A Trick I Learned from a Movie Prostitute

You know that part at the beginning of Pretty Woman where Julia Robert's character is fixing herself up--applying her face and donning some semblance of clothing--before she goes out to work her corner? After she zips up her thigh-high synthetic leather boots, she applies a permanent black marker to the scuff marks to make herself look a little less cheap than she is.

I have a pair of cheap boots. They have some scuff marks. And I have a permanent black marker. Who says watching movies like Pretty Woman is a waste of time?

Ballet

I work at a tutoring center. It's on the bottom level. On the floor above, there is a dance studio. Sometimes they grand jete across the floor and land with a thud on our ceiling. In time. At least, that's what I imagine they're doing.

While I was teaching in China, there were massive construction projects constantly in progress on my campus. For a period of time noisy, sputtering trucks passed by my classroom building, progressively drowning out my voice. I would raise my voice until it could be raised no more, and I would finally shut up.

Sometimes I think there is a conspiracy to prevent learning. All the noisiest activities and creatures conspire together to locate themselves next to those who want to learn.

The man who lectures one classroom over from me this semester has a loud, low-pitched voice. If I stop talking, the rumbling of his voice distracts me.

Sometimes we don't stop talking for fear of hearing the rumbling.

Pardon the stream of consciousness writing. I've been reading Annie Dillard. She writes like this, and she won a Pulitzer.

Computer Programmers are from Mars, Baristas are from Venus: Why Espresso-pullers aren't meant to be Troubleshooters

A coffeehouse without music is awkwardly silent. Like a movie without a soundtrack.

A coffeehouse without a functioning cash register is constipated. Like a pregnant woman.

Yesterday at the coffeehouse my principle role was not as barista. It was as troubleshooter. An hour into my shift, one of the speakers started making a thumping noise that caused patrons to start glancing around in concern. After disconnecting the offending speaker and calling all the techies on the employee phone list, I eventually had music running through the soundboard we use for live music.

A bit later, as I was about to take my break, the cash register locked up. Our sole owner-manager was absent and not responding to phone calls, so I broke out the reset manual myself. Twenty minutes later, the register was still locked up, but I had successfully reset its entire memory. When my boss arrived an hour later and announced that she would have to pull an all-nighter to rectify the damage done, my frazzled state delayed the realization that this was actually, to some degree, my fault.

The blessed redemption of the day was that I only had to do about three loads of dishes, a paltry amount for us barista-cum-dishwashers.

Au Revoir, Bridesmaids

The day of my friend's wedding, our hotel housekeeper arrived to the aftermath of wedding bustle and flurry and proceeded to tidy our room. When I left for the wedding, the floor was covered in a disordered scattering of various clothing, toiletries, Christmas gifts, and wedding paraphernelia. When I returned, I had no idea where anything was.

When the housekeeper saw us, she announced that everything in our room was "very easy to find." She had put everything in the closet or bathroom...or in random drawers around the room and other people's suitcases as we came to find out later. When I had trouble finding my purse, she assured me that everything was still in my room, to which I responded, "Oh, don't worry. I don't think you stole anything." Instantly, I was painfully aware that she was a hotel maid and I was the one wearing the Pretty Princess bridesmaid dress. My mind began screaming, "This is not what it seems. I believe in egalitarianism. I only wear dresses like this on wedding days." Unfortunately she did not hear my non-verbal protests. As I cringed in the closet where I was still trying to locate my purse, I heard, "I am a world traveler. I can speak three languages." And with an "Au revoir," the housekeeper breezed out of the room. Confused by this non sequitur, I eventually realized that this was her response to my stealing comment.

Epilogue: I eventually found my purse. There are quirky people out there, but that doesn't mean we need to accuse them of stealing.

A Couple Onions, Neighbor?

I was trying to cook Chinese food a couple nights ago, and I realized that I needed onions. Naturally, the best resources when lacking a necessary cooking ingredient are a little brother and a bag of homemade caramel popcorn. My brother left the house--caramel corn in hand--and minutes later returned with two small onions. He had bargained with the neighbors and, frankly, I think the neighbors got the better end of the deal. But I got my onions. Everyone's a winner!