I got a letter today. A miraculous letter that stuck its white corner out of my postbox. Even that corner looked like a miracle.
Last night I had to turn someone down, which is always a horrible experience. I usually tread softly around these things, but last night I decided that the only way to bring a sense of finality was to be honest. I wasn't cruel; I simply said that I wasn't looking for a relationship, but thank you for the offer. My friends, who I had consulted about the whole thing (I'm a consulter; I know this about myself), applauded my efforts, saying that honesty is always best, saying that the cruelest thing, really, is to give someone false hope.
I went to bed decently contented, and woke up horrified. This someone, you see, is the sensitive sort. The sort that maybe shouldn't have to contend with honesty all the time. The sort who maybe just wanted my friendship more than anything else. And I, tall and terrible, made brave by Facebook, tromped all over any semblance of hope or promise. I woke up thinking that I should have just gone to dinner with this someone. I should have talked with him, really talked and really listened. I should have seen this as an opportunity to get to know him better, instead of running scared at the prospect of him liking me in a different way than I like him.
So that letter, as I'm sure you can now imagine, meant a lot today. It meant so much, in fact, that I couldn't even bring myself to open it. I had things to do today; studying, running, classes, etc., and I didn't want any trivial thing getting in the way of my letter. I waited 12 hours to open it, until just now, when I was properly in bed and comfortable, with no German grammar tugging at my conscience.
It was beautiful, that letter. Blissful. I cried twice. Not because of anything sad, but because it means everything to get something from home. I know I've mentioned this before, but it's still true. The very hardest part about being here is that there isn't anyone who knows me, really really knows me, within 5,000 miles. And this letter made me cry because it reminded me that 5,001 miles away, there is someone who knows me. And they wrote me a letter.
Showing posts with label Sad Times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sad Times. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Two Stories
I have a few stories for you. Story No. 1 : Sprechen Sie Englisch?
Some nice young man just came up to where I'm sitting fiddling around on Mac, and started speaking to me in rapid-fire German.
Here is what I do when I hear rapid-fire German:
1. I don't interrupt (even to tell them I don't understand; it seems rude).
2. I try to erase the deer-in-headlights look I know is probably plastered on my face
3. I throw in a few nods for good measure
4. I try to pick out words I actually recognize to see if I can get a general grasp
5. When the person finishes, I give a little laugh to see if he/she was just quipping. If they look confused, I set in with the "Sprechen Sie Englisch?"
Anyway, it turns out that the poor guy just wanted to know if there is a place where he can smoke indoors.
Story No. 2: Karma's a...Well, You Know
Ever since I've left America, I've been finding money. This, I realize, is a strange concept coming from someone who is horribly unlucky at cards, someone who is a terribly distracted driver, and someone to whom generally ridiculous things always seem to happen (ex: getting pooped on by a pigeon whilst in Venice. Don't make me tell that story, please).
But, despite the various scientific arguments against my newfound lucky streak, there it was all the same. In the Toronto airport, on my very first day of travel, I found about $10 of Canadian money lying on the floor. In Venice, I found a 5 Euro bill drifting between walkers' feet on the sidewalk. In Berlin, I found 15 cents lodged between cobblestones at the zoo.
Before you ask me to buy your next lottery ticket, let me tell you what happened to me this morning. I went for a run (yes, yes, still working on that. I want to do a 5K in the spring with my Mom and sister, so I have an actual goal now). Before going for said run, I stuffed a 20 Euro bill in my shoe, thinking I could stop at the grocery store on my way back (the Special K addiction marches on). You already know where this is going, don't you?
When I got to the grocery store, so very excited at the prospect of cereal and milk for breakfast instead of the Nutella-smeared toast they offer at hostels, I bent down to retrieve my cash, only to discover that it was gone. It had fallen out somewhere along my route. Although it was a windy day, and although there had been dozens of other people biking/walking the same path as me, I still went back to look.
No luck, dear readers. I can only attempt to console myself by viewing this as a mere $4.85 loss. Doesn't help much (I really, really, wanted that cereal).
Some nice young man just came up to where I'm sitting fiddling around on Mac, and started speaking to me in rapid-fire German.
Here is what I do when I hear rapid-fire German:
1. I don't interrupt (even to tell them I don't understand; it seems rude).
2. I try to erase the deer-in-headlights look I know is probably plastered on my face
3. I throw in a few nods for good measure
4. I try to pick out words I actually recognize to see if I can get a general grasp
5. When the person finishes, I give a little laugh to see if he/she was just quipping. If they look confused, I set in with the "Sprechen Sie Englisch?"
Anyway, it turns out that the poor guy just wanted to know if there is a place where he can smoke indoors.
Story No. 2: Karma's a...Well, You Know
Ever since I've left America, I've been finding money. This, I realize, is a strange concept coming from someone who is horribly unlucky at cards, someone who is a terribly distracted driver, and someone to whom generally ridiculous things always seem to happen (ex: getting pooped on by a pigeon whilst in Venice. Don't make me tell that story, please).
But, despite the various scientific arguments against my newfound lucky streak, there it was all the same. In the Toronto airport, on my very first day of travel, I found about $10 of Canadian money lying on the floor. In Venice, I found a 5 Euro bill drifting between walkers' feet on the sidewalk. In Berlin, I found 15 cents lodged between cobblestones at the zoo.
Before you ask me to buy your next lottery ticket, let me tell you what happened to me this morning. I went for a run (yes, yes, still working on that. I want to do a 5K in the spring with my Mom and sister, so I have an actual goal now). Before going for said run, I stuffed a 20 Euro bill in my shoe, thinking I could stop at the grocery store on my way back (the Special K addiction marches on). You already know where this is going, don't you?
When I got to the grocery store, so very excited at the prospect of cereal and milk for breakfast instead of the Nutella-smeared toast they offer at hostels, I bent down to retrieve my cash, only to discover that it was gone. It had fallen out somewhere along my route. Although it was a windy day, and although there had been dozens of other people biking/walking the same path as me, I still went back to look.
No luck, dear readers. I can only attempt to console myself by viewing this as a mere $4.85 loss. Doesn't help much (I really, really, wanted that cereal).
Sunday, August 21, 2011
In Which I'm Still Working At Target
Hello, blog.
Today I'm feeling a little down. All of my friends are in Morris. Together. Walking the mall and exploring the HFA and shopping the (ridiculously overpriced) bookstore.
And I'm at home, still working at Target.
I don't leave until September 9th, which I may or may not have mentioned. I'm glad that I have the extra time at home to earn more money, to celebrate my birthday, to spend time with my family, but it's a bad feeling to be left behind.
I'm ready for my school year to start, too. Is this how it's going to feel every August once I've graduated from college? Sad and lonely and like I'm missing out on everything? If so, I may have to reconsider going to graduate school. Or live in Morris for the rest of my life. Both valid options.
To all of you lounging in your half-unpacked college dorm rooms right now, I wish you the very best. But is there room on that futon for me? It will only be for a few weeks, I promise.
P.S. I've just returned from renting Jane Eyre (new version) from the local Video Vault. If there's anything that can cheer me up, it's a historical romantic drama adapted from a mid-19th century gothic novel.
Today I'm feeling a little down. All of my friends are in Morris. Together. Walking the mall and exploring the HFA and shopping the (ridiculously overpriced) bookstore.
And I'm at home, still working at Target.
I don't leave until September 9th, which I may or may not have mentioned. I'm glad that I have the extra time at home to earn more money, to celebrate my birthday, to spend time with my family, but it's a bad feeling to be left behind.
I'm ready for my school year to start, too. Is this how it's going to feel every August once I've graduated from college? Sad and lonely and like I'm missing out on everything? If so, I may have to reconsider going to graduate school. Or live in Morris for the rest of my life. Both valid options.
To all of you lounging in your half-unpacked college dorm rooms right now, I wish you the very best. But is there room on that futon for me? It will only be for a few weeks, I promise.
P.S. I've just returned from renting Jane Eyre (new version) from the local Video Vault. If there's anything that can cheer me up, it's a historical romantic drama adapted from a mid-19th century gothic novel.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Important Parts of Last Night
Let me tell you about last night.
Last night was Harry Potter (oh boy, don't tell me you didn't see this one coming).
And it was magnificent.
I mean, there were parts that made me shudder and wonder to myself what the heck were the directors thinking I don't understand why they couldn't stay true to the book here why are they jumping off a cliff good Lord why is Snape clutching a corpse this is bordering on disturbing why didn't they show Percy's big entrance that was one of my favorite parts oh my gosh Ginny please go away you make me sick sometimes.
Or something along those lines.
But I think over all, the movie, just like the book, had the ending that it needed and deserved.
That's really the most important thing, right?
There were other important parts of last night, though.
Like the feeling of complete panic that swept through the theater when the 3D glasses weren't working and everything was blurry. I was literally almost in cardiac arrest when The Man Behind the Curtain finally adjusted the projector correctly and the trailers came into focus.
Like when the Weasley family was mourning Fred and everything was quiet until I began to hear sniffing sounds coming from all around me. The entire theater was crying. The man next to me was crying. The ladywiththemostobnoxiousvoicei'veeverheard behind me was crying (loudly). And I suddenly felt like laughing. Until Harry began his walk towards the Forbidden Forest. Then I stopped laughing and started sniffing myself. I actually fogged up my own 3D glasses and had to wipe them. Not being a glasses-wearer, that was a new experience for me.
Like taking pictures in the lobby of people dressed up as Patronuses and Veela and Freds with bandaged ears and two twin boys with hair sprayed red.
Like when my friend and I had to visit the facilities before the movie. We waited in line for about 10 minutes before we finally got stalls. I was just trying to calculate what my odds of catching an STD from the toilet seat were when I heard my friend yell to me (from across the lavatory): "Holly! We flush ourselves in!" The entire bathroom erupted in echoing, nerdtastic giggles.
Like after the movie, when I decided not to wait for Bea (the GPS) to 'acquire satellite.' I thought I could manage to get home by myself. A sort of deluded Harriet Tubman, I convinced myself that I could find my way North. Apparently, I couldn't. I ended up goodnessknowswhere at 3 in the morning making illegal uturns in quiet neighborhoods and pleading with Bea to help me. She eventually did. Then the problem became keeping myself awake.
Like when I sang every Beatles song I know (which is, forgive me, an awful lot of Beatles songs) at the top of my lungs in order to keep myself awake. I was so tired that my voice was scratchy and pathetic but I made it home okay nonetheless. The dogs were happy to see me.
Yes, it's over. Yes, I'll never see another Harry Potter movie in a theater (unless I go to see this one again, which, let's face it, is highly likely). Yes, before the movie started, I was dreading it starting a little bit. Everyone was. Harry Potter began when we were all young. People have waited for Hogwarts letters, people have waited for the next book, the next movie.
But the waiting is over. It's all here.
I have a Harry Potter book on my lap right now. The Prisoner of Azkaban, because it's my favorite. And I'm thinking about how different it is every time I read these books. How there's always something new. Not because the books have changed, but because I have. And I will.
And as long as there's still that, I don't think anything has ended at all.
Last night was Harry Potter (oh boy, don't tell me you didn't see this one coming).
And it was magnificent.
I mean, there were parts that made me shudder and wonder to myself what the heck were the directors thinking I don't understand why they couldn't stay true to the book here why are they jumping off a cliff good Lord why is Snape clutching a corpse this is bordering on disturbing why didn't they show Percy's big entrance that was one of my favorite parts oh my gosh Ginny please go away you make me sick sometimes.
Or something along those lines.
But I think over all, the movie, just like the book, had the ending that it needed and deserved.
That's really the most important thing, right?
There were other important parts of last night, though.
Like the feeling of complete panic that swept through the theater when the 3D glasses weren't working and everything was blurry. I was literally almost in cardiac arrest when The Man Behind the Curtain finally adjusted the projector correctly and the trailers came into focus.
Like when the Weasley family was mourning Fred and everything was quiet until I began to hear sniffing sounds coming from all around me. The entire theater was crying. The man next to me was crying. The ladywiththemostobnoxiousvoicei'veeverheard behind me was crying (loudly). And I suddenly felt like laughing. Until Harry began his walk towards the Forbidden Forest. Then I stopped laughing and started sniffing myself. I actually fogged up my own 3D glasses and had to wipe them. Not being a glasses-wearer, that was a new experience for me.
Like taking pictures in the lobby of people dressed up as Patronuses and Veela and Freds with bandaged ears and two twin boys with hair sprayed red.
Like when my friend and I had to visit the facilities before the movie. We waited in line for about 10 minutes before we finally got stalls. I was just trying to calculate what my odds of catching an STD from the toilet seat were when I heard my friend yell to me (from across the lavatory): "Holly! We flush ourselves in!" The entire bathroom erupted in echoing, nerdtastic giggles.
Like after the movie, when I decided not to wait for Bea (the GPS) to 'acquire satellite.' I thought I could manage to get home by myself. A sort of deluded Harriet Tubman, I convinced myself that I could find my way North. Apparently, I couldn't. I ended up goodnessknowswhere at 3 in the morning making illegal uturns in quiet neighborhoods and pleading with Bea to help me. She eventually did. Then the problem became keeping myself awake.
Like when I sang every Beatles song I know (which is, forgive me, an awful lot of Beatles songs) at the top of my lungs in order to keep myself awake. I was so tired that my voice was scratchy and pathetic but I made it home okay nonetheless. The dogs were happy to see me.
Yes, it's over. Yes, I'll never see another Harry Potter movie in a theater (unless I go to see this one again, which, let's face it, is highly likely). Yes, before the movie started, I was dreading it starting a little bit. Everyone was. Harry Potter began when we were all young. People have waited for Hogwarts letters, people have waited for the next book, the next movie.
But the waiting is over. It's all here.
I have a Harry Potter book on my lap right now. The Prisoner of Azkaban, because it's my favorite. And I'm thinking about how different it is every time I read these books. How there's always something new. Not because the books have changed, but because I have. And I will.
And as long as there's still that, I don't think anything has ended at all.
Monday, July 11, 2011
A Moral Dilemma and Something More Fun
Today has given me a lot to think about. I'm facing sort of a moral dilemma at work. I don't want to say much about it because this is private stuff, but I will say that it's nothing illegal.
It is bad enough, however, that I feel physically sick when I think about it.
And I wonder why in the world people feel entitled to treat other people like dirt.
And I think of that Dumbledore quote about it being harder to stand up to your friends than your enemies.
And I shake my head because I just hate the man sometimes for being so wise.
In other work-related news, the power went out today. And by "the power went out," I mean that as I was coming back from break, the lights flickered and went out. Then on again. Then off. Then on again. Then off. Then they stayed off. Luckily, we have a generator in our store that keeps enough lights on so one can see fairly well in most areas, keeps registers open so guests can still check out, and keeps the food cold and edible (although during outages guests aren't allowed to buy cold/frozen food).
Immediately after the power went out, I grinned. I grinned for an embarrassingly long time, actually. I love it when things like this happen at work. It makes my job so much more exciting.
I stopped grinning when I realized that I was about to start a cashier shift. That I wouldn't get to be in the middle of the action, dashing around the store with the sense of importance I treasure so much. I don't mind cashiering, but I hate that you don't get a walkie when you cashier, that you can't see or hear what's going on, that you're completely isolated and restricted to brushing bras and sunscreen and cat food across a laser with a repetitiveness that gradually becomes almost unbearable.
I like the people, though. I got a full six hours last night, so I was in top form today. Some people were kind of frustrated about the lack of light and the fact that they couldn't buy anything cold or frozen, but most people were willing to joke with me about the situation.
My favorite part about the outage? Walmart's power went out too, but instead of fighting through it and keeping things running like us, they shut down their store, locked the doors, and sat around in the parking lot for 2 hours.
(To their defense, I guess, they don't have a generator.)
(But why don't they have a generator???)
(Silly Walmart. Come to Target instead.)
It is bad enough, however, that I feel physically sick when I think about it.
And I wonder why in the world people feel entitled to treat other people like dirt.
And I think of that Dumbledore quote about it being harder to stand up to your friends than your enemies.
And I shake my head because I just hate the man sometimes for being so wise.
In other work-related news, the power went out today. And by "the power went out," I mean that as I was coming back from break, the lights flickered and went out. Then on again. Then off. Then on again. Then off. Then they stayed off. Luckily, we have a generator in our store that keeps enough lights on so one can see fairly well in most areas, keeps registers open so guests can still check out, and keeps the food cold and edible (although during outages guests aren't allowed to buy cold/frozen food).
Immediately after the power went out, I grinned. I grinned for an embarrassingly long time, actually. I love it when things like this happen at work. It makes my job so much more exciting.
I stopped grinning when I realized that I was about to start a cashier shift. That I wouldn't get to be in the middle of the action, dashing around the store with the sense of importance I treasure so much. I don't mind cashiering, but I hate that you don't get a walkie when you cashier, that you can't see or hear what's going on, that you're completely isolated and restricted to brushing bras and sunscreen and cat food across a laser with a repetitiveness that gradually becomes almost unbearable.
I like the people, though. I got a full six hours last night, so I was in top form today. Some people were kind of frustrated about the lack of light and the fact that they couldn't buy anything cold or frozen, but most people were willing to joke with me about the situation.
My favorite part about the outage? Walmart's power went out too, but instead of fighting through it and keeping things running like us, they shut down their store, locked the doors, and sat around in the parking lot for 2 hours.
(To their defense, I guess, they don't have a generator.)
(But why don't they have a generator???)
(Silly Walmart. Come to Target instead.)
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Blue in Green
Another blue day today.
What else was there to do but drive to Lino to buy a green album?
This ain't no music blog, but so far so good with Ukulele Songs. So far, so really really good.
What else was there to do but drive to Lino to buy a green album?
This ain't no music blog, but so far so good with Ukulele Songs. So far, so really really good.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A Downer Day
It's been a downer day for me.
In order to write last night's brilliant post (you can chuckle at this. I am.), I had to sacrifice quite a bit of sleep.
Lack of sleep meant that I was pretty much a space cadet the entire time I was at work.
I bumbled around stupidly.
I punched in when I wasn't supposed to.
I banged my arm against a shelf (bruise is appearing slowly but surely).
And last but not least, I somehow thought that I worked 8-4. It was 3:00 when I finally figured out that I was actually only supposed to work until noon.
On the way home I stopped at the library. Libraries usually cheer me up, but somehow, it didn't work today. I got 8 books, but only 1 that I really want to read. Outside of the library, there was a big construction zone where they were tearing up part of the sidewalk. I'm tired of construction. It seems like all of Forest Lake is one big "CONSTRUCTION GOING ON, PLEASE TAKE DETOUR." I'm tired of detours. I don't care what anyone says, roundabouts are not all they're cracked up to be. I have yielding issues.
Now I'm sitting in bed dragging myself down slowly but surely (mentally bruising??? (see above)). It's a sad sad thing to be doing on a Tuesday night, but when I'm in a funk like this there's not much of an escape. I worked on my Press article for a while, but it started to give me a headache; council meeting coverage not only requires an annoying amount of precision, but it's also kind of boring. Don't tell anyone I said that.
I guess I can read, but I'm currently stuck in the middle of "The Handmaid's Tale." This book disappoints me. I'll probably explain why once I've finished.
Sorry for lack of eloquence, optimism, excitement, etc. I'll try to be up to snuff tomorrow.
In order to write last night's brilliant post (you can chuckle at this. I am.), I had to sacrifice quite a bit of sleep.
Lack of sleep meant that I was pretty much a space cadet the entire time I was at work.
I bumbled around stupidly.
I punched in when I wasn't supposed to.
I banged my arm against a shelf (bruise is appearing slowly but surely).
And last but not least, I somehow thought that I worked 8-4. It was 3:00 when I finally figured out that I was actually only supposed to work until noon.
On the way home I stopped at the library. Libraries usually cheer me up, but somehow, it didn't work today. I got 8 books, but only 1 that I really want to read. Outside of the library, there was a big construction zone where they were tearing up part of the sidewalk. I'm tired of construction. It seems like all of Forest Lake is one big "CONSTRUCTION GOING ON, PLEASE TAKE DETOUR." I'm tired of detours. I don't care what anyone says, roundabouts are not all they're cracked up to be. I have yielding issues.
Now I'm sitting in bed dragging myself down slowly but surely (mentally bruising??? (see above)). It's a sad sad thing to be doing on a Tuesday night, but when I'm in a funk like this there's not much of an escape. I worked on my Press article for a while, but it started to give me a headache; council meeting coverage not only requires an annoying amount of precision, but it's also kind of boring. Don't tell anyone I said that.
I guess I can read, but I'm currently stuck in the middle of "The Handmaid's Tale." This book disappoints me. I'll probably explain why once I've finished.
Sorry for lack of eloquence, optimism, excitement, etc. I'll try to be up to snuff tomorrow.
Monday, May 23, 2011
A Character Sketch (With Comments)
Our conversation took place in the "Female Products" aisle of Target.
Where the very best conversations take place.
Kidding.
Anyway, it all struck me as strange at the time. Now it's just ironic.
A few guys had just been caught trying to steal a TV from our store. Apparently they had hit up Walmart recently, so we were anticipating a visit as well. (Note: Target has not asked me to write this, but don't try to steal from us. You'll get caught. And I have a mean roundhouse, thanks to my friend Denise Austin.)
Anyway, he and I were discussing the attempted theft while pulling boxes of tampons forward on the shelves.
And he went on and on about how whenever someone stole from our store, it really rattled him. How it made him jumpy and nervous, and how, most of all, it made him not trust people. He talked a lot about that. Not trusting people.
As I pride myself on my deep faith in humanity, I didn't empathize. I simply pitied him a little bit for living what I saw as a cold existence. This too is ironic.
But still, despite his revelation to me in the Feminine Products aisle, he was someone to be depended on in our store. If the lanes needed backup, he was the first to respond. If someone needed a team lift, if someone couldn't find an item for a guest, if someone didn't know how to do something on their PDA, he was the go-to guy. He was just a high schooler, but he was relied on by people much older.
The third bit about him is that he is the one I wrote about last summer, the one who gave my car a jump that afternoon in the Target parking lot. It was after my very first day of work, I had never talked to him in my life, and yet there he was, asking me if I could use some help.
For the year that's passed since that parking lot act of kindness, I have held it up as the nicest thing a stranger has done for me. I have asked myself if I would do the same for someone I didn't know. I have hung the act over the person's head as a red badge of sorts, admiring him for it and defining him by it.
And then I came back to work for the summer, and found out that he had been fired from Target for stealing. Rumor has it that when a guest would purchase an ipod, he would take two out of the case, and drop the extra into his pocket. Rumor has it that he had been doing it for a while. The person who told me all of this also told me that he (car jumper, ipod thief) is some kind of genius. I gave the teller my wryest raised eyebrows: Yes, because truly smart people steal ipods from their places of employment.
When I first heard this news, I was shocked.
Now I'm purely disgusted.
It makes me sick to think that he got a job at Target. That he got to know the wonderful people who work here, that he gained their trust. That he dared to build himself a reputation as a good kid, as someone who was helpful and dependable. That he jumped people's cars and told people sob stories about his cold view of humanity. That he did all of this and then stole from us. When I told this to the guy who told me the theft story, he rolled his eyes a little: Holly, we didn't lose any money by it. They got it all back. Besides, it wouldn't have come out of our paychecks anyway.
Gee, thanks. That makes me feel better. Because there is absolutely no deeply immoral aspect to the situation that is more troubling than the financial aspects.
I lay on my stomach here in my bed, laptop propped on pillow, and I think back to that day in the Tampon Aisle (who're we kidding, here; that's what it should be called) and I feel (oh so ironically,) like maybe he was right all along. Maybe people can't be trusted. Maybe people don't have bits of bad and bits of good swimming around inside their chests. Maybe it has to be all one or the other.
And then I look into myself and I see both. But the good, the good is always trying to stand over the bad, to put it into the shade forever. And I think that maybe other people's chests are similar. That they hold both, that they hold everything. And that even when the bad gets a trump it doesn't mean that the good isn't following behind with the ace of something.
I think that perhaps jumping a car in an afternoon parking lot shouldn't be overshadowed by a petty theft. That I shouldn't let it be.
Where the very best conversations take place.
Kidding.
Anyway, it all struck me as strange at the time. Now it's just ironic.
A few guys had just been caught trying to steal a TV from our store. Apparently they had hit up Walmart recently, so we were anticipating a visit as well. (Note: Target has not asked me to write this, but don't try to steal from us. You'll get caught. And I have a mean roundhouse, thanks to my friend Denise Austin.)
Anyway, he and I were discussing the attempted theft while pulling boxes of tampons forward on the shelves.
And he went on and on about how whenever someone stole from our store, it really rattled him. How it made him jumpy and nervous, and how, most of all, it made him not trust people. He talked a lot about that. Not trusting people.
As I pride myself on my deep faith in humanity, I didn't empathize. I simply pitied him a little bit for living what I saw as a cold existence. This too is ironic.
But still, despite his revelation to me in the Feminine Products aisle, he was someone to be depended on in our store. If the lanes needed backup, he was the first to respond. If someone needed a team lift, if someone couldn't find an item for a guest, if someone didn't know how to do something on their PDA, he was the go-to guy. He was just a high schooler, but he was relied on by people much older.
The third bit about him is that he is the one I wrote about last summer, the one who gave my car a jump that afternoon in the Target parking lot. It was after my very first day of work, I had never talked to him in my life, and yet there he was, asking me if I could use some help.
For the year that's passed since that parking lot act of kindness, I have held it up as the nicest thing a stranger has done for me. I have asked myself if I would do the same for someone I didn't know. I have hung the act over the person's head as a red badge of sorts, admiring him for it and defining him by it.
And then I came back to work for the summer, and found out that he had been fired from Target for stealing. Rumor has it that when a guest would purchase an ipod, he would take two out of the case, and drop the extra into his pocket. Rumor has it that he had been doing it for a while. The person who told me all of this also told me that he (car jumper, ipod thief) is some kind of genius. I gave the teller my wryest raised eyebrows: Yes, because truly smart people steal ipods from their places of employment.
When I first heard this news, I was shocked.
Now I'm purely disgusted.
It makes me sick to think that he got a job at Target. That he got to know the wonderful people who work here, that he gained their trust. That he dared to build himself a reputation as a good kid, as someone who was helpful and dependable. That he jumped people's cars and told people sob stories about his cold view of humanity. That he did all of this and then stole from us. When I told this to the guy who told me the theft story, he rolled his eyes a little: Holly, we didn't lose any money by it. They got it all back. Besides, it wouldn't have come out of our paychecks anyway.
Gee, thanks. That makes me feel better. Because there is absolutely no deeply immoral aspect to the situation that is more troubling than the financial aspects.
I lay on my stomach here in my bed, laptop propped on pillow, and I think back to that day in the Tampon Aisle (who're we kidding, here; that's what it should be called) and I feel (oh so ironically,) like maybe he was right all along. Maybe people can't be trusted. Maybe people don't have bits of bad and bits of good swimming around inside their chests. Maybe it has to be all one or the other.
And then I look into myself and I see both. But the good, the good is always trying to stand over the bad, to put it into the shade forever. And I think that maybe other people's chests are similar. That they hold both, that they hold everything. And that even when the bad gets a trump it doesn't mean that the good isn't following behind with the ace of something.
I think that perhaps jumping a car in an afternoon parking lot shouldn't be overshadowed by a petty theft. That I shouldn't let it be.
Monday, March 21, 2011
North Face
We finished the movie "North Face" today in German class.
It was about a group of climbers attempting to be the first people to scale the north face of the Eiger (a mountain in the Bernese Alps).
I guess I thought, after all the struggle, after all the frostbite and avalanches, that there would be at least a small happy ending.
But, without giving too much away, I have to tell you that there isn't.
That's what happens when you make movies based off of real life; things don't always end well.
Sometimes people die.
I walked back from class feeling sad, and I am still feeling sad. And I don't think it's because people died, exactly. It's because they tried so hard not to die, but they did anyway. The ogre that the mountain is named after managed to eat them up while they were still attached to their ropes, while they still clutched rocks.
I sat in my German class today, staring at a movie projected on a shiny whiteboard and wondered why in the world anyone would ever try to climb a mountain. People die on mountains. And not just throughout history. Not just back in the day. People die on mountains now, despite technology and despite global warming. Why would anyone risk that? Why would anyone risk their life to stand on the top of a gigantic mound of rock for a few seconds (because of course any longer and you suffocate for lack of oxygen)? I think I need someone to explain this to me sometime. I also think that maybe deep down I know the reason, but I just don't understand it. I sit on my bed and read books about mountains and I feel no desire to climb one. And I don't think that limits me. I don't feel any desire to fight against the elements. My battles are mainly mental, which is all right too.
Sometimes people die on mountains, and sometimes people die peacefully in their beds. But I wouldn't say that mountaineers have necessarily had any greater of a journey than those who die in bed. Maybe higher journeys, though.
"When you're at the bottom - Toni once told me - at the foot of the wall, and you look up, you ask yourself: How can anyone climb that? Why would anyone even want to? But hours later when you're at the top looking down, you've forgotten everything. Except the one person you promised you would come back to." -North Face (2008)
It was about a group of climbers attempting to be the first people to scale the north face of the Eiger (a mountain in the Bernese Alps).
I guess I thought, after all the struggle, after all the frostbite and avalanches, that there would be at least a small happy ending.
But, without giving too much away, I have to tell you that there isn't.
That's what happens when you make movies based off of real life; things don't always end well.
Sometimes people die.
I walked back from class feeling sad, and I am still feeling sad. And I don't think it's because people died, exactly. It's because they tried so hard not to die, but they did anyway. The ogre that the mountain is named after managed to eat them up while they were still attached to their ropes, while they still clutched rocks.
I sat in my German class today, staring at a movie projected on a shiny whiteboard and wondered why in the world anyone would ever try to climb a mountain. People die on mountains. And not just throughout history. Not just back in the day. People die on mountains now, despite technology and despite global warming. Why would anyone risk that? Why would anyone risk their life to stand on the top of a gigantic mound of rock for a few seconds (because of course any longer and you suffocate for lack of oxygen)? I think I need someone to explain this to me sometime. I also think that maybe deep down I know the reason, but I just don't understand it. I sit on my bed and read books about mountains and I feel no desire to climb one. And I don't think that limits me. I don't feel any desire to fight against the elements. My battles are mainly mental, which is all right too.
Sometimes people die on mountains, and sometimes people die peacefully in their beds. But I wouldn't say that mountaineers have necessarily had any greater of a journey than those who die in bed. Maybe higher journeys, though.
"When you're at the bottom - Toni once told me - at the foot of the wall, and you look up, you ask yourself: How can anyone climb that? Why would anyone even want to? But hours later when you're at the top looking down, you've forgotten everything. Except the one person you promised you would come back to." -North Face (2008)
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Lenten Resolution Revealed (among other things)
This morning I sat in Turtle Mountain Cafe, reading Langston Hughes, eating my breakfast yogurt, and sipping a hot chocolate that would have tasted better had I not witnessed the worker making it. She dumped a few scoops of powder into hot water and stirred it around. No whipped cream or anything. So much for Fat Tuesday.
I'm giving up chocolate for Lent (and any admiration for my sacrifice is much appreciated-I think chocolate is probably the hardest thing I can possibly give up, save reading, which would not even be realistic), so I thought I'd better get as much in as I can while I can. Will eat a Kit Kat later as well.
I've also been dreaming of Spring Break. 1 exam, 1 four page paper, and 3 days are all that stand between me and home.
I'm giving up chocolate for Lent (and any admiration for my sacrifice is much appreciated-I think chocolate is probably the hardest thing I can possibly give up, save reading, which would not even be realistic), so I thought I'd better get as much in as I can while I can. Will eat a Kit Kat later as well.
I've also been dreaming of Spring Break. 1 exam, 1 four page paper, and 3 days are all that stand between me and home.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Imagine Again
Thirty years ago today John Lennon was shot and killed in New York City.
Earlier that day, Lennon had kindly stopped to sign an autograph for his murderer, who traveled all the way from Hawaii just to do the deed.
John Lennon was shot in the back by that man, who carried a copy of The Catcher in the Rye.
The other day, I came across a few quotes by Paul McCartney about John Lennon:
"I definitely did look up to John. We all looked up to John. He was older and he was very much the leader; he was the quickest wit and the smartest."
(when asked if he missed sitting knee to knee with John Lennon, writing songs) "Are you kidding? Of course I bloody miss it. I'm sitting in the room with John, him with me. Believe me, we're both pretty good editors. We were young turks. We were smartasses. And we did some amazing things. I would love him to be here now, saying, 'Don't bloody do that!' – or, more wonderfully, 'That's great!' So yeah, I really had the greatest writing partner."
And I decided to look for other places/ways John Lennon is remembered:
Here (Strawberry Fields, NYC)
Here (Imagine Peace Tower, Iceland)
Here
Here (A CD of my mom's; I grew up listening to it)
Here (The movie Nowhere Boy, about a young John Lennon)
Here (The Beatles)
And Here (John Lennon and his widow, Yoko Ono)
Finally, I just have to post the lyrics to that beautiful, beautiful song itself:
Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
Earlier that day, Lennon had kindly stopped to sign an autograph for his murderer, who traveled all the way from Hawaii just to do the deed.
John Lennon was shot in the back by that man, who carried a copy of The Catcher in the Rye.
The other day, I came across a few quotes by Paul McCartney about John Lennon:
"I definitely did look up to John. We all looked up to John. He was older and he was very much the leader; he was the quickest wit and the smartest."
(when asked if he missed sitting knee to knee with John Lennon, writing songs) "Are you kidding? Of course I bloody miss it. I'm sitting in the room with John, him with me. Believe me, we're both pretty good editors. We were young turks. We were smartasses. And we did some amazing things. I would love him to be here now, saying, 'Don't bloody do that!' – or, more wonderfully, 'That's great!' So yeah, I really had the greatest writing partner."
And I decided to look for other places/ways John Lennon is remembered:
Here (Strawberry Fields, NYC)
Here (Imagine Peace Tower, Iceland)
Here
Here (A CD of my mom's; I grew up listening to it)
Here (The movie Nowhere Boy, about a young John Lennon)
Here (The Beatles)
And Here (John Lennon and his widow, Yoko Ono)
Finally, I just have to post the lyrics to that beautiful, beautiful song itself:
Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
A Disparaging Day
I'm feeling a little beaten down by college right now.
Got my Honors essay back today with an A-, but also with comments labeling it as "smart, well observed, and unusually well-written," but also as "superficial, unconnected, and undeveloped."
Truthfully, I've been getting comments such as these on a lot of essays lately. My writing is great, my style is wonderful, but apparently there's not much behind it.
This is obviously extremely troubling for me-to have professors think that I can write pretty, but that I'm ultimately uninsightful and unable to make strong arguments.
I had a bit of a breakdown after Honors, needless to say.
Crying unabashedly, I walked through campus, down behind Spooner and Gay and the Science Building, until I finally realized that I had nowhere to go. In the end I would just have to turn around and head back to the library to make things right.
College can be a surprisingly lonely place sometimes; your friends can sympathize, but in the end they have their own studying to do. Your parents aren't there to tell you that everything is going to be okay, and that when you wake up in the morning your problems will have worked themselves out. In college, you have to work your own problems out before bed. You have to be independent, and you have to bounce back from things whether you want to or not. You always have to try harder next time. You have to write two papers and study for a test in one weekend, because you have no other choice. Because you did have a choice; you chose to pursue higher education. You're paying for your classes. You wanted to be here.
And so I'm trying very hard not to let the A- and disparaging comments get to me too much. I have miles to go before I sleep, and I don't intend to waste time dwelling, unless said dwelling will help me to write a better paper.
Goodnight, blog readers. May your struggles lead to triumphs, and may you find a secluded park bench on which to sit and think whenever you are in need of one.
Got my Honors essay back today with an A-, but also with comments labeling it as "smart, well observed, and unusually well-written," but also as "superficial, unconnected, and undeveloped."
Truthfully, I've been getting comments such as these on a lot of essays lately. My writing is great, my style is wonderful, but apparently there's not much behind it.
This is obviously extremely troubling for me-to have professors think that I can write pretty, but that I'm ultimately uninsightful and unable to make strong arguments.
I had a bit of a breakdown after Honors, needless to say.
Crying unabashedly, I walked through campus, down behind Spooner and Gay and the Science Building, until I finally realized that I had nowhere to go. In the end I would just have to turn around and head back to the library to make things right.
College can be a surprisingly lonely place sometimes; your friends can sympathize, but in the end they have their own studying to do. Your parents aren't there to tell you that everything is going to be okay, and that when you wake up in the morning your problems will have worked themselves out. In college, you have to work your own problems out before bed. You have to be independent, and you have to bounce back from things whether you want to or not. You always have to try harder next time. You have to write two papers and study for a test in one weekend, because you have no other choice. Because you did have a choice; you chose to pursue higher education. You're paying for your classes. You wanted to be here.
And so I'm trying very hard not to let the A- and disparaging comments get to me too much. I have miles to go before I sleep, and I don't intend to waste time dwelling, unless said dwelling will help me to write a better paper.
Goodnight, blog readers. May your struggles lead to triumphs, and may you find a secluded park bench on which to sit and think whenever you are in need of one.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
An Ordinary Monday
Yesterday was a usual Monday for me. I woke up earlier than I wanted to, sat through (and even enjoyed) four classes, and at 5 p.m. I went to dinner with my friends
It was only at dinner when I first heard part of the news: My friend Aaron, who's living this year in Blakely Hall, told me that all of the residents had been evacuated around 4 p.m. because of a 'gas leak.' They had been noticing an off smell for a few days, but no one said anything until the janitor reported it.
Walking out of Food Service, I bumped into my friend Phil, who's also living in Blakely. He told me that he had also been banished from the dorm for the time being. Phil didn't know anything about a gas leak, however; when the CA told him to leave, she only said that she couldn't tell him why he had to.
I thought it was a little strange that Aaron and Phil's stories didn't correspond; why wasn't Phil told that there was a gas leak like Aaron was? I didn't think much of it, however, until I got a text from Phil a few hours later:
"A kid died in Blakely. They just brought the body bag out to the ambulance, and the Chancellor is coming to talk to us about it."
An email was sent out through the Morris list serv. late last night:
I am writing to share very sad news. One of our students, xxxxxx,
was found dead in his residence hall room this afternoon.
UMM Campus Police, Morris Police, and Stevens County coroner xxxxx have responded. A standard medical/legal death investigation is
underway. There did not appear to be any suspicious circumstances
surrounding the death or any health or safety concerns for the campus
community.
xxxxxx was a senior enrolled full-time at UMM for fall semester 2010
as a philosophy major. He was 24 and from Baxter, MN.
Student Counseling staff are available to meet with students and other
members of the campus community. The office is open Monday through Friday
from 8:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. To reach Student Counseling after 4:30 pm.,
please call Campus Police at 320-287-1601. Their services are free and
confidential.
As always if you receive media inquiries, please refer them to University
Relations, 320-589-6398.
This is a sad time for our campus. We extend our condolences to xxxxx's
family and friends.
-End email-
The xxx's were added by me, just so you know.
So it seems that while I was plodding through my ordinary Monday, someone was lying in a dorm room nearby, never to get up and walk out again.
I apologize if I sound blunt about all this. I don't feel blunt about it.
It's so horrible. Just imagine-the body wasn't even found until about three days after the student died.
Last night all I could think about was that the student's parents were going to be getting a call soon. And after that call, as I continue to imagine, his parents are going to have to continue living their lives with the knowledge that they sent a son off to college one year, and he never came back.
Today, campus seems ordinary. So far there are no signs of grief, no extra whisperings before class starts, no huddled groups clustered on the mall. The flag isn't at half mast.
Someone's missing, though, and I suspect that we're all feeling the loss, even as we go about our ordinary Tuesday.
It was only at dinner when I first heard part of the news: My friend Aaron, who's living this year in Blakely Hall, told me that all of the residents had been evacuated around 4 p.m. because of a 'gas leak.' They had been noticing an off smell for a few days, but no one said anything until the janitor reported it.
Walking out of Food Service, I bumped into my friend Phil, who's also living in Blakely. He told me that he had also been banished from the dorm for the time being. Phil didn't know anything about a gas leak, however; when the CA told him to leave, she only said that she couldn't tell him why he had to.
I thought it was a little strange that Aaron and Phil's stories didn't correspond; why wasn't Phil told that there was a gas leak like Aaron was? I didn't think much of it, however, until I got a text from Phil a few hours later:
"A kid died in Blakely. They just brought the body bag out to the ambulance, and the Chancellor is coming to talk to us about it."
An email was sent out through the Morris list serv. late last night:
I am writing to share very sad news. One of our students, xxxxxx,
was found dead in his residence hall room this afternoon.
UMM Campus Police, Morris Police, and Stevens County coroner xxxxx have responded. A standard medical/legal death investigation is
underway. There did not appear to be any suspicious circumstances
surrounding the death or any health or safety concerns for the campus
community.
xxxxxx was a senior enrolled full-time at UMM for fall semester 2010
as a philosophy major. He was 24 and from Baxter, MN.
Student Counseling staff are available to meet with students and other
members of the campus community. The office is open Monday through Friday
from 8:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. To reach Student Counseling after 4:30 pm.,
please call Campus Police at 320-287-1601. Their services are free and
confidential.
As always if you receive media inquiries, please refer them to University
Relations, 320-589-6398.
This is a sad time for our campus. We extend our condolences to xxxxx's
family and friends.
-End email-
The xxx's were added by me, just so you know.
So it seems that while I was plodding through my ordinary Monday, someone was lying in a dorm room nearby, never to get up and walk out again.
I apologize if I sound blunt about all this. I don't feel blunt about it.
It's so horrible. Just imagine-the body wasn't even found until about three days after the student died.
Last night all I could think about was that the student's parents were going to be getting a call soon. And after that call, as I continue to imagine, his parents are going to have to continue living their lives with the knowledge that they sent a son off to college one year, and he never came back.
Today, campus seems ordinary. So far there are no signs of grief, no extra whisperings before class starts, no huddled groups clustered on the mall. The flag isn't at half mast.
Someone's missing, though, and I suspect that we're all feeling the loss, even as we go about our ordinary Tuesday.
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