? – What was I saying?  I needed to stop at the store and get a pair of clippers and go Q-ball after this wing let cut.  So, I learned something tonight when I got home.  Cutting hair and fixing someone else’s so-called haircut job is a lot harder than you think.  I wonder if I can get away with wearing a ball cap for a few days at work.