The People in My Neighborhood
Job #1 is just 1 mile from the house. But in that short commute, I see so much.
Inevitably, there's a kid running to school, which starts at 8, and I usually pass by around 7:58. It's an uphill climb, and most of the kids around here are pretty fat and carrying enormous backpacks. (Whatever happened to little book bags?) Good luck, kid.
Then I make a right on 6th Street and sometimes have to stop while a semi backs into a tight spot, up a little ramp, to get loaded with fresh bread from the big corporate bakery that fills the downtown air with the sweet, warm smell of white bread baking. I wonder how many years it takes to master that backing maneuver, which means placing the trailer in that little spot while missing the telephone pole and parked cars with the cab. I always want to give them a thumbs-up for their driving skill, but they're usually concentrating on the last few feet when I drive on.
On the right side of the street from all this is the feed store and fencing warehouse. The guy in the fencing warehouse is really nice and pretty cute, too, with a really deep voice, a slight Missourah drawl, and an easy smile. I never mind going to the fencing store, even though they never have what I need. Never.
The feed store guys, though, are different. They dress the same--work boots, Wranglers, seed company caps--but they are in their 20s and seemingly unhappy with their lot in life. They never smile, but they're efficient. This morning the bigger of the two was walking over to the fencing warehouse, not smiling of course, looking exactly like someone who, with his good 'ol boy posse, would've stormed Tom Robinson's cell so he could beat the shit out of him back in the good old days. I can't confirm the rebel flag sticker on the back of his truck, but I do know that he has one of those huge, 1980s vintage Amurican trucks with no muffler and, apparently, some sort of reverse-muffler-noise-machine so he can at least terrify the black folks' ears. Sure it's an unfair judgment. But that's what you get for never smiling.
I arrive at work. Job #1. In the paper after last week's contentious meeting, the front page headline (beneath the fold, anyway) was "Tourism says two hats may be too many for Lulu".
So the people in my neighborhood who publish the neighborhood paper seem to think it's fine to pick up on the one unfair, personal statement made in a meeting focused on something else, something much larger than little 'ol me, and make it the headline. I made sure to let them know that I didn't appreciate them making it personal. 'Oh, but all we can do is report the news.' Yeah, but when you report a story, you can be NPR, or you can be the New York Post. Now, people I have just been introduced to say things like "Oh, you're the one trying to wear two hats." The tiny seed of doubt in my ability has been planted.
Grrr. Combined, my two jobs equal 40 hours a week. Forty hours!! Who in history has ever been asked to carry that kind of heavy burden? The meeting was about the blending of two positions, of two entities into one streamlined machine. Not about my ability to shoulder the awesome responsibility of two part-time jobs.
It should also be said that this paper is spearheading an effort to recognize 'good samaritans' in order to reverse some of the incredible negativity that circulates in this town. And they asked me to be on the board that sets the criteria for recognizing businesses 'with a heart'. This just two days before they carry that headline, which generated many negative comments against them (as mine was not nearly the first nor by far the most scathing) and much support for me.
I am heady with power, little reader. Do you know the damage I could do to their good neighbor program with a few choice words on their online guest book?
Of course, I won't. My goal remains the same, and I can weather the storm. But I do not like hypocrisy. If they keep it up, I could turn to the dark side.
What I really want is to stand in my pasture. Have I mentioned that? I got my first Job #2 paycheck the other day. Monthly, I'll earn $1,080, with another $800 from Job #1. Do you know how long it will take to pay off my crushing debt load with that sort of chump change? Sigh.
Inevitably, there's a kid running to school, which starts at 8, and I usually pass by around 7:58. It's an uphill climb, and most of the kids around here are pretty fat and carrying enormous backpacks. (Whatever happened to little book bags?) Good luck, kid.
Then I make a right on 6th Street and sometimes have to stop while a semi backs into a tight spot, up a little ramp, to get loaded with fresh bread from the big corporate bakery that fills the downtown air with the sweet, warm smell of white bread baking. I wonder how many years it takes to master that backing maneuver, which means placing the trailer in that little spot while missing the telephone pole and parked cars with the cab. I always want to give them a thumbs-up for their driving skill, but they're usually concentrating on the last few feet when I drive on.
On the right side of the street from all this is the feed store and fencing warehouse. The guy in the fencing warehouse is really nice and pretty cute, too, with a really deep voice, a slight Missourah drawl, and an easy smile. I never mind going to the fencing store, even though they never have what I need. Never.
The feed store guys, though, are different. They dress the same--work boots, Wranglers, seed company caps--but they are in their 20s and seemingly unhappy with their lot in life. They never smile, but they're efficient. This morning the bigger of the two was walking over to the fencing warehouse, not smiling of course, looking exactly like someone who, with his good 'ol boy posse, would've stormed Tom Robinson's cell so he could beat the shit out of him back in the good old days. I can't confirm the rebel flag sticker on the back of his truck, but I do know that he has one of those huge, 1980s vintage Amurican trucks with no muffler and, apparently, some sort of reverse-muffler-noise-machine so he can at least terrify the black folks' ears. Sure it's an unfair judgment. But that's what you get for never smiling.
I arrive at work. Job #1. In the paper after last week's contentious meeting, the front page headline (beneath the fold, anyway) was "Tourism says two hats may be too many for Lulu".
So the people in my neighborhood who publish the neighborhood paper seem to think it's fine to pick up on the one unfair, personal statement made in a meeting focused on something else, something much larger than little 'ol me, and make it the headline. I made sure to let them know that I didn't appreciate them making it personal. 'Oh, but all we can do is report the news.' Yeah, but when you report a story, you can be NPR, or you can be the New York Post. Now, people I have just been introduced to say things like "Oh, you're the one trying to wear two hats." The tiny seed of doubt in my ability has been planted.
Grrr. Combined, my two jobs equal 40 hours a week. Forty hours!! Who in history has ever been asked to carry that kind of heavy burden? The meeting was about the blending of two positions, of two entities into one streamlined machine. Not about my ability to shoulder the awesome responsibility of two part-time jobs.
It should also be said that this paper is spearheading an effort to recognize 'good samaritans' in order to reverse some of the incredible negativity that circulates in this town. And they asked me to be on the board that sets the criteria for recognizing businesses 'with a heart'. This just two days before they carry that headline, which generated many negative comments against them (as mine was not nearly the first nor by far the most scathing) and much support for me.
I am heady with power, little reader. Do you know the damage I could do to their good neighbor program with a few choice words on their online guest book?
Of course, I won't. My goal remains the same, and I can weather the storm. But I do not like hypocrisy. If they keep it up, I could turn to the dark side.
What I really want is to stand in my pasture. Have I mentioned that? I got my first Job #2 paycheck the other day. Monthly, I'll earn $1,080, with another $800 from Job #1. Do you know how long it will take to pay off my crushing debt load with that sort of chump change? Sigh.
posted by lulu | 6:02 AM
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