I don't mean to always talk about my job, and I promise it's not all-consuming. Actually, it's far from it. It just happens that things that happen there parlay into other thoughts and it always seems to provide great little intro anecdotes.
Friday nights are always very brutal. It's the ultimate home stretch. We don't get out until 10:30 and although most adults do not really kick off their weekends until then, all us workers are too tired. We end up driving home by ourselves with the windows open, listening to the oldies station or a Van Morrison greatest hits album. Usually we stay up late anyway, reading or blogging or passively televisioning. Or maybe that's just me. But I don't think it is. Everyone at my job comes very much from the same mold. We all have a little bit of a rebel in us, not afraid to sacrifice our weeknights. We're teacher-types with a bit of an edge. We have no problem sharing personal stories with people we've only known for a few weeks or making fun of one another mercilessly. If there's a slower, less sharp person at our table, we let them know (in a good-hearted way). And if you are that slower person, you love the attention and we all laugh. This past Friday night was an especially grueling ordeal. We were short by 20 people and the place was filled with empty seats to remind us all of the parties and dinners and laughs that were going on without us. Things got so boring that everyone in the room seemed to regress back to the age of the kids' whose papers we were grading.
"I'll pay you four dollars to eat that nasty piece of black licorice."
There's a day shift, too, and I think things are the same for them. Every night we come in, we find toys and little amusing signs and candy wrappers crowding our desk. Hovering over our table is a goofy picture of trumpeter Chuck Mangione, which must be some kind of inside joke. (I recognize the pattern because around the group I was in charge of last year we had a shrine to Aaron Neville. It seems that those led into the exam scoring business are fascinated by C-list musicians with awkward looking faces. We chose Aaron Neville because I do a wicked impression and somehow it came up. Ask me to do it. I will not disappoint.)
At my table this year is a small toy horse, a little squishy cat, a wind-up car, a galactic robot, and a large Darth Vader action figure. Who knows how those came to be brought in. They're coming in handy, though. Whenever the boss comes by I knock over Darth in warning to be a little quieter. For some reason we all call him Steve. Massive amounts of "quality time" spent in any group formulates a certain genre of humor that only that group finds hysterical. Giggles and tears and snorts (unfortunately, those are mostly by me) are common noises to be found in our quarters. We've found that this genre of humor only sometimes translates to other tables in the room and we tend to get shushed a lot. I guess somehow the most rebellious of the Capital Region's free-spirited teacher-types found themselves at my table.
This weekend has been an odd one. I felt caught in the ultimate battle between childhood and adulthood. I still feel like a child in that I'm living at home and coming to grips with the fact that by the time I'm just turning 21, all of my friends will be "in the real world" with "real jobs" and perhaps even starting with their "real families." I guess I'll be in it, too, but it will be a bit different. Will anyone take me seriously? Will my friends be bored of going out by then? Will they be all elegant and educated and prefer a quiet night in drinking wine? Maybe not. I don't know. Sure, I'll be educated, but I won't have gone through that important "going out" stage that most people do in college. Although I do have fun, I don't go OUT because. . . I can't. And I won't be able to without a hassle for a long time. For all the kids who resented me in grade school and high school, you have the last laugh! The "shush girl" who quieted the class with her hands folded because she was deathly afraid of getting in trouble can't have a drink with her educationally equal colleagues!
Everyone around me is a couple years older, which is kind of a big deal at this point in our lives. 18 sounds a LOT younger than even 20 or 21. When I was in grade school I was already friends with the older kids from having certain classes with them. In high school it was a novelty that everyone poked fun of. I liked the attention, it worked out pretty well. In college, it's a little weird. We're at the same point in our lives, but simultaneously we're not. I feel that I'm on the same level as everyone else in most important aspects, but there are some where I know I'm not. I dread the day I have to start going to all of my friends' weddings. Don't worry, I'll go, but if I'm single and I don't have anything awesome going on in my life I ain't gonna be the cheeriest. Christ, The Wedding Planner was on Friday night and I could hardly handle that. . . maybe I'll just send you all a toaster now. A couple of my friends have been in serious relationships for a while, and that scares me. The slow trains a-coming. Sure, I will always be able to flaunt my youth, but not when I feel so old.
On Saturday my family and I went to this restaurant we used to go to every week when I was little. Ralph's. I would always order a grilled cheese with a root beer. I still remember the day I felt like a big girl because my parents let me get two since I was so hungry. This time I ordered a slightly more sophisticated dish, spaghetti and meatballs. I was sitting with my niece, who was drawing on the back of the placemat like I used to do. Things had changed there, but not that much. I'm thankful for still being young when I don't have to pay for meals.
The next day, today, we went to the Albany Med employee picnic and while my sister and mother and Emma went to go get food, there was a terrential downpour. My cousin and I sat under a golf umbrella trying to brave the storm but to no avail. I thought I was protecting my phone by sitting on it, but soon I was sitting in a puddle. After a little while, thunder was angrily applauding everyone's attempts to scrape up whatever free food was left. Fights broke out over seats under the metal pavilion. It was starting to resemble a refugee camp, only some of the people were dressed a little better. Not many, though. My sister and I scampered out barefoot into the muck and the mess and the blankets of water while my mother and Emma shuffled to the van under an umbrella. Jenn and I found our way back to the van only to find that none of us had the keys. There was a lot of screaming and yelling and tears and chaos. I kept calling my cousin because my mom believed she had the keys. I also kept offering to go run back and look to see if we dropped them or to see if I found Renae. No one paid any attention to me. They just kept yelling at me and at Emma and at the world.
I handed them my phone to keep calling my cousin and I decided to get away from their unwarranted outrage at no one. We were already soaked. What was a few more minutes? I ran as fast as I could, and it felt good. The mud felt like wet clay that I molded with my small but full-grown feet. I slipped and almost fell into a welcoming, murky puddle and part of me wishes that I had. I combed the grass with my eyes and heard my name being called. It was my cousin, she had our keys. I ran over to her. The rocks were sharp but did not hurt my feet, and I swiftly returned back to the van where my sister and Emma were under the umbrella with my mother. I had the keys and we could now go home. My sister and mother hardly even noticed I was the one who got them. They stood there ready to call someone to pick us up, but I took action. I didn't say anything to them, and it was then that I realized I was an adult. With dirty feet and wet undergarments.
Friday nights are always very brutal. It's the ultimate home stretch. We don't get out until 10:30 and although most adults do not really kick off their weekends until then, all us workers are too tired. We end up driving home by ourselves with the windows open, listening to the oldies station or a Van Morrison greatest hits album. Usually we stay up late anyway, reading or blogging or passively televisioning. Or maybe that's just me. But I don't think it is. Everyone at my job comes very much from the same mold. We all have a little bit of a rebel in us, not afraid to sacrifice our weeknights. We're teacher-types with a bit of an edge. We have no problem sharing personal stories with people we've only known for a few weeks or making fun of one another mercilessly. If there's a slower, less sharp person at our table, we let them know (in a good-hearted way). And if you are that slower person, you love the attention and we all laugh. This past Friday night was an especially grueling ordeal. We were short by 20 people and the place was filled with empty seats to remind us all of the parties and dinners and laughs that were going on without us. Things got so boring that everyone in the room seemed to regress back to the age of the kids' whose papers we were grading.
"I'll pay you four dollars to eat that nasty piece of black licorice."
There's a day shift, too, and I think things are the same for them. Every night we come in, we find toys and little amusing signs and candy wrappers crowding our desk. Hovering over our table is a goofy picture of trumpeter Chuck Mangione, which must be some kind of inside joke. (I recognize the pattern because around the group I was in charge of last year we had a shrine to Aaron Neville. It seems that those led into the exam scoring business are fascinated by C-list musicians with awkward looking faces. We chose Aaron Neville because I do a wicked impression and somehow it came up. Ask me to do it. I will not disappoint.)
At my table this year is a small toy horse, a little squishy cat, a wind-up car, a galactic robot, and a large Darth Vader action figure. Who knows how those came to be brought in. They're coming in handy, though. Whenever the boss comes by I knock over Darth in warning to be a little quieter. For some reason we all call him Steve. Massive amounts of "quality time" spent in any group formulates a certain genre of humor that only that group finds hysterical. Giggles and tears and snorts (unfortunately, those are mostly by me) are common noises to be found in our quarters. We've found that this genre of humor only sometimes translates to other tables in the room and we tend to get shushed a lot. I guess somehow the most rebellious of the Capital Region's free-spirited teacher-types found themselves at my table.
This weekend has been an odd one. I felt caught in the ultimate battle between childhood and adulthood. I still feel like a child in that I'm living at home and coming to grips with the fact that by the time I'm just turning 21, all of my friends will be "in the real world" with "real jobs" and perhaps even starting with their "real families." I guess I'll be in it, too, but it will be a bit different. Will anyone take me seriously? Will my friends be bored of going out by then? Will they be all elegant and educated and prefer a quiet night in drinking wine? Maybe not. I don't know. Sure, I'll be educated, but I won't have gone through that important "going out" stage that most people do in college. Although I do have fun, I don't go OUT because. . . I can't. And I won't be able to without a hassle for a long time. For all the kids who resented me in grade school and high school, you have the last laugh! The "shush girl" who quieted the class with her hands folded because she was deathly afraid of getting in trouble can't have a drink with her educationally equal colleagues!
Everyone around me is a couple years older, which is kind of a big deal at this point in our lives. 18 sounds a LOT younger than even 20 or 21. When I was in grade school I was already friends with the older kids from having certain classes with them. In high school it was a novelty that everyone poked fun of. I liked the attention, it worked out pretty well. In college, it's a little weird. We're at the same point in our lives, but simultaneously we're not. I feel that I'm on the same level as everyone else in most important aspects, but there are some where I know I'm not. I dread the day I have to start going to all of my friends' weddings. Don't worry, I'll go, but if I'm single and I don't have anything awesome going on in my life I ain't gonna be the cheeriest. Christ, The Wedding Planner was on Friday night and I could hardly handle that. . . maybe I'll just send you all a toaster now. A couple of my friends have been in serious relationships for a while, and that scares me. The slow trains a-coming. Sure, I will always be able to flaunt my youth, but not when I feel so old.
On Saturday my family and I went to this restaurant we used to go to every week when I was little. Ralph's. I would always order a grilled cheese with a root beer. I still remember the day I felt like a big girl because my parents let me get two since I was so hungry. This time I ordered a slightly more sophisticated dish, spaghetti and meatballs. I was sitting with my niece, who was drawing on the back of the placemat like I used to do. Things had changed there, but not that much. I'm thankful for still being young when I don't have to pay for meals.
The next day, today, we went to the Albany Med employee picnic and while my sister and mother and Emma went to go get food, there was a terrential downpour. My cousin and I sat under a golf umbrella trying to brave the storm but to no avail. I thought I was protecting my phone by sitting on it, but soon I was sitting in a puddle. After a little while, thunder was angrily applauding everyone's attempts to scrape up whatever free food was left. Fights broke out over seats under the metal pavilion. It was starting to resemble a refugee camp, only some of the people were dressed a little better. Not many, though. My sister and I scampered out barefoot into the muck and the mess and the blankets of water while my mother and Emma shuffled to the van under an umbrella. Jenn and I found our way back to the van only to find that none of us had the keys. There was a lot of screaming and yelling and tears and chaos. I kept calling my cousin because my mom believed she had the keys. I also kept offering to go run back and look to see if we dropped them or to see if I found Renae. No one paid any attention to me. They just kept yelling at me and at Emma and at the world.
I handed them my phone to keep calling my cousin and I decided to get away from their unwarranted outrage at no one. We were already soaked. What was a few more minutes? I ran as fast as I could, and it felt good. The mud felt like wet clay that I molded with my small but full-grown feet. I slipped and almost fell into a welcoming, murky puddle and part of me wishes that I had. I combed the grass with my eyes and heard my name being called. It was my cousin, she had our keys. I ran over to her. The rocks were sharp but did not hurt my feet, and I swiftly returned back to the van where my sister and Emma were under the umbrella with my mother. I had the keys and we could now go home. My sister and mother hardly even noticed I was the one who got them. They stood there ready to call someone to pick us up, but I took action. I didn't say anything to them, and it was then that I realized I was an adult. With dirty feet and wet undergarments.
That and I wipe my own ass.
Well, I'm off. I've got orientation for my new office employment tomorrow. I think there are going to be icebreakers and a few "team-building exercises." I need all the rest I can get not to overturn the cheap coffee in everybody's faces.
Well, I'm off. I've got orientation for my new office employment tomorrow. I think there are going to be icebreakers and a few "team-building exercises." I need all the rest I can get not to overturn the cheap coffee in everybody's faces.
1 comment:
Quote: "I need all the rest I can get not to overturn the cheap coffee in everybody's faces. "
Note: You are an angry person. *grin*
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