"L" is for the Way I Lug My Shoe at You

Yesterday Sam was running away from me and threw his shoe at me from the top of the stairs. Don't worry. This is how he shows me he loves me. It's his way of flirting. To show him that I love him too, I put his boat shoe in the swimming pool and watched it float out to the middle.

Then Sam had to retreive it.

Two Weeks Notice
I realized that the May entries are all really happy and hopeful and cheerful, and the June entries are just these cynical and exasperated essays about McDonald's, not even about our life as newlyweds. I realized my life was being consumed by my wrath toward this fast food sweatshop. My coworker, Katamazing, said that after she had worked there full time for a while, her family was like, what is happening to you? You're turning into such a B. I didn't want to become a B and also decided, after coming home in tears too often, that I would like to enjoy my first summer with Sam, in sunny CA, newlywed and all.

So that was that. Yesterday I put in my two weeks. I have more guitar students now, more motivation to practice, write music, and write words, and I decided to sign up for a 4 week oil painting class with my McDonald's money. I could say more about my decision to quit, and I probably will sometime, but I learned what I wanted and needed to learn, and it's time to live my dreams and develop myself in the way I've always intended--through art and through family. Not through fast food. After all, that's why I got a college degree: so I would never have to work at McDonald's. Now I know what it's like. Farewell, McDonalds. My last day is July 12th. I'll relish it until then.

So to fill you in on my life with my wonderful husband, here are some events I haven't even taken a moment to record. Shame on me. Here we go:

Happy Birthday to Sydney, Sam's sister! And me! My birthday was a while ago, the grand 22, but we wanted to make a cake and figured we could get Sydney in on it, only...she's in India. But it tasted really good, Sydney. You can blow on the computer screen and make a wish!

Janet's Graduation, NYC
Hurrah to the Rhodes sisters! After 5 years for me, and 6 years for Janet, we both finally graduated with our bachelors--mine in music and hers in photography. I flew to New York to go to her graduation from the School of Visual Arts at Radio City Music Hall. Look how happy and proud my dad is. It was a great trip--lots of good food and a sibling sleepover at Janet's apartment. Yay!

Our Open House
Gilbert, Arizona, a.k.a. heaven on earth. On May 17th me and Sam had our open house in Sam's hometown. It was my first time seeing where he grew up, and who knows, maybe we'll end up there again someday. I don't have much of a longing for Colorado Springs, but I love how much Sam loves where he grew up. The open house was at Sam's best man's family's ranch, the Hastings. Here's Sam on the left mingling with the folks. It's like his whole ward showed up. They sure like Sam. "I hope you know you're marrying a really good guy," one of the ladies told me.


Happy Two Months!
Any occasion to celebrate! Sam got me some flowers and we went to what instantly became our favorite resteraunt: Rootabegorz in Tustin. It's really unique and the food was amazing--if you come visit we'll take you there. (Bribe!) The roses are beautiful. I'd been wondering if I would ever get flowers from Sam, which I hadn't since we'd been married (is two months a long time without flowers? Must be spoiled from the wedding). It turns out that Sam didn't think I liked getting flowers--miscommunication from many moons ago. We had an in depth discussion about it, and flowers have returned to our continual courtship in all their glory. The new philosophy is back to Sam's original standard: there is never a wrong time to give your lovee flowers. Men: give flowers liberally. Women: always accept graciously or never get flowers again.



Chrysanthemums on the Run
Annnnnd here we are together at a wedding reception we went to last night for Sam's friend Bryan. Do you like Sam's boutenier? We found it in the grass and took it to our table with us, and later one of the bridesmaids came back and yanked it from our table to tuck it back into her bouquet. We saved it from an otherwise miserable death: trample-ation by ravenous guests at the buffet line.


Karaoke
Sam and I are on the activities committee at church, which means we were obligated (and gladly so) to sing at our first activity: ward karaoke night. Here's Sam singing "And IIiiiiii-ee-yaaaae will always love yooOOOOoooou!" This morning the ward choir director asked Sam to join the choir for Battle Hymn of the Republic at the end of the month, so you'd better believe it was a good performance.
Next time, on Sam and Liz:
Exterminating the Villains: Braving the Depths of a Bachelor's Wardrobe

Stay tuned.

I'll Give YOU a Chili Pepper Necklace

To include Sam more in this blog, here's a picture of him that represents how I felt at work today. The field study [continued] includes today's findings:

Yesterday Sam admitted a truth I've been afraid to face. He said, "Sometimes I think you're crazy for working at McDonald's." He said he would have quit a long time ago. I've considered it, but this is one project I'm going to finish out--it's just two more months. But when I went to work today, I looked at the classifieds during my break. The only other option for work for the rest of the summer might be telemarketing. That probably wouldn't get me a free meal.

But the free meal even lost it's flavor yesterday when I worked with an unusually smiley, fair skinned manager with whom I usually don't share shifts. She has perfect red hair with a tall twist pinned in the front--a white girl, slightly overweight, maybe a little older than me. I imagine she's single, and she said she's worked at McDonald's for a long, long time.

My least favorite thing about working with people I don't usually work with, especially manager types (and there are many levels of managament if you want a few cents more pay), is that they think they need to tell me how to do my job, which, by now, I think I know how to do. But this new gal began to tell me how to clean the counter, serve condiments with nuggets, and ask how many ketchup packets people want. But what really threw me for a loop was during my ten minute break. I don't get to choose when to take my ten or my lunch, and I really needed to eat something because I'd be standing for hours by then. I quickly rang up my food, which a manager needs to promo out for me before I sign a receipt and serve myself.

If it's after 10:30 I usually order a specialty sandwich with a side of apples, maybe an ice cream cone and cookies, or maybe a salad. I never buy a drink cause we can drink what we want, and I'll usually have water. But yesterday, because I needed to eat fast, I ordered three things off the dollar menu: a McChicken sandwhich, a small fry, and a side salad. I called this manager girl over to promo it out, and this totally threw me for a loop:

"You can only have the fries or the side salad, but not both."

Whhhaaat. I didn't even know how to respond. I pathetically fumbled around trying to decide between fries (my treat) and the salad and settled with the salad. Something about her request made me feel so belittled that, again, I felt my eyes pricking with tears. That's my first response. Girls get sad, guys get mad. Later, when I talked about it with Sam, he asked why I didn't stand up for myself and said he would have thrown it back at her. If I can order a $7.00 combo meal any other day, how could she possible restrict me to TWO items from the dollar menu?

Today then, I ordered a big southwest chicken salad, fries, and three cookies--a $7.00 meal. Take that, McDonald's! But a different manager promo-ed my meal and didn't even look at what I ordered. As I biked away in my hideous red uniform, bike helmet, and bag of food, I didn't feel very triumphant. And I wasn't even hungry, so I just put the salad in the fridge.

Today I started asking people at work (not the managers) if they like working there, but I stopped very quickly. I noticed that it made people who don't normally think about what they do all day think about what they do all day. And then I noticed that it seemed to make them pensieve and sad. I realized that I could possibly start a revolution--maybe even a strike--and lower everyone's morale. I wanted to point out the way we're treated sometimes--as total pleebs--but for most everyone there, beggars can't be choosers, and it seemed unwise to destroy whatever hope they had left in their work.

Pay day is Thursday and I think it will cheer everyone up. I'm saving up to buy a new bass bow--I lost my last one, which was worth about $1500. Isn't that crazy?

Today the BIG manager lady from the franchise was in today. She put a shiny plastic necklace of glittery chili peppers around my neck because we have a new burger: chipotle barbeque. "Aren't you excited?" she said, her eyes totally void of emotion. She came to my window later as she was putting out decorations celebrating the new burger and asked me, with the tone of addressing a small child, to tell her about the new burger. What's on it? I sarcastically read the printed piece of paper stuck to my register listing all the wonderful toppings on the chipotle barbeque bacon burger. She said, "Good, good." Even though I trailed off saying, "and other wonderful things like that." I think the brim of my visor keeps people from seeing my eyebrows raised when I'm smiling.

She said the first person to sell ten of these new burgers would get a free meal to take home. "That's like, five dollars, guys!" That almost made me sick--as if a five dollar bribe would get us all totally pumped up to sell like mad. The one time someone caught me not offering the new burger (which I never did), I said, "Would you like to try--?"

"NO. I want a double cheeseburger and a large drink."

So my method is to actually give the customer what they want.

This led to the other exciting discover today, besides that chili pepper necklaces really exist (ours look even cheaper if you can imagine). Today I found one other soul who works at McDonald's and also understands the concept of sarcasm.

He's about my age and is finishing a business degree at UC Irvine or something like that. He wears smart glasses. At McDonald's, wearing something like expensive looking glasses probably get's you more respect over the counter. I do it sometimes, but my ears hurt from my visor. So I wear a creamy shade of lipstick instead. And I like wearing my hair curly so I don't look Mexican--I think fewer people just start talking to me in Spanish. Anyway, this kid is one of the one's I asked if he liked working there, to which he gave me a really sarcastic, "Oh, you have no idea," sort of response.

Later, our manager brought out brand spanking new packs of RAGS! Woo! When I went to the rag bucket to clean the counters (and the receipt printers, which the big shot manager told me to clean) I said, "Oh my gosh, new RAGS! How exciting!" The only response I had was from this business student who will definitely make a lot more money when he gets his degree. Everyone else, I've discovered, doesn't really have a normal sense of humor.

But I don't think anything is normal at McDonald's. I don't even think it's normal that I'm working there. The funny thing is, I'm trying to think of other work, besides freelance music, that would suit me. I'm finding that what I do like about McDonald's is 1) it get's me out of the house, 2) I'm not sitting all day and am keeping a better figure, and 3) I get to be around a lot of people. Sometimes too many people, but enough to make me feel... like I'm involved in the community or something, like I'm connected somehow to the people. Going back to Provo in the fall, I wonder where to work where I won't be sitting down all day and I can be with a lot of people. Is retail the only option? Any ideas?

I Can Only Help Mexican Men

I was chatting with my old roommate Angel just now. Online, of course, because who actually chats on the phone anymore? I've made a recent effort to revert back to more primitive methods of communication, namely, the personal e-mail, letters, cards, and phonecalls. Note: this is a very recent effort and I'm still very awkward about it.

But I was just g-mail chatting with Angel (BYU's valedictorian in anthropology, might I add) about McDonald's again. She said it was very interesting from the lay perspective, that it was like I'm writing an ethnography, and at least I'm working for my money--she watched Coogl Runnings at work on Friday. Reminds me of the old days at the instrument office. Sooo... while I began to grow ashamed of my McDonald's-ness, I really can't deny that I'm fascinated by it and am almost relishing my experience there.

This Friday I came home after my first 8 hour shift and my feet were killing me. I had just enough energy to shower and collapse on my bed, but I couldn't sleep so I made phone calls and read a little. My newest priority is to buy some squishy Dr. Scholl's inserts and hope it helps--I've also become shameless in asking Sam for foot rubs, to which he always complies. But anyway, I actually had a great day on Friday--I had en epiphany in the morning when I noticed I couldn't stop smiling at work. I was really happy--can anyone explain that?

The Fast Food Counter Judgement Bar

Passing judgement: something I'm usually really good at, and I have an excellent imagination with which I imagine the best--and the worst. Having just graduated at BYU, with it's dress code, curfew and rules about shaving and cutting men's hair, etc, I realized that in such a short time there I had fallen into a really snooty/high-and-mighty method of passing judgement. On BYU campus, even an unshaven young man could be marked as a rebel and someone to steer clear of. So being here in California, and especially at McDonald's, I've had to get away from that mentality real fast.

[Ha! Sam is napping on the couch and he flinches so forcefully in his sleep that he just knocked the music stand and a bunch of music across the coffee table. He looked very confused and shaken for a second, and just fell right back to sleep. Here he is, hugging Life of Pi.]

In my first couple weeks at McDonalds I felt almost scared of the people around me, intimidated by their differences, flustered when asked if I had a lighter to borrow, unsure of the Mexican boy's intentions. I would size up every customer that came in--oh, he must be trouble, look at all those tatoos. Or he's swearing so much on his cell phone, how unintelligent. Or what is this couple up to--are they sleeping together because they're not married but they're here getting breakfast and she's not wearing any makeup. Is there such a thing as the modern concubine? On and on. I tried to turn my brain off but that rarely works.

But sometime this last week it finally clicked-- "it's not my place to judge," slipped through my mind like a mental slap on the hand. And by Friday there was such a difference in my comfort level and my morale. It's really none of my business what anyone's up to, and it shouldn't scare me--it's not my job, and... well. You know. It was just some sort of step outside the box that I can't really explain, but what i mean to say is that working at McDonald's is helping me overcome some of my overcomeables--

Such as "Clutter": The Feng Shui No-NoIn feng shui principles, not only should rooms be harmoniously balanced and free of clutter, but so should your soul. But in a very non-feng-shui-way, I've become very good at letting enviromental clutter disturb my inner peace. Or, actually, that's the point of feng shui: your environment can support or detract from your inner peace. I think that's why I haven't enjoyed any of my three trips to New York on that point--swarms of people, clutter, uncleanliness... it makes me anxious. I like it hear with the rhythm of the waves at the beach and the plentiful greenery--ahhhh, feel the chi....

Naturally, then, McDonald's is nothing like a meditation room or a Pilates video with soothing music and cool breezes. It's a McFlurry in there--a mad, demonic rush without the M&Ms. Yesterday, for the first time, I had coffee spilled across my whole forearm during the Saturday rush. We have really hot coffee--it's one of our selling points. (Did I just say "our"?) But we're always bumping into eachother and I imagined it would happen someday, and it caused a small commotion when it did. Everyone quickly asked if I was okay, people cleaned up for me, the customer told me not to worry about refilling his cup, etc. But then everyone just kept working. I had to step back for a second, clean up, and see if it was a real burn, which it wasn't, but it was so shocking I almost burst into tears. But then... everyone just kept going. No time for self-pity. So I took a few deep breaths, went back to the register, and in just a few minutes, the customer turnover left no one who had witnessed the commotion or who would have cared.

And so it is--life's crazy, but no use crying over spilled milk, or coffee for that matter. I also noticed that by this weekend, I no longer felt like a chicken with my head cut off, running around getting orders and iced coffees and ducking under the counter for packets of BBQ and hot mustard. I mean, I still run around and do those things, but now I feel like a chicken with my head still on. I'm not panicking all the time. Even amidst the timers beeping and people shouting "Sin queso, por favor!" and customers asking for refunds or fries that haven't been sitting for more than a minute or workers yelling for someone to refill the orange juice and make more coffee and you gave be the wrong order and we don't have any more panda toys I'm sorry ma'am and I'm out of dollar bills!!!

Amidst all of that, which can, of course, be overwhelming to anyone, I'm learning not to panic. Talk slowly, think it through, be reasonable, don't get flustered, problem solve. I'm starting to think through the noise. Angel said it sounds like good preparation for motherhood.

So if you have any anxiety issues and seek inner peace, heck, just nip it in the bud and work at McDonald's. You'll have to get over it real fast.

The Happy Meal Makes Me Unhappy

The most difficult think on the menu to order, in my opinion, is the Happy Meal. Get this. When someone orders a Happy Meal, I have to clarify the following:

1. Hamburger, Cheeseburger, or 4-piece or 6-piece McNugget (the Mighty Kids Meal)?

2. Would you like that with fries or apple dippers?

3. What would you like to drink with that? Soda, apple juice, orange juice, milk, or chocolate milk?

4. Is it for a boy or a girl [if we have gender-specific toys]?

And then they clarify for multiple Happy Meals if they want different toys in each or don't you have any other toy or can I physically SEE what you have? Can I look at it and find out if my child likes it?

The Happy Meal order can take the most time in that respect. It's not like ordering a number 8, no mayo. It becomes even harder when people order Happy Meals in Spanish. This leads to my last point:

I Can Only Help Mexican Men

This weekend at McDonald's I noticed that while I am finding opportunities to practice my Spanish, I can only help the Spanish-speaking men. Men, unlike women, are straightforward, concise, and brief in their communication.

For example:

"I'll take a number one to go." That may be the only thing they say with, maybe, a "thanks."

But for women! Aye yayay!

"Ummm... I think I'd like the Southwest Salad. What kind of dressing does that come with? Do you have anything low fat? Balsamic? Mmm... okay, give me that. Chicken? Yes, chicken. Umm... grilled is fine. What's your most popular iced coffee? Okay. Well, I'll try the hazelnut--light on the ice. And I'd like to order a kids meal."

Women are the primary source of Happy Meal orders.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is that men are men and women are women whether they're speaking English or not.

"Numero Uno. Para llevar. Gracias."

Or:

"blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah--" That's when I get someone who speaks Spanish to help me.

Tweezing

So maybe this is TMI for a blog, but I wanted to discuss what I'm not sure is an abnormal addiction. If anyone has experienced the same fascination with the following activity, please respond. Perhaps we can start an anonymous program to share with each other our feelings about it.
I have, since a very young age, been almost obsessed with tweezing. Like, plucking my eyebrows. The above diagram illustrates some principles I used to swear by, namely using the corners of your nose and lips as references points. My grandma would warn me not to tweeze them all away, so I never tweeze where I oughtn't and I think I have attractively shaped and fairly full brows. While I'm working at McDonald's sometimes I look at women's eyebrows as they hand me their money and I'm really glad that I don't have to draw mine in. I don't know why it's in fashion, but I've seen several women--even girls my age--with thin purple eyebrows. As in, they were drawn with a purple eyebrow pencil. I imagine collecting eyebrow pencil shades could also develop into an addiction, but I suppose I'll only do that when I'm very old and have no eyebrows left at all.

This is an example of a change in Audrey Hepburn's eyebrow style between her early days and the Breakfast at Tiffany's/Holly Golightly stage. I'm not obsessed with Audrey like I am plucking my eyebrows, but I think this is where the eyebrow pencil craze began. I've honestly never tried the brow pencil--I'm afraid of what could happen if I did.

But ever since we got married, I've found this new outlet for my tweezing addiction: Sam's unibrow. Or, I should say, what used to be a unibrow (or the shadow of one--he's not a hairy beast like some men--he has such fair skin, actually...) because it will never exist again as long as we are together, which means an eternity of free eyebrow maintenance.


This has also led to another topic of discussion which I believe to be true:
Women have a higher tolerance for pain than men do. For example, tweezing, to me, is very relaxing. But it makes Sam's eyes water and his teeth grind together. I think that's why women bear children and men don't because our population would not increase or sustain itself otherwise. Mankind would have died out long ago. However, women have a much lower tolerance for emotional pain. Sigh.

Well. If you ever see Sam you should tell him how neat and comely his eyebrows look. I just get the strays--after all, I don't want him to look like a girl. And I never want to see him use an eyebrow pencil. I think he might delete this when he sees it. That'll be too bad. I really enjoy tweezing and I just wanted to share it with the world. I might even check out this book if I don't make it through Ana Karenina, which I don't think will be the case.

Entertainment Weekly

Sam and I don't have TV, which I'm scared of, so we watch Disney movies instead. Most recently, Beauty and the Beast, Mulan, and The Sword and the Stone. If you haven't seen the latter since you were four, I just thought I'd recommend it because it is probably one of the funniest Disney movies I've ever seen in my post-childhood.

I also finished the 7th Harry Potter last night, and I'm wondering what I could read next that could possibly satisfy my need for entertaining prose. We've found that if Sam needs to be put down for a nap or for bedtime, reading to him puts him to sleep right away. But actually, Sam averages falling asleep in less than 30 seconds. We count down from 100 and Sam is snoring by the 70's, which makes me jealous when I've counted beyond three hundred. Perhaps the snoring has something to do with it? I'm not sure. This week I've also woken up twice to what sounds like a cat being put through a meat grinder--quite shocking.

But back to what I was saying--I'm pretty sure HP7 is kinda hard to follow. I just don't think I can find anything that exciting. As often as I claim to love the classics, I think I've stepped down into a less intellectual sphere--I'm craving... how would you say... pop literature? As far as my next reading venture, I'm between Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (could I stoop so low?), the sequel to Harriet the Spy, and the third Anne of Green Gables book, none of which I have read before. So much for Dickens, Faulkner, and Tolstoy. That's for if I get REALLY bored, I guess.

But I might--just MIGHT try Ana Karenina. We'll see if I'm brave enough.

McDonald's Character Profiles

These are some of the new friends I've been meeting at McDonald's, only they don't look like this. Most aren't American and aren't white and starry eyed about their futures and our headsets are more ghetto than that. This will give you some idea of the demographics of McDonald's Employees. And after this I promise I won't post so much just about my summer job--there are really other more relevant and exciting things to discuss, like Sam teaching a 70 year old man how to use a computer and having the Elizabethan Report and the missionaries over for dinner, etc.

Arturus Floralis*:

A foreigner of unknown origin. He works full time in a hibiscus nursery and at McDonalds on some evenings and weekends. Because his English isn't very good and only good-looking people get to work in the front, Arturus works in the back as a cook. A happy-go-lucky guy--he say's I'm lucky I get to work in the front at the register. The only thing I suffer is my feet hurting at the end of the shift. Still, he's all smiles, and a good example of someone who works like a dog because minimum wage isn't enough to survive.

Maniac McGaggle

M.M. represents one of many high school-aged troublemakers who work at McDonald's to make a little money for drugs, booze, tatoos, or other "business" ventures. Some are drop outs, some have their GED, some are doing independent study and going to school once a week. Most are hispanic, and there are a couple white boys. I don't know how they get to work--most of them get rides from their moms. Sometimes they hit on me or ask me to buy alcohol for them until they find out I'm married, and then they seem a little confused.

Katimazing:

Katimazing has been the one character I can relate to, or talk to on the same plane. She's clean, well groomed, and always has her makeup smartly done with smart glasses on. We're the same social "status" (I hate to say it)--educated, married, well-to-do--which I didn't realize would make for a fast and easy connection. Finally--someone to talk to who understands me. She knew I wasn't there for the money--what little you can make there.

Anyway, K is an empty nest momma of two kids, almost college grads who worked at McDonalds when they were young. Now she works there to raise a little more money for their schooling and weddings and such and to have something to do during the day--you know. Like me. She heard rumors that I was a college grad and married, and when I worked the drive thru window with her the first time, we had a great heart to heart, which I needed so badly after nearly breaking down at the register earlier in the morning. Now and then, it hits me--what on earth am I doing at McDonald's? Did I think this would be fun? Character building, yes. Easy? No. Fun? Sometimes. Mostly it's just so go go go that you don't have time to consider whether or not you're enjoying yourself. That doesn't really matter. After all, it is about the customer. Sometime I'm good enough at looking frazzled and whipped that customers actually apologize for bothering me for some barbeque sauce. Back to K--she understood me and was an immediate friend. She smiled and said, non threateningly, "And you know, if you don't like it, you don't have to stay and it's okay either way." But I'm not a quitter. And it's only for three months.

Sleepy Rosy

... is one of the many assistant manager type women who have keys to open the cash drawer and can press all those buttons that get us a free meal per shift--so far I try to eat just the salads, and at breakfast, I've started requesting the McSkillet Burrito with no meat. But last time I still got the meat. Anyway, Sleepy Rosy often looks very tired because she has to be there at like 4:30 sometimes and is trying to finish college. She asked when I got married and says congratulations with droopy eyes and a sleepy smile. She's on her last leg of working there. The hours are flexible for students, but when she graduates, she'll be gone.

Hashy the Brown

Hashy is one of two women from Bangladesh. She's in league with the other hispanic manager types who get impatient and push me around. They tell me to do things I don't know how to do and then I learn how to do them--like how to make hash browns and McFlurries and coffee and stuff. These are the women you especially don't want to cross in the morning. They're used to bossing their children around and treat us with the same attitude. "Lizzy! Customer! Lizzy! No play! Clean!" By play she meant stop folding Ronald McDonald's Folding Fun origami book. I just wanted to make an example to set out. But that was in my first week of work. Now I know to clean clean clean or refill the cup supply or get out more ice cream cones when things are slow.

Mercy-dees

M is the only one I would consider a friend. Katimazing is only an acquiantance--we've only talked once, actually. But M'dee and I usually work the same shifts (although she works full time) and she was there on my first day to help me out even when she wasn't assigned to train me. She was excited another girl got hired. She and Katimazing are the most human of all my coworkers. M'dee is always asking how I'm doing and how things are going and if I need help. I think she's 16 or 18 and is doing an independent study sort of thing--hasn't finished high school. She's half black/white. Her mom picks her up from work, from what I gather. She doesn't know what she's going to do after high school--maybe go to a community college or something.

But she's very chill--always calm and collected. I'm usually in a panic--at least so far--but I think M'dee has worked there long enough that she's figured something out that I admire: I think she really believes that her job is to serve people, including her coworkers. When everything is insane and inhuman--during the rushes when the group of red-shirt workers are slamming shoulders and swearing and trying to pour coffee and bag the food as quickly as possible, M'dee has an art of staying collected, even during the rush, even when she's very busy herself. But still, in the midst of the chaos, she's the one who passes me and says, "How're you doing?" It's very unusual.

So my most recent goal is to be a little more like M'dee: a little more friendly, not so self-pitying. Yeah, the job sucks, but it doesn't help to look at it that way, especially when you're actually there. It could be unbearable. And While I very much appreciate when the other workers stop to ask me about myself, I think I could do a better job of doing the same. Think outside yourself. Think outside the bun. I guess the customers shouldn't have to apologize to bother me for some BBQ. I'll ponder that one.

*names have obviously been changed. If you are one of the above mentioned reading this, I'm sorry its SO obvious.

¿Porquè no puede caminar?

"Liz, be still..."

A confused Liz looks cautiously around the desk where she is seated. "Ahhhh!" She screams.

"Liz, I told you to stay still. When I say stay still, that means don't move!" The unwelcome guest scuddles quickly behind the desk as Liz jumps from the chair to defend herself.

-- end of narrative intro



A cockroach showed up at our apartment today. He started in one corner, and quickly hid behind the couch. Later he showed up at the desk (as dramatically depicted above), and once he was behind the desk, there was no more hope for him. I moved the desk, with broom in hand and trapped him in the corner. Lizzy, bless her heart, cleared the furniture away so he would have nowhere to hide if he escaped the corner.

Eventually we flushed him out of his hiding spot and with a swat of the broom and a good hard stomp, he was no longer a problem.

La cucaracha, la cucaracha
porque no puede caminar?
...Porque samuel aplastó su cabeza

And the Novelty Wore Off

I may be jumping the gun, but I'm pretty sure. Yes. I'm pretty sure--

After five days at McDonald's, the novelty has worn off. I think my job kinda sucks. I'm not sure I'm lovin' it.

I mean, it's fun to make coffee and bag fries and hash browns and make ice cream cones and learn Spanish and eat free McDonald's food (wait, is that fun? Or fat? (=lowered self-esteem)), but I think my goal to appreciate any other job has already been accomplished. Yes, I've been humbled and my work ethic has improved and I know how to get my hands dirty. But three months of humble pie? I think I need a more balanced diet.

I hope I find a sick job in the fall.