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Ridiculous conversations #1

I have long since touted myself not only a braver of, but a thriver in awkward situations. Grammar experts, please hold your comments on the last statement; I have no time for that at the moment. Since I was old enough to reason, figure, understand and empathize, I have recognized that some of life's most uncomfortable or strange situations occur not only daily, but happen all around us on a constant basis, and it's how we handle (or don't handle) them that can bring us to a closer level of understanding ourselves, or people in general. Maybe it's my sense of humor that makes these situations stand out for me, but it can't be that alone. Because I keep them with me, even after the fact. They're not monumental happenings, believe me; I'm not being dramatic or trying to sound smart. They're just simple occurrences that make me think about people in different ways, all the time.

What I'm trying to say is: somewhat weird stuff happens to me and I'm probably going to start writing about it more. Here. I figured I'd start small, maybe recall some things from the past, and just put it all out there.

Wearing receptionist hat. Yesterday. Enter FedEx man. (Not our regular.)

He bursts through door brandishing clipboard. Hi, Got a delivery.

Me: jumping out of chair: OK! [chirping voice, annoying, yes. Self-entertaining, yes]

FedEx man: sidles up to desk and exhaustedly slams down clipboard. But, we gotta problem. The delivery is DAMAGED. I'm talkin WRECKED. I need someone to refuse it. I mean. No one in their RIGHT MIND would accept this delivery. It's like. Completely DESTROYED.

Me: Oh dear! [concerned. like, really, concerned.]

Me: so can I--

FedEx man: So I need someone to refuse this delivery. I'm talkin, it's wrecked. You or whoever ordered this cabinet's gonna have to call the company and say it was refused. That's all I'm sayin. You're gonna have to call the company.

Me: OK, then I'll refuse it.

FedEx man: Well and I need you or whoever to come outside and look at it in order to refuse it.

Me: OK, let me get someone to watch my desk then.

I locate my stand in, and follow FedEx man outside. He is still talking about the cabinet, and its DESTROYED state, but I'm not really listening to the details. He pauses, and looks at me as we walk.

FedEx man: And she's gotta be wearing flip flops! [sneering]

Me: um, what's wrong with my flip flops?

FedEx man: Well you're not gonna have an easy time climbing into my truck with those FLIP FLOPS! I bet you didn't think you'd be climbing into no FedEx truck when you got up this morning and put on those FLIP FLOPS!

Me: making use of appropriate long pause to think there is a correct response, there must be.

Me: I have to climb into your truck?

FedEx man: It'll be easy, well, relatively. You need to see the damage in order to refuse the delivery. I'll show you how to get up.

Me: You're not going to kidnap me, are you?

FedEx man: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. No. I have WAY too much to do today than kidnap you. Waaaaay too much to do. I'm very busy.

He climbs up the back end of the truck and throws up the door with the same intensity as he handles his clipboard.

Me: I think I can see from here. Yes. I see the damage. I utterly refuse. Cabinet BEGONE!

The rest of the details are even more useless, so I'll stop here. And he didn't kidnap me. But only because he was a very busy man.

7:30am

During the school year I'm at work at this time. I do love mornings.

summatime

Perhaps taking on more than I realized this summer, my talents continue to expand my repertoire and the hats I wear. Writing tutor, waitress, receptionist, editor, and don't forget, reliable cat sitter. I may soon be adding (somewhat reluctantly) "bookkeeper" to my list. I'm not complaining about the work; I've had a summer or two in the past where too much time on my hands and not enough money coming in made for a tragic combination.

This year I thought about doing the vegetable garden, even (sadly) bought seeds and in classic ADDJennystyle never got around to planting them. I have only a few flowers in the front of the house, but they make me happy. And that also means less plants to worry about when I go on my week-long-haven't-had-one-in-two-years vacation.

Now I have that feeling where I want to write about how living in this part of the country makes me happy to see the changes in season. But that's so lame; I've seen that one thousand times before. New England, blah blah blah. So I'll resist the urge and just acknowledge the fact I'm trying to stay in the moment and notice all that surrounds me. Even if that means seeing my neighbors in the periphery.

token spring post

I was thinking I'd find my camera and document the coming of spring this year carefully, but I cannot find my camera, so I just have my phone...old school April 2010 3G iphone (I don't have The ThreeGees). Anyhoo.
There's the peach tree at #19 well on its way to bringing mass quantities of fruit to our tiny woodland creature friends waiting in the wings to scarf it all up. Enjoy.

It's hard to explain

...why I have a thing for old Datsun Zs. I pursued this gentleman (while ironically driving an M3) yesterday as long as I could, much to the chagrin of my passenger who moaned and complained loudly about how much he hates that type of car. I told him, if I had grown up in a dysfunctional family, and my father had Datsun parts and pieces littering the front yard, signs of projects with no hope for completion, and each time my father drove me to school in one of those Datsuns, he played the same Genesis album on cassette tape repeatedly, then I might have the same aversion to Datsuns as he does.

But I didn't, and I don't. I like them. A lot.

I don't know enough about cars to say anything too smart here, so I won't try to fake it, but I do love old cars, and for some reason the 1970s-1980s Zs, or 240s (etc., see this is where I don't really know what I'm talking about but I can ID them in a crowd) really appeal to me.

I did have a boyfriend for a short time who was into cars, and he had a 1973 Datsun 280zx (I think) that was orange with a T-top. I was 18, he was 23. He used to drive me to New York in that car. It was amazing. (Many things at once happening there; one of the marvels was the idea that a person could DRIVE into Manhattan, not just rely on the train, as my family did.) For some reason my parents were alright with this (?) and it wasn't until after the fact did I realize the true reason he needed to travel to NYC so often, for his "business." He was a generous, kind guy who really meant well, and tried to treat me right. When I went off to college he wrote me letters, filling the page with his thoughts and observations as he traveled, always misspelling many words but he was so full of heart. We lost touch as his life slowly unraveled into the world of heroin, and mine became consumed in the selfish existence that is a college student's. The last time I saw him was probably between my junior and senior year, while on break, at a diner near my parents' house. He was not well, and I wanted to help him, but I couldn't.

Several years later I found out, in a very odd way, that he had passed away. The details were not shared with me, but I could only imagine the worst. I think about him sometimes, and I wonder what he could have been, how his life touched others like mine, if only for such a brief amount of time.

So I guess Datsun Z's remind me of Bob. And I'm happy with that, and will always think of him when I see one. Maybe I'll even get to drive one someday.