Friday, January 27, 2012

Waffle Girl

Just look at it. There will be no writing today.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Dickheads Behaving Badly

This past Sunday I worked at the Waffle Cabin and I was determined to take a legitimate lunch break. Usually I keep a liter or so of nutritious green liquid in the fridge to sustain me but on Sunday I just wanted a slice of pizza and five minutes to eat it in peace. At around 11 I hadn't any customers for a while so I put up my official "back in 5 minutes" sign along with a hand written sign that said "Grabbing Lunch. Be Back Soon.-Emma " with a smiley face at the end. I had my bases covered and I assumed that people would understand and respect my need to eat. So I walked fast and weaved through the crowds to get my pizza as quickly as possible. My mistake was that I came back to the cabin to eat it. I just didn't like the idea of leaving it completely unattended should there be a fire or a waffle riot. Also the base lodge was crowded and I was in uniform and I was worried that I might be tracked down by hoards of children.
I set up my stool in a corner as far away from the window as possible and began eating my pizza. Maybe it had been slightly more than 5 minutes since I left but that's why I put the other sign up. Within seconds some guy had his big ugly face pressed up to the window. His hands were around his eyes shielding the light and he was definitely PEERING at me in a confused and hostile way. So, with a slice of pizza in one hand and a mouth full of cheese I gestured politely that I would just be another moment. He didn't go away but rather leaned on the counter and tapped his fingers impatiently. If I were a vendor anywhere other than at the base of a ski lift this might be understandable behavior but as it is I can be pretty fucking sure that this guy did not have any urgent appointments for which I was making him late. I swallowed my current mouthful, put down my half-eaten pizza, and attended to the man  because he seemed like the type whose indignation would escalate quickly over time and I'd rather get to him in his basic dickface stage rather than wait until he reached full-blown belligerent asshole. 

So I sold the guy three waffles for him and his slack-jawed friends (who were rolling cigarettes on the picnic we put out. Handle your shit in private, people that is a gross thing to do on a public surface) and watched as he pointedly put his change back into his wallet rather than tipping me. I don't live or die by tips so this kind of thing usually doesn't bother me but something about the fact that he was not tipping me because I took a 6 minute lunch break made me wish I had the power to perform a shit-your-pants curse. By the way, if Hogwarts existed in the real world that would be a real curse and everyone would always have explosive diarrhea.

By the time I got back to my pizza it was cold and I had to eat it standing up because my moment of leisure had passed.  Next time I am just going to let assholes be assholes and eat my  lunch.  Most people are happy that I am there to sell them waffles. This is the way it should be. Other people seem to feel that they are OWED waffles and if I am not there to serve them promptly than I am violating the terms of some contract that I was supposed to have read. These people speak to me like a 12 year old who didn't do my daily reading and who shouldn't be charging them so much for waffles. 

Of course I was fully expecting all of this when I signed on for the job but expecting outstanding douchebaggery and actually dealing with it in person are two very different things. Luckily for me I have giant dimples and a melodious voice  so people rarely pick up on my hostility (people who know me know full well how completely hostile I can be when I feel like it but at work I am the breathing incarnate of effervescent charm. you'll just have to trust me on that). The truth is that most people buying waffles are so stoked to be getting a waffle that I really enjoy serving them but they don't make very interesting writing. The over-indulged sociopaths might be a pain in the ass but they do give me something to write about.

Friday, January 6, 2012

The Least Endearing Memoir Ever Written: Chapter 1

A little smidgebit of something I've been working on.

Stage 1: The Blooming Adolescent in a New Millennium

When I was 12 years old brooding was among my top five favorite activities. When I wasn't playing soccer, skiing, riding horses, or having a generally awesome childhood experience you could usually find me in my room with the lights off thinking "I bet no one is thinking about me right now. Having a soul in this Universe is so lonely..." or something like that. I would picture myself crying in these moments but in reality I was almost always trying very hard to contain a joyful, lilting giggle. I was so tickled by my own depth that I couldn't complete even the most bleak and despairing thoughts with congratulating myself at least a little bit.

My cultural consciousness came to fruition in a swirling mass of self-pity, hormonal insanity and Manic-Panic Fuchsia Shock hair dye. It was the year 2000, we had all just survived Y2k, and I was pretty sure that my point of view on everyone and everything was completely and empirically correct. I was tortured and my suffering was unrivaled because only I could truly understand the absolute darkness of the world around me. It was hard work but somebody had to step up. I spent my seventh grade year carefully honing my scowl and figuring out exactly how hard I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep myself from smiling.

You can imagine, then, when in the fall of my eighth grade year how completely annoying it was when some terrorists decided to crash a couple of planes into a couple of buildings and kill a couple thousand people a mere few hundred miles away from where I was happily building my monopoly in existential angst.  I didn't know anyone on those planes or in the buildings and as I watched those affected break down and express their anguish I felt a part of my identity slipping away. Obviously being the moody sad girl wasn't going to fly for a while so I needed to figure out some other way to show everyone exactly how different and special I was.


More to come eventually

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Things I Know Nothin About Episode 5: High Fashion

I like clothes. They're expressive and they can be mood elevating and they're fun to pick out. I don't have a whole lot of money to spend on clothes but for me that adds to the fun. Almost everything I own was bought off of a sale rack or at a thrift store or at a store that was cheap to begin with. I value good fit, solid construction, visual interest, and practicality. That being said not everything I own is particularly practical, but I don't own anything that I've only worn once or twice. I will wear the pink silk party dress that I bought for a special occasion on a normal day should I feel so inclined. I'll pair that shit with gold sneakers and a hoodie and rock it in the grocery store. I know I look unbalanced but it just makes me feel better about the gruesome reality of the world we live in. That's my relationship with fashion as best as I can describe it without giving you a full blown timeline of my shopping habits. Fashion is a creative form of expression that we get to partake in everyday and for that I am grateful. I am often troubled, however, when I take the next step and begin to think about fashion as an industry which I am buying into.

I am about 5'2 and anywhere between a size 4 and a size 8 depending on whether or not I need to sit down in whatever I'm wearing. Although I quit competitive sports several years ago my butt and quads tell a different story.  Basically, the fashion industry likes to ignore people with my body type not so much because it is unattractive, but because it is difficult to fit. Tall and skinny is just easier. I get that. Throw a quick paced fashion show with multiple wardrobe changes into the mix and I can almost understand why the face of fashion is so emaciated. I get that for many designers fashion is an art form and tall, skinny, weird lookin' bitches enhance their aesthetic because they are odd and exceptional and a normal girl, even a very pretty one, would make too commercial a statement. Fine. I am not going to drool over these kinds of designers but I do appreciate the beauty in what they create. What really bothers me about the industry is the inclusion of "Red Carpet Looks" into the realm of high fashion. A beautiful gown may be a piece of art but the minute you bring it out onto some meaningless procession of Hollywood stars it becomes a more damaging statement about standards of beauty and the financial implications of what "having style" really means.

Hollywood stars are the last people that any of us should be emulating in our fashion choices. Not only do they have tons of money, but they are getting free stuff thrown at them all the time for promotional reasons. It just isn't worth paying attention to. I'm not saying Hollywood style doesn't trickle down into my wardrobe indirectly, but I do not actively seek fashion guidance from Hollywood. Here is a picture I found online of three actresses who bother the shit out of me wearing dresses that are nice but have no place in the real world

If you are in a situation where you think to yourself "Oh my, I really need a gown and it really needs to be made by an important designer" than you are probably at least a little bit over-privileged and living a life that bears no resemblance to an authentic human experience. It is at this point in my ramblings that the "Things I know Nothing About" bit comes into play, because obviously, as a not rich person I don't know what kind of world these dresses actually get worn in. I just know that I wouldn't fit in there and have no envy of a lifestyle that facilitates spending on a dress what could be put towards something productive. Spending money on clothes you live your life in is one thing and I often wish that I had more disposable income so I could but another pair of Jcrew Cords. There is a huge divide between that and a multi-thousand dollar gown. And to wear such a gown one has to have a certain kind of body and spend a certain amount of energy on ones hair or makeup or the whole fantasy becomes sad and deflated. Hey, I went to prom. My dresses were homemade but I know the feeling of putting on something immensely beautiful and seeing all of your own flaws amplified in comparison.

To shift gears a bit, I would like take a moment to discuss trends and changes in the fashion landscape from decade to decade. There was a really interesting article in Vanity Fair  (You Say You Want A Devolution) recently about how fashion innovation has pretty much slowed down to a crashing halt in recent years and we are sort of stuck in a fashion feedback loop. I'm not going to try to take on the cultural implications of this because I've really only been fashionably conscious for a little over a decade (everything before age 12 is just a blur of leggings and scrunchies). I do think it's interesting though that my generation can't seem to get our shit together and do anything original. I know it's partly because our exposure to the past is exponentially greater to that of previous generations, but it has because so trendy to look like a relic that we seem to have forgotten that innovation is a thing that people do sometimes. Anyway the article says it better than I can. Go read it.

Ok. I've exhausted myself and I actually have  a room full of clothes to organize most of which seem to sweatpants and t shirts. All this talk and most of the time all I really want is to be comfortable and warm. Then again I'm from Vermont and my pragmatism can be pretty all consuming.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

The Return to Sanity

I just worked 11 days in a row, all 8 hour shifts and more. It was a holiday week which means I was very busy. It actually wasn't so bad seeing as I don't have a whole lot to do on my days off. Saving money is really boring if you're actually succeeding at it.  Also, since I neglected cleaning my room for 11 days because I was tired I now have something to do. Currently my issue is that I slept for a solid 11 hours last night and now I feel completely groggy and generally shitty. I'm thinking that cleaning can happen tomorrow and today can just be a lazy nothing day. I think I've earned one.

You might think that because I worked so many days I might have some interesting thoughts about my jobs and the people I've encountered this week. The truth is that I don't really want to talk about it too much. My job at the waffle hut is easily the most stressful thing I've ever done when it's busy. When it's not busy I love it because I get to take my time and make big pretty waffles and everyone is happy with me. When it is busy I am in a constant panic that I am going to run out of  proofed dough and not have enough waffles for everyone at the end of the day. When I'm feeling more generous I will explain exactly what I have to do at my job when I'm there by myself but as I said right now I just don't want to talk about it. Once I get better at it I'll probably feel better about it but right now thinking about it makes my blood pressure rise, as does the smell of waffles.

My other job is fine. I had a few more blowhards calling to ask stupid questions than usual but I am pro at fielding that shit and I get to sit down.

I am going to take the next 24 hours or so to recharge my brain and then I'll hopefully come back with something witty and wonderful to write about.