And I like it…

Been, as they say, off the grid for the past several days. The analog world is so….not digital.

I kind of like it.

But I can’t stay away for long. Back soon.



I Know Your Shame

This morning I was at my local Peet’s waiting on a latte when I noticed the line behind me was getting pretty long. Like out the door. Commuters were starting to get the angry eyes.

The guy behind the counter pulling coffee shots and making drinks was moving slow, and when he noticed the backup, he got a little flustered. The more he eyed the long line of impatient workday people, the more flustered he got.

Suddenly, one of the other people behind the counter went, “whoa! Ok, you work the register” and then she physically pulled the guy away from the espresso machine and shoved him at the register. The young man sighed, dejected, turned to the next customer and said “can I help you?”

The kid was put in the hot spot, the bottleneck, the key role….and he couldn’t handle it.

And I felt bad for the guy. Then I slipped into the Wayback Machine.

The year was 1990. It was summertime. My folks were living in Carlsbad, so I went back home to C’bad to spend my summer between semesters at NMSU.

My salt-o-the earth parents insisted that I couldn’t enjoy the summer break. I was required to get a job.

Times were a little tough in Carlsbad in that year. Many of the potash mines had closed and jobs were a little scarce. Any good summer job had already been snapped up, and that left me with only one place that would hire me.

Taco Bell.

I slipped into my double knit polyester rust colored uniform, pinned my name to my chest, and went to work slinging beans.

I had worked a cashier’s job in high school, and one of my coworkers taught me how to count change and keep my till balanced to the penny. The Taco Bell people loved me. My till always balanced, I was pretty good as customer service, and I kept the place clean.

Inevitably, the manager decided to give me a shot working on the drive thru window.

The hot spot. The bottleneck. The key role.

It started out ok, I guess. I was a little confounded by taking the order but not taking money right away and keeping track of which car owed what amount and which order came next. The line of cars started to back up. It extended out onto Church street.

I managed to give the wrong order to at least three different cars.

Some guy came inside the restaurant all pissed off and complained to the manager. Cuz, you know, his tacos weren’t right. Or something.

Anyhow, I was unceremoniously pulled off drive through and put back on front register.

It was clear that I’d failed, and my failure was Very Bad. My coworkers wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I’d once been a star employee. I was now disgraced.

I was never given another shot at my nemesis the Drive Thru. Never had another chance to prove I could handle it (not that I cared, honestly).

I made it through the rest of that summer working register and of course went back to Las Cruces. Classes began again at NMSU and over the years I graduated, got a job and lived my life.

Twenty years later, the embarrassment is still fresh. Another minimum wage employee has learned the humiliation of not being quite good enough to handle the hot spot.

I hope he gets over it quicker than I did.
.
.
.
.
Tangentially related, two years later, a F2 tornado ripped through town, injuring 6 people at the Taco Bell and ripping the bell off the top of the building.

The tornados in Carlsbad are the stuff of nightmares. My personal tornado story is well documented here.




A short Google search, and lo and behold, a photo of the 1992 tornado. The Internet is a weird thing.




Image from Southeastern New Mexico Weather Web Page.



Grown Up Decisions, Made by Comparison

The scene: The Good Man and me, at the furniture store. He’s on one end of a really nice couch. I’m at the other.

We both have our feet up on a fabulously cool ottoman/bench.

He digs the couch. A lot. I like it, but I am a little hesitant. It’s absolutely unlike anything we’ve looked at all day. The color and the fabric are exactly what he said he didn’t want.

Also, the style is very modern and I’m generally a more traditional sort of gal.

I’m wavering. It’s cool. Very cool. But it’s out of my zone.

Here’s where we pick up the conversation.

The Good Man: “So. Let me ask you this question: Would your dad buy this couch?”

Me: “Oh hell no. He’d say it’s impractical.”

The Good Man: “Right! Now let me ask you this question. Would *my* dad buy this couch?”

Me: “Oh hell no. Same reason.”

The Good Man: “There you have it.”

And there he had me. Snared me in his blend of logic and emotion. Mixed to perfection like a spousal apothecary.

Damn the man who knows which levers to pull in my brain. Damn him, I say!!

And I mumbled something similar under my breath as I got out a credit card and handed it over to the salesguy.

It is a pretty chula couch with two matching chairs and the bench/ottoman for resting toesies.

I just hope I’m cool enough to own it.





Damn it! I can’t believe I bought a couch without knowing THIS masterpiece was on the market! GAH!






Photo from I Can Haz Cheeseburger.



Reaction

From Wikipedia: “Rust is a general term for describing iron oxides….the term is applied to red oxides, formed by the reaction of iron and oxygen in the presence of water or air moisture. There are also other forms of rust, such as the result of the reaction of iron and chloride in an environment deprived of oxygen…”

Yup. A little metal. A little salt air.

Reaction.

Photographic magic.



Copyright 2010, Karen Fayeth



Today’s Theme Thursday is: Reaction.

Photo subject to the Creative Commons license in the right column of this page.



Well I’ll Be Darned

Over the many years of our association, The Good Man and I have run into quite a few “well I’ll be darned” moments. New York boy and New Mexico girl are sometimes worlds apart in our life experiences.

The latest came around when we moved into our new apartment home. I’ve lived in huge apartment complexes, six unit buildings, and the last place I lived was a duplex.

And at each of those places, they way you got rid of your trash was to schlep it downstairs to the big metal trash bins in the parking lot.

But our new place has a curiosity….a trash chute! This blows my tiny little mind. I’ve never even seen one much less lived somewhere with one.

This is the coolest thing EVER.



So beautifully unobtrusive





Ok, that hole is a little scary, but rather effective


It’s a pretty, shiny bit of steel. Open the convenient door, drop in my trash, close the door, dust off my hands and whistle a happy tune.

It’s just down the hall and around a corner from my place. I can even slip out there in the morning in my nightgown and bare feet. Fabulous!

The other day, The Good Man put some boxes down the chute and said he was pretty sure they were stuck. I suggested he send a bowling ball down after it. He wasn’t amused.

See, he’s used to the Super getting really mad when the trash chute gets blocked. Me, I don’t know from a Super or a trash chute, so I have the luxury of just being a wise ass.

So The Good Man is all “yeah, whatever” and I’m all “whooooooo!” about this feature of our home.
.
.
.
Next time, on Intercontinental relations, we’ll discuss “Why are the traffic lights in New Mexico horizontal, that’s just weird” (him) counterbalanced against “Why doesn’t California use mile markers? No wonder you people drive like crap.” (me)