Part 4: 16 oz

Leaning back on my chair with my feet propped up against the cashier’s stand I cannot believe this day isn’t over yet. Glenn, my supervisor, has gone home for the day which means I don’t have to sit up and I don’t have to smile anymore. Six o’clock rolls around and we have our usual dinner rush of a whopping five or six people all at once. Of course they all time it so they’re crowded around the Pepsi machine at the exact same time. Because the cashier’s stand is all of 3 feet away from the drinks they have effectively engulfed me along with the towers of paper cups and leaky soda fountain.

A few have managed to make their way over to pay and placed their trays on the counter on either side of me when a man comes in with a hat and sunglasses. He towers over everyone at the drink station and sweeps in grabbing the smallest size paper cup. He holds it up to show me and asks if it is the 16oz size. Still leaning back I nod to him. He keeps looking at me through his sunglasses. I think to myself, alright, I admit that was a little rude of me so I say out loud, “Yes, that’s the 16oz size.”

The man leans forward so he can see my eyes from under my hat. He looks straight at me for a while then his eyes slowly travel down to the nametag clipped to the collar of my shirt. He looks up at my eyes again and pulls his sunglasses down so he is peering at me through the little gap made by the brim of his hat and the top edge of his sunglasses. Again, he looks at my name tag and back at my eyes. As he slides the glasses back into place he quietly mutters to himself, “Interesting.”

He then turns and walks away, still holding the empty cup.

Part 2: Holly

For a few months now Leah has been telling me about this girl in her chemistry lecture class. She describes her as one of those uncomfortable people who feel the need to share their own personal stories regardless the relevance or enhancement it’s not going to give to the lives of the people around them. I laugh about it and think to myself, oh yeah, I’ve known a few of those in my day, haha. I never give her much thought.

The other day Inch and I are at Blockbuster. I am facing the movie wall trying to find something to watch that night and he is standing next to me. I am shocked when the lady standing behind me starts talking. I turn around, keep in mind that I wasn’t looking at her or even facing her, and she’s holding up the horror flick, American Werewolf in Paris, with a big smile on her face.

“This is when you know your boyfriend needs to take a shower.” She repeats while pointing to the werewolf on the cover. I break out my typical why-is-this-stranger-talking-to-me look of confusion with the added twist of what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-say-to-th

at-unfunny-gem-of-a-punchline? She keeps looking at me while laughing to herself and I look at Inch standing off to the side.

“Yeah.” He superbly mutters.

“Don’t you just love it when strangers just start talking to you?” Lacking a socially acceptable response to the question I continue to look at her dumbly while screaming inside my head that no, I don’t in fact like it when strangers strike up completely meaningless conversations with me when I am trying to make a decision that is going to affect my entire night.

She continues.

“I actually made a friend with one of the people I did this to once. I was outside the chemistry building when I saw these two people making out. I walk up to them and say, ‘Oh the chemistry outside of the chemistry building!’” Again she laughs and looks at me expectantly waiting for the joke to dawn on me and for me realize its comedic value. Thinking the story is over I begin to inch away from her. As I slide past her she doesn’t miss a beat and swings her whole body around to face me square on. I notice a deforming scar on her right shoulder running down her arm.

“The boyfriend says to the girl, ‘What interesting friends you have.’ And she says to him, ‘I don’t even know her.’” Turns out the story isn’t over. Then just today I show up at the chemistry building for a make-up lab and guess who my partner ends up being. That’s right the same girl.” She gives me no time to guess. “So who knows, maybe you and I will end up being friends one day.”

After the threat she turns around and continues her search for a film while Inch and I discreetly yet quickly head for the other side of the store.

That night I tell Leah the story. When I finish she looks excited and asks me how long the girl’s hair was. We do this type of thing for a bit until I’m finally like, “Whoever she is she has a noticeable scar on her right arm.”

At this point Leah can hardly stand it anymore and yells, “Holly! I can’t believe you met Holly!”

Come to find out this is the girl from her chemistry lecture who she’s been telling me about all semester. Suddenly I understand why Leah keeps bringing her up.

It's your job to open the door for strangers Part 1: The Flower Guy

Inch asked for it so you're going to get it.

Last night Leah, Inch, and I stayed up telling stories about the strange people we have been meeting lately. Inch now believes that I must have some sort of magnet or force that attracts them to me.

This morning I get up early so I can walk to Blockbuster and return a video before it expires. On the way Leah and I come to a crosswalk with a stop sign. As we approach a brown, ratty pickup truck pulls up and we cross in front of it. Just as we get past it we hear the driver yelling for our attention. We both turn around and see that the man has gotten out of his truck and is standing next to it with the door open. Assuming he's asking for directions I quickly run through the biggest streets of the area in my head.

He calls out, "Excuse me, girl in the red," (Thats me) "Do you think that I could give you a compliment?"

I am looking at him, searching for an answer. This isn't the question I was prepared to answer and I, of course, am at a complete loss for what to say. Seeing as how extraordinarily unexpected and well, creepy this is I think my silence is completely understandable.

He continues without my permission, "I just wanted to tell you that you're very pretty."

"Thank you." Was the only thing I could think to respond to that. Leah and I turn around quickly and continue walking as I whisper to her how I wished that hadn't happened.

Suddenly he is yelling again. I turn around and he is holding a single red rose with a ribbon tied around the stem. Extending the gift he asks, "Do you think that I could give you a flower?"

I am stunned as I try to figure out exactly what he is asking. By now we are a good 20 feet away from him so it's not like he is so threatening that I am afraid but there is no way that I want walk closer and take a flower from him.

"Please, I want to give you a flower." He repeats. Leah, who never even turned around again, whispers to me to say no and I call out, "No, I don't think so."

I turn around and we both walk away without turning around again. I fiddle uncomfortably with the movie in my hands and the man gets back into his truck and drives away.

Good, but could be better

I want to double major. I want to have a business marketing major, so I can have hope for a real job when I'm out of school, and I want to have a media arts major, so I can actually enjoy myself. As I have calculated it, as long as I take 18 credits every semester from now on and get into every class I need when I need it I can finish in four years. Now I understand that this is not going to happen but I think it means something that it is possible. Basically I know exactly which classes I need to take and when I need to take them. For most of them I even have an understanding of why I need them.
Right now I need to have Media Arts 200 on my schedule for next semester. Now, keep in mind Media Arts 200 is a 200 level course, not a 300 level course where I would need professional admission for, 200. Last week I went to the media arts building, which took me two days to find because they just built it and have not bothered to update any of the maps on campus or online. But, nevertheless I found it and when I did the adviser exploded at me when I asked to sigh up for a major. "You need AT LEAST A 2.5 and you need to attend an orientation before I will even consider you!"
Well, being the cool headed reasonable person that I am I kept my anger and indignation inside as I calmly asked when the next orientation would be.
"June, maybe, I don't know."
"I live in Virginia, I can't afford to fly out here for a June orientation."
"Well, um, fine, August. Write down your phone number and I'll call you this summer."
She scurried back into her office not wanting to get stuck in her own web of lies I assume. I stand there a bit shocked for a few seconds but then write down my name and number and a brief request to be called when she actually schedules an orientation. I hand the paper to the lady at the desk with absolutely no false hopes that any of them will ever call the number and ask the girl what I should do about the class I need to take next semester to stay on schedule.
"Media Arts 200? Oh, you can just go ahead and sign up for it."

Today I head down to the office again with a class adding form. I fill it out and hand it to the same desk girl who tells me she will give it to the counselor. As I'm walking out the door I remember to ask her if there has been any orientation set up for a date not in the middle of the summer. She looks at me dumbly for a few seconds and says in disbelief, "You're not a media arts major."
I look at her dumbly for a minute because she is holding a paper that has my current major written in black ink right next to my name on it. "Well no, but I was told I could sign up for this class."
This goes on for a few minutes until she finally goes and gets the counselor from her office. The same basic conversation follows with the same counselor from before as she explains to me that this is a class that is for majors only and it does not matter that as soon as she schedules an orientation I will go to it and sign up that very day, no question. There is no room in the media arts department for non-majors to be taking up their spaces for their classes. Once again she scurries back to her office before I am completely ready to end this conversation but I leave anyways.

For all of the Media Arts 200 classes there are currently 100 seats available and exactly 15 of them are occupied.

DG

When I lived downstairs I was neighbor to Casey, a 21 year old exchange student from the northwest. After one semester at the U of A he decided it was a better life spending the final few semesters at his own school. He gave me his Hostess cupcakes and Easy Mac stash and drove home.

Yesterday he knocks on my door with Thom, who I have been introduced to on about 12 different occasions. As is our tradition he decides that I need to meet my neighbors, because, as he says, they're not all like Annoying Brian (his old roommate.) He takes me next door to the girls who he is staying with's room. On the door is a huge baby blue construction paper anchor with DG written on it in silver and pink paint. Inside I meet the secretary of the sorority my old roommates were in, the roommates who we moved away from. She's fresh out of bed, even though it's 7:30 pm, wrapped in a blanket and complaining of a headache. We compare our impressions of my old roommates and I share a few of more fonder memories, say the one where she's doing her hair wearing nothing but a shirt, or maybe pink thong laundry day when they filled up an entire clothes horse with only pink thongs. After assuring me that not all GSs are like that she succumbs to the pain in her head, sinks to the floor, and Casey and I carry on the conversation.

Casey starts to tell me how refreshing it is to see fields of grass and even a tree or two. He mentions how nice it is to walk on a paved sidewalk and pass by a house made of wood, not brick or stucco. From under the blanket on the floor DG Secretary begins to laugh. Casey and I both look at her, confused.

"A house made of wood?!"

Still looking at her.

"You mean a cabin? A LOG CABIN?"

She's still laughing. We're still looking at her.

"Has she lived in Arizona all her life?" I ask Casey.

"Yeah, why?" She answers, still laughing about the college with log cabins for buildings made entirely of wood.

YAY Happy Hour

The other day my school was hosting an anti-drinking games and barbecue happy hour in the parking lot outside my apartment. I had promised Big Tall Bryan that I would go because he was helping host it. When I got home from work and Inch wanted to go too I figured I really had no choice.

We got to the party about half an hour before it was going to end. Naturally, we walked in in the middle of a drunk driving survivor's heartbreaking confession. I was distracted by the beer goggle football toss going on in the background so I'm not exactly sure how the speech went but it was something along the lines of, "I was a cool guy, I went to concerts and dances, I had lots of friends and girlfriends, I had my whole future in front of me. Then I drove drunk. Now I have no life, no friends, and no future." A lesson learned.

The speech ended and Inch and I headed over to the line at the beer goggle golf cart obstacle course. After about 20 minutes of watching the cone guy pick up cone after knocked down cone even I was getting annoyed with all the bad driving. Inch and I went to stand in the line for the computer simulator because the line was shorter, only about 5 or so people all together. The drunk driver speaker was standing a few people ahead of us talking with the simulator operator.

After a few tragic crashes Inch and I were quickly moving up the line. When we were only about 2 people in front of us Drunk Driver decided to come and chat for a while. He danced and talked to inch about reggae while I contemplated how rude it would be for me to take a little step to the side, try for an entire foot of space between the two of us. Some how the subject of work came up. Drunk Driver looked at me and said, "I can't work anymore."
I braced myself, expecting another why-you-shouldn't-drive-drunk lecture that seemed to be waiting around every corner at this place.
"I'm on disability, the government pays me not to work."
(Still expected to be made to feel bad about my drinking habits, you know, the ones that I don't even have.)
"I never have to work again if I don't want to! It's so great, I put a down payment on a house with my first check." When I turned to look at him he was looking at me with a big grin on his face.

he looks like the evil villains in the bad medieval movies

The other day I was walking to work, kicking rocks and wondering if i would see the 2:45 weird guy today, when I got to thinking. My current boss, Glenn, is one of those guys who thinks that he is smarter than whoever he is talking to. He is always telling these stories or repeating those little facts that everyone knows a different set of. He has this degrading way of telling these things with a condescending smile and pause at the end as if he is waiting for the information to sink in and you to look up in wide eyed amazement and say to him, "Well golly Glenn, I sure do hope someday I can be as smart as you are!"
The other week I was standing behind him while he checked out the last customer before I was going to take over the register when he turns around to tell me, "Here's a tip for you, when I take someone's money I find it to be a good idea to place the money to the side while I make their change so there will be no confusion later." (big smile and pause) At the time I just looked at him, told him I usually do that anyways, and let it go. While I was walking I was thinking about this incident. As a little background it's important to know that I have just been passed up for a promotion which was given to a kid who turned into a controlling ass as soon as he was given a tiny bit of power. I'm walking along and trying to decide if it is a good idea to let Glenn know that I already know most of the facts he tells me and, because I have been working in the store for about four times longer than he has, I know all the little tips he gives me. If I do this he will realize that I am not in fact an idiot and am capable of figuring things out for myself. Then again, is it a better idea to act dumb and let him think he is teaching me all these things and that I am a quick lerner. This way he will have that feeling of being smarter than me but still respect me as a good student in the delicate craft of noodle buffet service.
After about 3 minutes of deep thought I was suddenly disgusted by the whole thing and spent the rest of the walk wondering if 2:45 weird guy lives by my house or just parks his car there.

Twust in Jesus

I'm allergic to Tucson. Right now this whole place is in blossom, which basically means that the scraggly trees have scraggly little flowers that color clash with the tree next to them. There's one tree with little tiny orange blossoms on it.Except, the blossoms look like little tiny spiky poof balls about the size of a marble. Really ugly. It looks like if you plucked two off the tree, shoved a nail through them, then wore them as a pair of earrings accompanied with a glow stick you'd fit right in at a rave. The worst part, well besides me being allergic to them, is they smell. They smell like the sour orange perfume that people buy as body lotion at Victoria's Secret.

My friend Hillery, born and raised the fair state of Arizona, and I were walking out of class and we pass under one of the offending trees. As I contemplate whether or not i can make it to my next building without breathing she loudly exclaims, "That's the greatest smell in the world!"

That's what old people do

Thursday night I'm having dinner with my parents. This is the first dinner we've had with just the three of us in a long while. After we finish eating my mother and I are away from the table doing various after dinner cleaning tasks while my dad works on his dessert. I put the last of my silverware into the dishwasher and hear a giggle in the background. As I turn around I realize that it's coming from my father. He's sitting at the kitchen table, face leaned closed to the wood, a Teddy Graham in each hand, wiggling the chocolate bears in front of his face. I stare and he looks up at me, huge smile on his face and says, "They're dancing!" Then looks back down at the waltzing cookies and continues the dance.

We're all hungry and dumb for friday

So, it's Thursday night before spring break. I have a linguistics quiz tomorrow. Ha. Studying in Arizona would be an exercise in gross over-achievement. Instead I'm doing this because I've bitched to everyone who will physically listen to me and clearly, I haven't been satisfied.

Right now I work for the Student Union on campus. I work in the Three Cheeses and a Noodle which is basically a watered down, over priced noodle buffet. My job involves scooping noodles, smiling at customers, cooking, cleaning marinara stains, working cash register, busing tables, washing dishes, and whatever else. Just like any other low paying, low skill job, when shit needs to be done whoever is standing around does it. Well, Tuesday was Carina's job eveluation day to see if she has earned her 25 cent raise. Basically, I sit down with Glenn (boss) and he checks off this sheet that lists all the above jobs to see if I'm fufilling my duties. Since I'm actually a good worker the majority of the form is a no-brainier, until we got to the busing question. Glenn checks off the 'never' box and claims that I haven't been doing dishes. Because Glenn makes me uncomfortable and I knew I was getting the raise regardless I figured what the hell and didn't argue about the whole dishes thing. (Keep in mind before Glenn came around I did dishes nearly every time I worked and even now I still do them on a regular basis) Well that night I decide to take the hint that maybe I'm not doing them as often as I could be so I tackle them all by myself. Naturally, it takes me an hour and 15 minutes to finish which is way after everyone else has gone home for the day.

Denise(cashier) decides that I have gone above and beyond and tells Glenn about my dish washing experience on Wednesday. Thursday rolls around and I arrive for work at 3. At 3:05 Glenn comes up to me. Here's how it goes:

"Hi Carina."
"Hello."
"I hear you were initiated on Tuesday."
(Look of confusion) "Initiated? What are you talking about?"
(He breaks out that big condesending smile I hate) "You did the dishes!"

It's 10:06 and inside I'm still standing there with my mouth hanging open.