subway

I go to subway quite often for a cheap lunch. As time goes on, I find they people who work there are getting to know me...to an extent. They know, somehow, that I hate the meatball sub. I try to avoid tuesdays. When I go in and ask what the special is, they always tell me its meatball. Some days, they say, "bacon," which I throw right back at them because, how great would it be if there really was a bacon sub? In any case, they are nice to me and always put a smile on my face. When I don't belong at school, I can seek refuge and peace at Subway.
Its interesting how quick they are with all the subway ingredients and up-selling. The whole time, usually they are yelling and laughing at each other in Indian. They laugh at me every time I come in...not sure why.
One day, I came in and all but one of tables and seats were taken. One of the workers just walked out for lunch and sat at the last available spot. This brings back uncomfortable, bad memories of high school. Where the hell was I supposed to sit? "I am not going to sit outside with the homeless people," I told myself. As I looked all around, I finally came to the one person I informally knew- the worker. She saw me and smiled. I awkwardly looked around more...then she pulled her food and wrappers closer to her, telling me she was offering her seat across from her. I went and sat down. Everyone behind the counter was laughing at us. Her eyes were glued to her food and chips.

Her: want some chips?
Me: No...I better not. I didn't pay for them.

A few awkward minutes go by as we eat in silence.

Me: Do you feel awkward?
Her without skipping a beat: -Yes.
Me: Its ok. We can feel uncomfortable together.
...So how long have you been working here?
Her: About, since 11 this morning.
Me: No, how long have you been working here for?
Her: Oh, I work Monday to Friday. Not Saturday or Sunday.
Me:...right.

The next few minutes we ate in more silence and I realized a few things. They sure have their Subway lingo down. But when we are on the same side of the counter, the whole situation changes. We were not having an easy time understanding each other. She asked me my name and I told her. She also told me her name, but there is no chance in Hell that I would remember it.

Me: ...So...you know any good jokes?
Her: Yeah.
Me: ......Well, lets have it...
Her: Yeah.

She finished her sandwich and said, "bye."
"Okay, bye," I replied.

The seat at my table, being the only one open, was taken by some chef-to-be. That was weird. But I understand. She needed a spot to sit down and eat. She told me about how the wokers sneeze and make sandwiches. I didn't know what to say. Although, Id consider them my amigos or pals and was ready to stand up for them. This Chef-to-be also had man hands, and I couldn't not look.

Birthday

Paul came up with a great idea for my birthday...
On the invitations its going to say,
"Your presence is not presents enough."

The Real South

The only Experience I had in The South is when my family goes to Florida for a vacation. Its kind of different there though, from the image of The South I have in my head. Lots of Over-Alls, banjos, fried chicken paired with biscuits and gravy. That is what I imagine everyone eats. When we go down there as a family, its mostly old people wearing white shoes, white pants and driving around in white golf carts. But they don't have white golf gear in the back. They aren't even wearing white, knuckle-less gloves! Most of my prior ideas or thoughts were shattered and I have been a wreak for too long
All that changed a few days ago when I got a chance to see The Real South. I was in Atlanta and having the time-of-my-life experiencing true Southern Life as I was in connection to a Baltimore flight. It was't the way I thought or expected it to be. It wasnt even over average. Fried chicken was not offered to me as I stepped off the plane, and I do love fried chicken, people were not yelling all-the-time, making judements and demands. I felt fine beyond all expectations!
So if anyone wants to expereince The Real South, don't go to Georgia because there is absolutly nothing in anyway, or form there that represents The True Southern Life.

super powers

If anybody knows and medicine I can take for powers like running fast, please let me know.

if your looking on Google, don't try these because I already did:
"Medicine for super powers"
"Medicine to make you run really fast"
"Medicine that lets you run at incredible rates"
"magic pills"
"magic pills, magic hero medicine"
"Go the extra mile in less time- Pills to make you run faster than anyone"
"medicine, mutant, awesome"

It would just be nice to get to the train faster or not have to wait for the bus. please let me know asap (as soon as possible:)

Change is good

The other day I found out that I can record stuff on my phone and then use that recording as my ring. I decided to bring back a classic and record myself saying,"Hueso. Hueso. Hueso." thats what the kids called me in Honduras. It translates to "Bone." I listened to it and it sounded like Kings (Good). I was really excited to hear it.


Days went by and no one called me. I got all depressed.

I changed it to something else and then the calls just rolled in like rich peoples money.

getting going

I had to watch Jerry Springer today.
Even though I was late for tudor help, I was hooked.
I sat and watched an hours' worth of it with my jacket and backpack on. Each time I got up to leave I saw the title, "I used to be a man," and "Jerry Springer Wedding."
And that was it. There was nothing I could do.
This is so typical of me.

JOBS AND INTERVIEWS

I was looking for a job when I starting writing this. Thanksgiving was last week so seasonal jobs are getting taken up on quickly. I turned down two Borders jobs because I thought I would be visiting home this Christmas. But that is not going to happen. If I want to work I have to be available to work the holidays. I have been to a few interviews. And it only took a few times to realize how terribly awful interviewee I am. I just had an interview at Old Navy. I never thought I would work there, but now, as no other job has come up, I have to be willing to take anything I can get. Like a humble, homeless man. Something you don’t see in Chicago often enough. Normally I would try to convince myself that I am modestly confident. It’s always easier with a woman interviewer for some reason. These are the moments in our lives when we can be anyone we want. Those first impressions are the ones that sell, right? So, when it’s one-on-one, the interviewer and me, I smile, make eye contact and am relatively a great guy. They ask me to tell them about myself. This is where I really shine and smother on my experience in Honduras. Its smooth sailing from here until they get to questions like, “What do expect from your supervisor?” “How do you sell a product?” “Why do you want to work for us?” “Tell me about a time when you gave great customer service.” At this point I usually look out the window and rub my sweaty palms together. When there are no windows I notice how warm it is in the room because I feel the beads of sweat running down my under-arm. I may look at the posters on the wall. After stumbling with words I reply, “…well, I want a supervisor who…respects me. Someone who respects the way I interact with customers…” she looks at me, nodding her head, saying, “hmmmm.” If I look passed her dark eyes I can see her real reaction- what the hell are you talking about?
“…Well…Ummm, to sell a product, I say hey, have you tried our new Mojo Mocha? We can make it with non-fat milk or sugar-free syrup... Or we could just go all out and make it so chocolaty that your head would blow up. And hey, did you hear we got our new sixty-four oz. cups in. So now you’ll have enough to last until Hell freezes over.”
Why do I want to work for you? Back at home I knew this answer. Before I left, I knew this answer. At least, I knew the right answer. Something they would want to hear. Unfortunately, for all of us, the only response that keeps on repeating itself in my head is, “I just need a job.” And that’s not exactly what employers want to hear. It seems when these questions come up, my mind remembers what “worked” before. So, now all I hear is “I just need a job.” I don’t know what stopped me from saying that, but I didn’t say it. Instead, I answer with something “much better” like, “Seems like a fun environment”, “I like the clothes” and “You guys are on top.” After one of those responses they give me a smile. The kind you get from genuine pity. In the moment you feel great about it. But later when you leave and think about it and remember what he looked like as you said it, you stop walking and say to yourself, son-of-a-bitch! I have given great customer service in all my years of being employed. Working at Starbucks, your whole life is revolved around making customers happy. I couldn’t think of one particular time when I gave great customer service, so I usually come up with some rendition of “selling a product.” At Starbucks when a new drink is out they sample it to everyone for free. So, its hard to feel what these clothes retailers want from me when I can’t give a free pair of pants to the people, just so they could try them. Also, I use the phrases, “mix’n match, non-fat, and “happy smiles all around,” hoping this would put me up a few notches.
In my Old Navy interview I was pretty proud of myself to show up fifteen minutes early. After I was told to “go talk to So’n so," twice, I was told to wait in the break room for about twelve minutes. There I was, at a circular table, alone. I was one of about five others, with other people coming and going the whole time. But they were the ones who were actually working and on a break. Who was I? I was nobody. No one made eye contact with me. After ten minutes I couldn’t take it any longer. I left the break room to find this “Jason” guy or whoever it was that was going to interview me. When someone saw me hanging around outside his office they asked what I was doing. Bringing me inside the office, there was a red, comfy chair and I was instructed to sit in it. And wait. There were, at least, posters on the walls in this room, so I had something to look at. Soon, “Jason” popped his head in and said, “We’re going to go to another room if that’s okay. Sorry about the musical rooms we’re playing here with you.” That’s when I realize it- its not just Jason and me. Its Me, Jason, and two other girls. What kind of mind games is Jason playing with me now? We walk inside a new room with a big red table in the middle. Its another break room. To the far right, as you walk in, is a counter with a sink. There are plastic plates and dirty, crumpled napkins scattered around the counter. On the end is a round plate of cookies. That is not going to help. I love cookies. Jason tells us to all sit on one side and he on the other. In that moment he throws us a curve-ball and leaves the room for five minutes. Neither one of us said one thing to anyone ever. The tension became increasingly thick. Like getting mammoth muffin at Perkins and thinking you get all the free ones you want after the first the purchase…until you confront the waitress only to find out that its not true. I was about to burst into one of those, “WELL!…” comments just to break the awkwardness, but was relieved to see Jason pop back in. First thing he said, as he sat down, was that he didn’t have my application. I was off to a good start. He was a big guy. A bit round, like his associates could have just rolled him in the room similar to the way the Oompa-Loompas rolled away the big blueberry of a girl. His head was about the shape and size of your Olympic approved basketball and when he turned to look and talk to each one of us, his face jiggled like there was cake mix inside. Second thing he said was that he wanted to go around and have us just tell him about ourselves. Of course, with this question, I was about as worried as any drunken man could be as he wanders in a restaurant for flap-jacks at 3 AM. It started with me. I said, “Well, I’m from Minnesota. I moved here about four years ago. I have been out of the country- working in Honduras, at an orphanage. I am working on a promotional video/ documentary/ movie for the orphanage right now to help raise money and awareness. But, now I’m back and going to school in January. And that’s me in thirty second nutshell.” Jason just looks blankly at me but I don’t realize it. Feeling pretty proud of my answer, I put on a smile that says I know I look good and turn to my left for the next girl’s story. With a bright smile and eyes that seem to actually be buried in her face, Anisha-Angel begins her story. She jumps right in with being a single mom then shifts over to her eight years experience working at Wal-Mart and all the positions she held there. “…And I’d like to work at Old Navy because I love working with customers and making everyone’s shopping experience one that makes them come back. I think I would be a great addition to this company because I know and understand this kind of environment. From my past experience I know how to work with customers and help them find what they need…” Inside, I am screaming at myself. Caught off guard, I look at her and loose my smart-ass-of-a-smile. What was I thinking, talking about myself? How is going to Honduras and working with kids going to get me this job? Its not and I had to learn that the hard way. In most of the job interviews I have had, employers usually eat up all the Honduras stuff. Going into this one I naturally thought the same. I have never had a group interview, but learned that it’s really a competition, a battle to work at a cash register for eight hours a day. A battle to say, “how many?” in the fitting rooms. No. This is no battle. It’s war. And if I had any experience in this kind of combat, maybe I would have a chance. Unfortunately, I have none and the best my silver tongue struck out was asking what kind of activities they do if the workers have to stay late. It was a little comment, probably in everyone’s mind, but in this head it was big. It sounded great until it came out. Anisha-Angel finished her explanation under five minutes and looked to the other girl on her left. Rackel began telling about her experiences working in a few, smaller clothing stores. I look down at my lap. I am scratching my stomach under my sweater, maybe to put a hole there. It feels warm and red like a hot pad. There is a lot of noise in my head. Shouting. I think it’s my voice. Beyond that, I can hear the faint hum of Rackel, convincing them she would be a great candidate for the job. I should have taken my jacket off. Its so hot in here, I think to myself. I’m trying to act normal. As if nothing could be against me. The right answers and physical mannerisms become hard to concentrate on. I keep looking over at the plate of cookies and garbage on the counter to my right. There is no way they don’t notice. I have to completely turn away from everyone in the room. Jason isn’t even asking me anything anyway. This is all a process. He asks us all, one at a time the questions he has on his clip bored. But at this point its like he just skipped me to move on to the girls. They have so much more to say. All I can ramble about is all the combinations of flavor and espresso you can mix together. I begin to take more notice of my environment. There are Old Navy posters on each wall. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be paying attention. Maybe if I switch my sitting position, something will happen. Maybe Jason will talk to me. I shift and turn my body to be facing Anisha-Angel. With my elbow on the table, too, I hope something will change. I’m not surprised when it doesn’t. It just gets hotter. Everyone always says to make eye contact. I do, do that. But I always remember it at the wrong times. I think I do it in spurts. So I may be looking at a table or a crumb from a brownie one minute. The next I could be in a trance of staring eye contact. If I want the attention, this is definitely one option. Though, in this case, it may not be the best option. I found myself with my fingers folded together, placed in front of my mouth. From Jason’s point of view, I could have been the man in the windowless van that sits across the street from the park wearing sunglasses. This is just my luck. I always make people feel uncomfortable with the way I look at them. Its always too late when I find out I’ve been doing it. This isn’t going well at all. I was never good at competition. This is a perfect example. What a relief I felt when Jason stood up and began thanking us for taking the time to come in. He said if one of us gets hired on, then we would get a call confirming it. If not, then we would get a letter in the mail saying, “sorry, this just isn’t going to work out. Maybe if you hadn’t made Jason, your interview, feel he would be in physical danger when he left the store, we might have thought about welcoming you on our team. Thanks for playing."
I don’t expect to be hired there.