OnetwothreefourfiveHA!

My music on shuffle, “Rocky Road to Dublin” by Young Dubliners catches me off guard this morning. Against my will, I’m transported to a back kitchen with blaring music and waiting dishes. 

One, two, three, four, five! Hey! I grab a giant serving tray and fill it up, in an instant attempting to memorize the placement of the special-order plates. I failed as often as I got it right.

On that first night, never having served an evening before, I was working with one other server. The other had walked out. Asked me was I hired, wages I required, / I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin./ One, two, three four, five. Ha! All the staff knew I was a newbie, and accorded a kindness and understanding that I still did not know was foreign to food service. I had left my home that night fully knowing that this might be the only night I ever had the chance to serve tables. The business was in trouble, and they needed someone to serve through their last week of reservations. I made up my mind as I applied my lip gloss that I would make the most of it, and absolutely have fun, and not be deterred at all. Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born, / Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins; / Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs / And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin. / One, two, three four, five. Ha!

Through the evening, I constantly asked my fellow server about the menu, about the computer system, about timing, about drinks. I constantly asked the chefs to name the dishes that were up, repeat the specials, list the desserts. I needed help with a check, I needed a hand with a tray, I didn’t know what was in a hot totty, or how to describe the shelf merlot. All this I acknowledged with a humble humor. The room was full, the tables were lit up by their tealights and softened expressions. The whole room was aflame with a joy of living, it was like church.

At the end of the night, I tallied my tips: $210.60. Seriously? We must be overcharging. Or they must have felt pity for me. The Galway boys wer by, / and saw I was a-hobblin’ with a loud array, / they joined me in the fray / soon we cleared the way on the rocky road to Dublin. / One, two, three, four, five. Ha!

I took off my apron, and wrapped up my black book. Lee, the sous chef, came up to me, “wow,” he said, eyes bulging beneath his thick, black glasses, “you did a great job. I mean that. I’m not just saying it.”

“Thank you,” I was so surprised at his sincerity.

“No, I mean it, if Drew [the chef] takes over, he wants you to stay.”

“Lee, are you serious? I might have a job here? I’ve never done this before. I am not sure this is the wisest thing you could do.” It was true, and I’m still not sure it was the wisest thing they could have done.

“The way you handled tonight, tables at a time. Servers with way more experience get all grumpy and flustered. And you’re in the kitchen making jokes, just getting it right. It was awesome.”

This was not a normal complement for me to receive: that I kept my head about me, was relaxed in a stressful time, made smart calls when it mattered most. This was not the kind of thing to which my temperament is accustomed. So I took the job, in hopes of winning more such favor. One, two, three four, five, Ha! / Hunt the Hare and turn her down / the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, / Whack follol de rah !

I never quite did as well as that first night, when the pressure was on the most.  

Self Revelation

People are afraid of me, overwhelmed by me, for the same reason that they like me, and for the same reason that I can hold the attention of a class: I'm kind of intense. The word came to me a few months ago, as I was thinking about why I feel things so deeply. We use "intense" as a near-insult, or at least I do. So when I found that it applies to me in no uncertain terms, I felt a little down. (Look at that! Not MAJORLY DOWN, but a little down.)

I don't feel that I live in a black and white world, where no shades exist. I'm not either high or low. Sometimes I'm just alright, hanging out. I promise, I know how to just hang out. And little by little, I've learned how to let silence and peace settle around me and in me. But I feel things deeply all the time.

If hanging out with me has to be intense, I hope it's like getting mauled by a Panda Bear: more notable than painful.

Casting Vision

A friend recently told me that there is "blog culture." I had no idea. If I had ever thought of it, I guess I would have known. My vision for this blog is that it be a repository for thoughts, so I don't have to keep them completely inside, where they usually blur, and disappear, and that it be a repository for important events, usually in the form of poetry. With all this, I hope to somehow keep my mom updated with the workings of my life, so she can feel like she didn't waste her time raising me.

Why My Job is Weirder and Better Than Yours

I present two examples.

The first, on Wednesday evening, while I was "off duty," I spent over an hour at Goodwill in search of a leopard print blouse and stiletto heels to create a costume for our activity on Friday evening. Later that night, 11:30 pm found me in the downstairs girls' hallway, opening a series of large boxes, and itemizing each object on a long sheet in order to ship the whole lot to China the next day. There was no avoiding these tasks, thereby qualifying them as indispensable parts of the job.

The second: my residence hall mailbox currently holds the following items: a water bottle, a dirty spoon (which is not my own), an opened paper clip with which I attempt to pick the lock on the filing cabinet when I have locked my keys in my apartment, a shipping label for the box situation above, a handmade dice that I roll when I feel stressed, red lipstick, and a toaster.

Loop Inspiration #2

The bush I've beaten around all day long: here it is: on the tip of my tongue: only one person I wanted to talk to all day. Everyone else seems stale, dry, old, useless. And I hate that. I hate that I can ignore everyone else, refuse to engage with their lives, their precious thoughts, their important moments, just like mine, just as 3D and so damn important!

Damn
My pastor said damn last week. I'm so grateful. If he hadn't, I might not have remembered what he was saying: being a leader is damn hard. But just do it. Don't shirk. Don't hide. Just stand, and put your neck out there, even if it's bound to be cut off.

Grateful
Who was it that I read recently, or heard about, that lived in prison for so many years, and there met God. So real was He, that the prisoner learned prayer in prison as he never had before. When he was released, he  noted how the Church often neglected gratitude as the foundation of their prayer. How could they do that, when God freely gives so much? And more than all, He offers us Himself: a blood and bone connection to his heart.

Neglected
In my writing class, we do free writes. This is an institution I'm proud of, because every class makes it their own. They find their own way of discovering to write, when I give them the time and try to give them the inspiration for it. And then the hard part: sharing. How do you hang a piece of your soul out the window? But one girl shares often. And more than once, she has shared about the neglect of her very early childhood, before adoption. Each time I hear about it, it shocks me, beats me, leaves me stunned. Then we clap, and move on to another student's writing about basketball, or how they are wishing it were lunchtime, or sometimes a glance into their hearts. And at the end, I'm never quite sure if we did it right.

Evening Confession

Tonight, you don't know me.
You don't.

I'm worn out.
Dark circles.
Too many carbs. Too much caffeine.
I did all the things I was supposed to today.
I did my research, and got the facts straight;
I did the shopping, baked for the group, hosted it, almost cleaned up afterward;
I wrote a letter, thought about my opinion on a subject;
I changed into sweatpants, and made up my mind to set my alarm early for a meeting in the morning.

And I feel empty, here at the computer.

I'm
Afraid this is who I really am, and even more
Afraid that you do know me, after all.

Uncouth Thoughts for a Young Lady

I was so nervous right before the semester started. I'm teaching a subject in which I've never had formal, university training: the Bible. I mean, I've been a student of the Bible all my life. But to conceptualize how to teach it, well, I was in an uproar. The day before classes were to begin, I could barely breathe, I was so frazzled. I was sitting in a teachers' meeting, and a word came to me, which I believe was from God. Ever so gently, he said, "settle the f&*$ down."

++++

When I fall in love,
I don't want my heart to stop beating at the sight of him.
I want for him to see my heart, and to long for it to go on beating at all costs.
I want to do the same for him. I want us to help each other to live.

++++

I'm so glad that I am not thinking about moving this year. I dread it, really. Although, tonight, I was helping a friend gather his apartment together a wee bit, as he's preparing to move tomorrow, and it wasn't so bad. He's made sure not to collect much stuff. And he has help from people who love him. He said that it costs over $200 to hire movers. $500 if you have a piano that needs moving. I've never had to pay that. I hope you never do, either.

++++

I lied tonight. I ate out at a restaurant, and ordered a chicken dish from their "specials." It was still pricey, though. And when I got it, I couldn't really taste it. Not really at all. And it wasn't that I lack the ability to taste, which I questioned. It was just that it was an unimpressive, low-quality entree. The server came around to ask how it was, and I smiled and said, "very good, thank you." Lies.

But, really, what was she going to do about the food? I was embarrassed for her. But I didn't have to get the whole rest of it in a to-go box to spare her feelings, did I?