Working fast food seems simple enough. You go in, you take some money, and you flip some hamburgers. Or so everyone seems to think. Working fast food, especially an “upscale” fast food place like G.D. Ritzys, can be tedious and downright exhausting. Ritzys prides itself on making all of their ingredients. They make their own ice cream, their own croutons for the salads they put together themselves; their own chili, coleslaw, and they even shred their own cheese. Many don’t realize that it is often times the employee’s responsibility to do these everyday tasks that people don’t think of. You can go on thinking working fast food is the easy way out, but just take a look inside our workdays and you will find it is not anywhere near an easy thing.
I arrive at work at 8 a.m., even on the weekends. We don’t open until 10:30 a.m., so there are two and a half hours of preparation before we even open. We all are assigned our own jobs. My job is to do salads. I go in, put on my hairnet, booties, and gloves, and get busy. The first thing I do is see what salads and toppings are left to use from the night before. I have to check all of the leftover salads to make sure they are all fresh; freshness is very important to the Ritzy image. I discard the ones that have any hint of brown in them. Next, I take the leftover lettuce from the night before and fill up the lettuce containers for the sandwich makers. I take all of the leftover lettuce to the salad, where I chop it up. We have huge sinks in the back that we fill up with chopped lettuce to make our salads; we usually go through around 70 salads a day. The chopper is heavy and a burden to use, but it’s what has to be done.
After I chop the lettuce, I start making salads. I get out the tomatoes, the hardboiled eggs, and the carrots. I have my own way of making my salads. I line up as many bowls as I can on the counter of the sink. I fill each container with salad, and then I top each with two tomato slices, three hardboiled egg pieces, and a handful of carrots. Then I go through and put the lids on each one, stack them up, and bring them to the refrigerator. This whole process has given me nine deluxe salads. I repeat this process until I have 70 deluxe salads, 16 side salads, and 6 taco salads. It would be lovely if my work ended there.
I then must chop more lettuce to give the people working the next day some help. I chop until I have an entire container of it, and I put it in the fridge. I then cut more lettuce for the sandwich people. Around this time, it is nearing 9:30. I have to have my work done by 10 in order to get my break, so I start hustling. I cut, chop, and dice more tomatoes to fill the container. I cut up more hard boiled eggs, and I skin more carrots. By this time, I usually have a big mess to clean. I must clean every bit of lettuce out of the sink so the dishwasher can start to use it. I must clean every bit of the little pieces of lettuce left in the chopper, which let me tell you, takes forever. Lastly, after my mess is cleaned up, I am to help whoever has not finished their tasks yet; no one goes on break until everyone is done. Finally, 10 o’clock rolls around and I can take my twenty minute break to eat.
That’s probably one of the busier parts of my day. By this time I am usually already exhausted with all the lifting and carrying I had done. But then, I must start my 10:30-4 shift. All day long I work the cash register and take peoples orders. I get them salads, I get them drinks, I get them ice cream, and everything in-between. I clean up spills, I deal with angry customers, I wipe tables, and I refill ingredients, to name a few. We don’t get any breaks to sit down. We are literally on our feet all day. By the time 4 o’clock rolls around, everyone is beyond exhausted. I go home with a sore body, an exhausted mind, and a terrible grease smell imbedded on my clothing, hair, and even skin.
I’m not saying there aren’t rewarding parts to working fast food. You do, after all, get a paycheck every two weeks, and you will occasionally deal with customers that you just love. But for the most part, it is just an exhausting job. I’m not sure how there are some people there that use this as their full time job. Flipping hamburgers is alright and all, but I’m beyond glad to be at college so that I can have a job one day that doesn’t require me to ask “would you like fries with that?”
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
Fall Festival!
If you were to take a helicopter ride over the west side of Evansville some time in your life, the week of the West Side Nut Club Fall Festival would be the week to do it. From above, on the first full week of October, you would not recognize this usually somewhat boring street. Any other week, you would see a bunch of family-owned stores, a couple banks, and a library. It’s an interesting and historic street, but definitely not a busy one. On this particular week, however, Franklin street becomes the focal point of the whole tri-state area. I would love to take a helicopter ride to get the full effect of just how busy the Fall Festival is.
From above, you would first notice the crowd. Thousands and thousands of people crowd in everyday, it’s almost overwhelming. You would see commotion as people move both up and down the street. You would see the food booths that are lined up along four or five blocks. You would notice the rides, starting with the ferris wheel. You would see flashing lights, fast-moving rides, and people going booth to booth to play their favorite games. From the sky, you just catch a glimpse of what is actually inside of the festival.
Being inside of the festival, you really get the full effect. It is definitely a sight to see. Going up the street, I first notice all of the people. You get a variety of people at the Fall Festival. You see gangsters, you see rednecks, you see druggies, you see white trash, and everything else in between. It’s hard not to stare sometimes. At night time, you see a lot of “almost” fights, where people yell profanities back and forth but usually end up walking away. Occasionally, you might even experience an actual fight, but the police are usually quick to stop it. For some reason, people find excuses to fight at the Fall Festival; I really don’t understand it. Beyond the people, you notice the numerous food stands. There are signs advertising all kinds of food. Pretty much everything you could ever eat, you’ll find it fried. Fried cookie dough, fried green beans, fried macaroni and cheese, even fried turkey testicles (one of the more disturbing things I’ve seen at the Fall Festival).
You also see one of the most well-known booths at the festival: the bug booth. There you see brightly colored lollipops with scorpions, crickets, and grasshoppers in them, as well as chocolate covered crickets. If you successfully eat one before you get too grossed out, you receive a big button stating you are in the “I ate a bug club”.
Besides all of the unusual, different, and downright gross food you see at the Fall Festival, you can also find your normal foods. Corn dogs, cotton candy, walking tacos, barbeque sandwiches, apple cider, chicken dumplings, and so much more. Looking at the food map, it’s almost impossible to make a choice with the hundreds of food options they present you with. I can only imagine how much money is brought into the festival just for food.
You experience many different tastes at the festival, depending on how adventurous you get with your taste testing. One of the favorites of the people is the fried cookie dough. I tried it for the first time on Monday, and while I could almost feel myself gaining weight as I ate it, I will admit it was delicious. You bite into a fried coating, and then you get to experience the warm delicious cookie dough inside. It’s a million times better than sneaking cookie dough from your mother’s batch while she’s not looking. Being a big pickle fan, I had to try the fried pickle chips as well. It tastes just as you would think; fried coating over delicious pickles. Dip it in some ranch and it’s rather amazing. Corn fritters will always be one of my favorites. It tastes like fried corn casserole, which sounds nasty, but it’s delicious. You dip it in maple syrup. It always makes my fingers sticky, but it’s well worth it. Pretty much everything at the festival has a fried taste to it, but that’s what makes this week so much fun.
The Fall Festival also has a very distinct smell: a mixture of grease and cigarettes. As you pass each booth, you can usually pick up on the smell of the different foods cooking. As I walk by one booth, I smell corn fritters. As I walk by another, I smell corn dogs. Usually the smell is what allures people to buy from a particular booth. Once you walk away from the food part of the festival though, it gets a little gross. Over by the rides, you can no longer smell the individual foods that smell so good. Instead, you solely smell grease. The smell of cigarettes also becomes stronger as you move away from the food. A lot of the ride attendants and game owners are heavy chain smokers; it’s nearly impossible to escape.
While the Fall Festival is not necessarily a classy event, it is definitely a fun one. As much as I hate the stomachache I endure after a Fall Festival dinner, I make it a point to do it every year. It’s one of those love-hate relationships. Everyone knows the festival is dirty, greasy and even trashy at times, but we all love it. The sights, the smells, and the tastes of the Fall Festival are what make it such a unique experience; plus, I don’t think you could find fried turkey testicles anywhere else. At least, I hope not.
From above, you would first notice the crowd. Thousands and thousands of people crowd in everyday, it’s almost overwhelming. You would see commotion as people move both up and down the street. You would see the food booths that are lined up along four or five blocks. You would notice the rides, starting with the ferris wheel. You would see flashing lights, fast-moving rides, and people going booth to booth to play their favorite games. From the sky, you just catch a glimpse of what is actually inside of the festival.
Being inside of the festival, you really get the full effect. It is definitely a sight to see. Going up the street, I first notice all of the people. You get a variety of people at the Fall Festival. You see gangsters, you see rednecks, you see druggies, you see white trash, and everything else in between. It’s hard not to stare sometimes. At night time, you see a lot of “almost” fights, where people yell profanities back and forth but usually end up walking away. Occasionally, you might even experience an actual fight, but the police are usually quick to stop it. For some reason, people find excuses to fight at the Fall Festival; I really don’t understand it. Beyond the people, you notice the numerous food stands. There are signs advertising all kinds of food. Pretty much everything you could ever eat, you’ll find it fried. Fried cookie dough, fried green beans, fried macaroni and cheese, even fried turkey testicles (one of the more disturbing things I’ve seen at the Fall Festival).
You also see one of the most well-known booths at the festival: the bug booth. There you see brightly colored lollipops with scorpions, crickets, and grasshoppers in them, as well as chocolate covered crickets. If you successfully eat one before you get too grossed out, you receive a big button stating you are in the “I ate a bug club”.
Besides all of the unusual, different, and downright gross food you see at the Fall Festival, you can also find your normal foods. Corn dogs, cotton candy, walking tacos, barbeque sandwiches, apple cider, chicken dumplings, and so much more. Looking at the food map, it’s almost impossible to make a choice with the hundreds of food options they present you with. I can only imagine how much money is brought into the festival just for food.
You experience many different tastes at the festival, depending on how adventurous you get with your taste testing. One of the favorites of the people is the fried cookie dough. I tried it for the first time on Monday, and while I could almost feel myself gaining weight as I ate it, I will admit it was delicious. You bite into a fried coating, and then you get to experience the warm delicious cookie dough inside. It’s a million times better than sneaking cookie dough from your mother’s batch while she’s not looking. Being a big pickle fan, I had to try the fried pickle chips as well. It tastes just as you would think; fried coating over delicious pickles. Dip it in some ranch and it’s rather amazing. Corn fritters will always be one of my favorites. It tastes like fried corn casserole, which sounds nasty, but it’s delicious. You dip it in maple syrup. It always makes my fingers sticky, but it’s well worth it. Pretty much everything at the festival has a fried taste to it, but that’s what makes this week so much fun.
The Fall Festival also has a very distinct smell: a mixture of grease and cigarettes. As you pass each booth, you can usually pick up on the smell of the different foods cooking. As I walk by one booth, I smell corn fritters. As I walk by another, I smell corn dogs. Usually the smell is what allures people to buy from a particular booth. Once you walk away from the food part of the festival though, it gets a little gross. Over by the rides, you can no longer smell the individual foods that smell so good. Instead, you solely smell grease. The smell of cigarettes also becomes stronger as you move away from the food. A lot of the ride attendants and game owners are heavy chain smokers; it’s nearly impossible to escape.
While the Fall Festival is not necessarily a classy event, it is definitely a fun one. As much as I hate the stomachache I endure after a Fall Festival dinner, I make it a point to do it every year. It’s one of those love-hate relationships. Everyone knows the festival is dirty, greasy and even trashy at times, but we all love it. The sights, the smells, and the tastes of the Fall Festival are what make it such a unique experience; plus, I don’t think you could find fried turkey testicles anywhere else. At least, I hope not.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Yummy in my Tummy
There are several small memories that I relate to a specific meal or dish in my life. Since it is Fall Festival week, I will start there. My earliest memory of the Fall Festival would be eating corndogs when I was around 7 or 8. I remember that my parents never wanted to spend much money on food at the Fall Festival, so they would tell us we could pick out one thing to get. Usually, we would get a corndog. We would pick one day out of the week that we wanted to buy bracelets to ride all the rides we wanted, and our parents would buy it for us. Us kids would get around 30 dollars apiece to spend on what we wanted at the festival. If I ate a corndog before rides, my stomach would get queasy, but it was never too bad. However, if I got adventurous and chose deep fried corn fritters as my meal, my stomach usually couldn’t take it when I would get on the rides. In general, Fall Festival food doesn’t settle well with my stomach. I haven’t really eaten there in a couple years, but it seems like my stomach has went downhill since then, so I am curious to see how I handle all the greasy food this year.
One of my earliest food memories, if you could even consider this food, was when I was 3 or so and I had an obsession with gum. I loved the taste of it, and I thought it was so strange that you could chew it for hours and it would never go away. I’m not sure why my parents trusted me with gum so young, but they did. I just remember every time I saw my great-grandma, Ma, or my Nana, I would ask them for gum. I was watching my little sister’s baby video the other day. I was about 2 and a half in the video, and my parents were bringing my sister home from the hospital. My great-grandma walked in, followed by my mom, dad, and the new baby. Instead of me asking to see the baby, you see me in the video tugging on Ma’s dress and asking her for gum. It was cute to look back on because I had forgotten how much I loved gum and I didn’t really realize how much I related gum to both my great-grandma and my grandma.
Then, of course, there is school lunch. 99% of the time, the food was nasty. But there was always that one day during the week that the food was good. During elementary school, it was Thursday, pizza day. We would all get so excited to go to lunch and eat pizza. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure it’s the same pizza that disgusted me in high school, but oh well. One thing I will always remember about elementary school is the milk in the plastic bags. You would just take your straw and stab it through the bag. At the time it was no big deal, but when you think about it, it’s a very strange thing. The bags always had little cartoon characters on them saying random things. During middle school and high school, it was Wednesday, mashed potato day. It either came with mini cornies, beef fingers, or chicken nuggets. For some reason, this made the whole week okay. In high school, when I would be having a terrible day, my friends would always just be like “at least it’s mashed potato day!” I have no idea why these instant mashed potatoes had such an impact on our lives, but they did. How strange.
Hospital experiences have had a way of affecting my views on certain foods. When I was in St.Louis Children’s Hospital, they had a Dairy Queen. I would always get a blizzard with my dinners. Now, every time I eat a blizzard, I think of my time in the hospital. Same goes with meatloaf, and green beans. I have a hard time eating those without thinking about the hospital because I ate that so much there.
Lastly, food also has a way of reminding me of home. I still live close to home, so I can always go back to get my fix, but my mom is the best cook. She makes awesome chicken dishes, spaghetti casserole, pumpkin bread, etc. She always has something good to eat. My nana lives in an apartment connected to our house, so if Mom doesn’t have something cooked, Nana will. Nana always has good spaghetti dishes for us to try. I love going home for a home-cooked meal. I’m lucky that they live so close, so I am able to do this pretty much anytime I want. It’s the best.
One of my earliest food memories, if you could even consider this food, was when I was 3 or so and I had an obsession with gum. I loved the taste of it, and I thought it was so strange that you could chew it for hours and it would never go away. I’m not sure why my parents trusted me with gum so young, but they did. I just remember every time I saw my great-grandma, Ma, or my Nana, I would ask them for gum. I was watching my little sister’s baby video the other day. I was about 2 and a half in the video, and my parents were bringing my sister home from the hospital. My great-grandma walked in, followed by my mom, dad, and the new baby. Instead of me asking to see the baby, you see me in the video tugging on Ma’s dress and asking her for gum. It was cute to look back on because I had forgotten how much I loved gum and I didn’t really realize how much I related gum to both my great-grandma and my grandma.
Then, of course, there is school lunch. 99% of the time, the food was nasty. But there was always that one day during the week that the food was good. During elementary school, it was Thursday, pizza day. We would all get so excited to go to lunch and eat pizza. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure it’s the same pizza that disgusted me in high school, but oh well. One thing I will always remember about elementary school is the milk in the plastic bags. You would just take your straw and stab it through the bag. At the time it was no big deal, but when you think about it, it’s a very strange thing. The bags always had little cartoon characters on them saying random things. During middle school and high school, it was Wednesday, mashed potato day. It either came with mini cornies, beef fingers, or chicken nuggets. For some reason, this made the whole week okay. In high school, when I would be having a terrible day, my friends would always just be like “at least it’s mashed potato day!” I have no idea why these instant mashed potatoes had such an impact on our lives, but they did. How strange.
Hospital experiences have had a way of affecting my views on certain foods. When I was in St.Louis Children’s Hospital, they had a Dairy Queen. I would always get a blizzard with my dinners. Now, every time I eat a blizzard, I think of my time in the hospital. Same goes with meatloaf, and green beans. I have a hard time eating those without thinking about the hospital because I ate that so much there.
Lastly, food also has a way of reminding me of home. I still live close to home, so I can always go back to get my fix, but my mom is the best cook. She makes awesome chicken dishes, spaghetti casserole, pumpkin bread, etc. She always has something good to eat. My nana lives in an apartment connected to our house, so if Mom doesn’t have something cooked, Nana will. Nana always has good spaghetti dishes for us to try. I love going home for a home-cooked meal. I’m lucky that they live so close, so I am able to do this pretty much anytime I want. It’s the best.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Our dorm
I am at 1720 Rochelle Lane, O’Bannon, second floor, in room 212. I am in the common room that I share with my roommates Sydney Barcelli, Kara Marvel, and Kelsey Harris. When you first enter our common room, you are pretty much looking at a plain wall because we have yet to have a chance to decorate our common room. You also see the two chairs and the couch that came with our room. We did, however, manage to get a Hannah Montana rug on clearance at Wal-mart to add a little fun to our common room. Kara’s fiancé works at a movie theatre, so he was able to bring us a few movie posters. On Kara and Kelsey’s door, to the right, they have a Toy Story 3 poster. On the room I share with Sydney, we have Shrek 3 movie poster on our door. Next to the couch, we recently added the pink lamp that Sydney bought a few weeks ago. We have yet to use it. To the left is our kitchen area, complete with a sink, a microwave, and a mini-fridge. We usually dump all of the random papers and pamphlets we get on top of the microwave, so you can find all of that there. Next, we go into our room.
My and Sydney’s room is to the left as you walk in. To be honest, our room is usually like a zoo; it is always a mess. It always smells awesome though, compliments of my Febreeze air fresheners. Immediately to your left you will see our sink. My favorite color is turquoise, so there is a turquoise soap dispenser, along with a turquoise toothbrush holder and matching towels. Our towels are thrown about the sink, and there is usually some sort of clutter. Sydney’s makeup, Q-tips, bobby-pins, and hair straighteners usually take up a lot of counter space. Directly in front of the door is Sydney’s fridge. To the left of her fridge is our bathroom. It’s very cute, I won’t lie. We have a polka dot shower curtain, and a pink fuzzy rug.
Sydney’s side of the room is right by the bathroom. She has her bed against the wall, and her desk is up against that. She’s got pink sheets and a striped comforter. Her closet is also right next to her bed. And, of course, she has the movie poster for Charlie St. Cloud taped above her bed. She thinks Zac Efron is hot. If you turn to the right, you find my side of the room. I’ve got my desk to the right and my bed pushed up against the left. I brought a cabinet from my house to put in front of my bed to keep my television on. I don’t like when the sun wakes me up early, so I have a turquoise curtain on my window. Like I said, it’s my favorite color. I have turquoise sheets, surprise, and a white comforter with colorful flowers on it. I have a few things hanging on the walls; a painting of two birds that’s all colorful, and a picture frame with a picture of my boyfriend and I. I have a couple cute lamps on my desk, but it mostly just has a ton of random items that get dumped there throughout the school week. Throughout the whole room, you will find mess. Clothes and towels thrown everywhere, shoes scattered about, snacks on the floor, the whole works. We clean up when we feel like it, but we’re pretty content with a messy room.
If I were on the 3rd floor looking down on our room at a sky level, the shape might seem rather strange. Both of the two bedrooms would look like upside-down “L”s, which is usually how they are described to people inquiring about the dorms. Compared to the bedrooms, especially at sky level, our common room would seem extremely plain. Kelsey and Kara have a colorful room just like Sydney and I do; they also have theirs set up the same. If looking at our room from the 3rd floor, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that this room belonged to a bunch of girls. Basically, at 1720 Rochelle Lane, O’Bannon, second floor, in room 212, you will experience an intense explosion of colors and randomness in both room décor and, as well, in the personalities of the four girls living there.
My and Sydney’s room is to the left as you walk in. To be honest, our room is usually like a zoo; it is always a mess. It always smells awesome though, compliments of my Febreeze air fresheners. Immediately to your left you will see our sink. My favorite color is turquoise, so there is a turquoise soap dispenser, along with a turquoise toothbrush holder and matching towels. Our towels are thrown about the sink, and there is usually some sort of clutter. Sydney’s makeup, Q-tips, bobby-pins, and hair straighteners usually take up a lot of counter space. Directly in front of the door is Sydney’s fridge. To the left of her fridge is our bathroom. It’s very cute, I won’t lie. We have a polka dot shower curtain, and a pink fuzzy rug.
Sydney’s side of the room is right by the bathroom. She has her bed against the wall, and her desk is up against that. She’s got pink sheets and a striped comforter. Her closet is also right next to her bed. And, of course, she has the movie poster for Charlie St. Cloud taped above her bed. She thinks Zac Efron is hot. If you turn to the right, you find my side of the room. I’ve got my desk to the right and my bed pushed up against the left. I brought a cabinet from my house to put in front of my bed to keep my television on. I don’t like when the sun wakes me up early, so I have a turquoise curtain on my window. Like I said, it’s my favorite color. I have turquoise sheets, surprise, and a white comforter with colorful flowers on it. I have a few things hanging on the walls; a painting of two birds that’s all colorful, and a picture frame with a picture of my boyfriend and I. I have a couple cute lamps on my desk, but it mostly just has a ton of random items that get dumped there throughout the school week. Throughout the whole room, you will find mess. Clothes and towels thrown everywhere, shoes scattered about, snacks on the floor, the whole works. We clean up when we feel like it, but we’re pretty content with a messy room.
If I were on the 3rd floor looking down on our room at a sky level, the shape might seem rather strange. Both of the two bedrooms would look like upside-down “L”s, which is usually how they are described to people inquiring about the dorms. Compared to the bedrooms, especially at sky level, our common room would seem extremely plain. Kelsey and Kara have a colorful room just like Sydney and I do; they also have theirs set up the same. If looking at our room from the 3rd floor, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that this room belonged to a bunch of girls. Basically, at 1720 Rochelle Lane, O’Bannon, second floor, in room 212, you will experience an intense explosion of colors and randomness in both room décor and, as well, in the personalities of the four girls living there.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Our Pee Adventure
It was one weekend many many months ago. My friends Susan, Kelley, and I decided to go to the mall. Nothing was out of the usual; we just went to enjoy some leisurely shopping. There usually isn’t much to do in Evansville, so we did what most teenagers do and went to the mall. The three of us went in and out of stores for about an hour or so before we grew tired of walking. We sat down at the food court to get something to eat. Susan got Chinese, I got Subway, and Kelley got a sandwich. We all just sat around and ate our food as usual, people watching at the same time.
Kelley is a funny one. She likes to crack jokes. Us three can always find a way to crack each other up, even if it’s over something stupid. People around us usually think we are insane when we are sitting there laughing over nothing, but we don’t care. I don’t remember what it was that Kelley said to make us laugh, but it must have been funny. I look over and see Susan laughing. Suddenly, her face goes from smiley to shocked to disgusted. We asked her what was wrong. She said, “I think I just peed my pants. Oh my god, oh my god, I just peed my pants.”
Honestly, it wasn’t a huge surprise to us. Susan had peed her pants once or twice before, poor girl, over silly reasons. But she was mortified. She got up and ran to the rest room. When we asked her how things were going, she just kept telling us to shut up. Meanwhile, we were trying our hardest to keep our laughter to a minimum. Finally, Susan came out of the stall.
She was reluctant at first to show us her pants. We at last got her to show us. She slowly turned around. You could definitely see where the accident occurred. We tried to be comforting, but we couldn’t do much besides laugh. Susan is a redhead and she blushes extremely easily, so she was continually growing more and more red as we continued pointing and cracking up. I’m not going to lie; it was a funny sight to see. Poor Susan with her red face and wet pants, just standing there.
We debated on what to do for awhile. We didn’t know whether to just leave and put a towel down for her in my car, or whether we should just buy her a new outfit to wear. We had a long debate about this right outside of the restroom. People passing by usually caught on to what we were doing and laughed; that made Susan feel a lot better I’m sure.
After a couple minutes, Kelley and I thought it would be nice (and funny) for it to look like we wet our pants too so that Susan could walk around the mall. We went into the bathroom and splashed water onto our butts. It wasn’t the best job, but it looked convincing. Kelley and I thought we were pretty funny, but I still don’t think Susan had the best time. Of course, we had to take advantage of the photo opportunity and take a picture of us in our peed pants. I still have that picture to this day.
Kelley and I decided we would call what we did for Susan “true friendship”. I mean, we made it look like we peed our pants just to make our friend, who really did pee her pants, feel a little better. We started using that phrase every time we would do something for the other ones; “true friendship”. This incident was several years ago, but it still holds true today.
Told you so.
Kelley is a funny one. She likes to crack jokes. Us three can always find a way to crack each other up, even if it’s over something stupid. People around us usually think we are insane when we are sitting there laughing over nothing, but we don’t care. I don’t remember what it was that Kelley said to make us laugh, but it must have been funny. I look over and see Susan laughing. Suddenly, her face goes from smiley to shocked to disgusted. We asked her what was wrong. She said, “I think I just peed my pants. Oh my god, oh my god, I just peed my pants.”
Honestly, it wasn’t a huge surprise to us. Susan had peed her pants once or twice before, poor girl, over silly reasons. But she was mortified. She got up and ran to the rest room. When we asked her how things were going, she just kept telling us to shut up. Meanwhile, we were trying our hardest to keep our laughter to a minimum. Finally, Susan came out of the stall.
She was reluctant at first to show us her pants. We at last got her to show us. She slowly turned around. You could definitely see where the accident occurred. We tried to be comforting, but we couldn’t do much besides laugh. Susan is a redhead and she blushes extremely easily, so she was continually growing more and more red as we continued pointing and cracking up. I’m not going to lie; it was a funny sight to see. Poor Susan with her red face and wet pants, just standing there.
We debated on what to do for awhile. We didn’t know whether to just leave and put a towel down for her in my car, or whether we should just buy her a new outfit to wear. We had a long debate about this right outside of the restroom. People passing by usually caught on to what we were doing and laughed; that made Susan feel a lot better I’m sure.
After a couple minutes, Kelley and I thought it would be nice (and funny) for it to look like we wet our pants too so that Susan could walk around the mall. We went into the bathroom and splashed water onto our butts. It wasn’t the best job, but it looked convincing. Kelley and I thought we were pretty funny, but I still don’t think Susan had the best time. Of course, we had to take advantage of the photo opportunity and take a picture of us in our peed pants. I still have that picture to this day.
Kelley and I decided we would call what we did for Susan “true friendship”. I mean, we made it look like we peed our pants just to make our friend, who really did pee her pants, feel a little better. We started using that phrase every time we would do something for the other ones; “true friendship”. This incident was several years ago, but it still holds true today.
Monday, September 27, 2010
My Nana
My Nana will always be the funniest, sweetest, and strongest grandma I know. If you look at her, you may only catch a glimpse of what kind of person she is. Though her wardrobe isn’t out of the ordinary as far as grandmothers go, her personality sure is. Nana never has gray hair. She is always dying it a different color. Her motto for why she doesn’t want gray hair? “I may be old, but that don’t mean I have to be gray”. She always has on a nice top, capris, and sandals or tennis shoes. If you look closely, however, you’ll usually notice that she either has on two different shoes, or that she has her shirt inside out. When we point these things out to her, instead of being embarrassed, she cracks up like it was a joke that she already knew about.
Nana is very care-free. She just goes with the flow and doesn’t really care when plans get mixed up. Nana is most known in Evansville for her Tweety Bird car. It’s a little yellow Tracker, and everything inside is Tweety Bird. The tire cover is Tweety Bird saying “I go where I’m towed”. Everyone she meets finds it hilarious, and that’s usually how people know her. Anytime she sees someone she knows, she honks the horn really loud, laughs, and waves. I always get embarrassed, but I know it’s funny at the same time. We always get a kick out of Nana. Just the little things she says and the jokes she makes are funny just because she says them.
She loves music. She sings in the church choir and loves it. She mostly loves Christian music, and old school stuff, especially Elvis. Anytime a song of his comes on that she likes she yells “Oh, sing it Elvis!” This is true of any song she likes. It happens at least five times a day, and it never gets old because after she says that, she sings along to the song. It’s probably one of the better parts of the day.
Nana is one of the strongest people I know, mentally and physically. The first time I found out how mentally strong she is was when I was in 8th grade. My Poppy had suffered a stroke, and he was alive on life-support, but brain-dead. The doctors told us that if they kept him alive, he would be a vegetable the rest of his life. Nana had to be the one to decide what to do. She decided that he wouldn’t have wanted to live as a vegetable, so she decided to let him go peacefully. For me, I had no idea how she did that. We all knew how incredibly sad and heart-broken she was, but she was able to stay strong around all of us to make it seem like she was okay. Even to this day, when things about Poppy are brought up, you can see the sadness in her eyes, but she always puts a smile on her face before we are able to ask how she is.
And, of course, Nana is strong physically. She is very fit for her age. It hurts when she gives us a loving pat on the back. I used to think it was just me that thought so, until my friend Amy received one of these pats and told me later how bad it hurt. When we would tell Nana she was hurting us, she would just laugh, tell us we were funny, and pat us again. She is seventy years old, but she is always still out in her garden. One of the best memories I have of Nana to show how strong she is would be her trip home from Florida. It was the year after my Poppy died, and they usually drove to and from Florida together in their motor home. Nana decided to make the trip by herself. The day before she came back, she hurt her right leg pretty bad. She wrapped it up and decided to wait to get back to see a doctor. We warned her to not drive the motor home and that we would be down there to get her in a couple days. The next day, we see the motor home pull up to our house. It was Nana. She limped out of the car. She had wrapped up her right leg and driven the whole way home with just the left leg. My mother was furious, of course, but you’ve got to love Nana’s strength.
Needless to say, my Nana is a hoot. I know that she’s there for me no matter what situation, and that’s what I love most about her. She is the best grandmother a girl could ask for.
Nana is very care-free. She just goes with the flow and doesn’t really care when plans get mixed up. Nana is most known in Evansville for her Tweety Bird car. It’s a little yellow Tracker, and everything inside is Tweety Bird. The tire cover is Tweety Bird saying “I go where I’m towed”. Everyone she meets finds it hilarious, and that’s usually how people know her. Anytime she sees someone she knows, she honks the horn really loud, laughs, and waves. I always get embarrassed, but I know it’s funny at the same time. We always get a kick out of Nana. Just the little things she says and the jokes she makes are funny just because she says them.
She loves music. She sings in the church choir and loves it. She mostly loves Christian music, and old school stuff, especially Elvis. Anytime a song of his comes on that she likes she yells “Oh, sing it Elvis!” This is true of any song she likes. It happens at least five times a day, and it never gets old because after she says that, she sings along to the song. It’s probably one of the better parts of the day.
Nana is one of the strongest people I know, mentally and physically. The first time I found out how mentally strong she is was when I was in 8th grade. My Poppy had suffered a stroke, and he was alive on life-support, but brain-dead. The doctors told us that if they kept him alive, he would be a vegetable the rest of his life. Nana had to be the one to decide what to do. She decided that he wouldn’t have wanted to live as a vegetable, so she decided to let him go peacefully. For me, I had no idea how she did that. We all knew how incredibly sad and heart-broken she was, but she was able to stay strong around all of us to make it seem like she was okay. Even to this day, when things about Poppy are brought up, you can see the sadness in her eyes, but she always puts a smile on her face before we are able to ask how she is.
And, of course, Nana is strong physically. She is very fit for her age. It hurts when she gives us a loving pat on the back. I used to think it was just me that thought so, until my friend Amy received one of these pats and told me later how bad it hurt. When we would tell Nana she was hurting us, she would just laugh, tell us we were funny, and pat us again. She is seventy years old, but she is always still out in her garden. One of the best memories I have of Nana to show how strong she is would be her trip home from Florida. It was the year after my Poppy died, and they usually drove to and from Florida together in their motor home. Nana decided to make the trip by herself. The day before she came back, she hurt her right leg pretty bad. She wrapped it up and decided to wait to get back to see a doctor. We warned her to not drive the motor home and that we would be down there to get her in a couple days. The next day, we see the motor home pull up to our house. It was Nana. She limped out of the car. She had wrapped up her right leg and driven the whole way home with just the left leg. My mother was furious, of course, but you’ve got to love Nana’s strength.
Needless to say, my Nana is a hoot. I know that she’s there for me no matter what situation, and that’s what I love most about her. She is the best grandmother a girl could ask for.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Boys vs. Girls in the Utley House
Growing up, I always thought that my older brother was treated differently than me. It was never that I thought they loved him more than me, but I always knew his circumstances were definitely different than my own. Looking back, I think I can understand why. When I was younger I thought it was so unfair that he got to do more things because he was a boy. When I look at it from my parent’s view, however, I can see why they were more protective over me than they were with my brother.
My brother wasn’t exactly a good kid growing up. He was always out late and we knew he went to parties. One time, when he was 16, my parents caught him and his friend in our basement smoking weed. I was only 11 at the time, so this event seemed like an even bigger deal to me then than it does now. Of course, my parents were furious, angry, sad, but after a month of him being grounded, they got over it. Afterwards, he was still allowed to stay out late.
When I turned 16 and started wanting to go out, my parents gave me a curfew. I believe it was 11 o’clock on weekends, and I couldn’t really go out during the weekdays. I thought it was pretty fair, but when I really started to think about it, I wondered why my brother had no curfew when he was my age. They argued, “Because he’s a boy”. I used to get so angry during these conversations because I had never done anything wrong like my brother, yet I still had to be home at these certain times.
My brother moved out a couple times during high school and then again when he graduated. My parents kind of just let him do what he wanted because they knew they couldn’t stop him anyways. They would fight, make up, and then fight again. He pretty much had complete freedom once he turned 17. I, however, had a curfew up until the summer before I came to college, even though I had just turned 19. When my brother went out, they left him alone. When I went out, they had to know where I was, where I was going, who I was with, and they would also text me throughout the night. If I didn’t answer, they would call whomever I was with. I always felt like I had little freedom, and I was jealous of the freedoms my brother got when he was even younger than me.
My parents could never really explain why it was that my brother got treated differently than me. They would just tell me that boys get treated different than girls, and that it was just because I’m more likely to get hurt when I’m out late. I am also their “little girl” and, not that they love me more or anything, but I think that just makes them more protective over me. I guess I can understand that, seeing now that boys are generally more able to fend for themselves than girls are. It still doesn’t change how unfair I thought it was back then though.
Now, for my younger sister, it’s about the same as it was with me, only there are special circumstances. My sister usually doesn’t go out much, and it’s harder for her to make friends. She’s 16, and spends the majority of her time at home. She doesn’t drive, so my parents take her where she wants to go. I feel like she pretty much gets to do whatever she wants. If she wants to be out late, she can be out late, even though she’s 16. When I was 16, I had to be home by 11. I can understand why my parents are like that with her. When they see she wants to actually go out with friends and have a social life, they jump at the chance to take her places. I suppose if she had an active social life and was out all of the time like I used to be, then rules would be set for her too. It doesn’t really upset me that she doesn’t have a curfew.
When I have kids, I’m not sure if I would go in the direction my parents did. While I do see their reasoning, I don’t necessarily think it’s fair that guys get an advantage just because they were born males. Then again, maybe it’s not so fair us girls get pampered and babies just because we were born females. Who knows?
My brother wasn’t exactly a good kid growing up. He was always out late and we knew he went to parties. One time, when he was 16, my parents caught him and his friend in our basement smoking weed. I was only 11 at the time, so this event seemed like an even bigger deal to me then than it does now. Of course, my parents were furious, angry, sad, but after a month of him being grounded, they got over it. Afterwards, he was still allowed to stay out late.
When I turned 16 and started wanting to go out, my parents gave me a curfew. I believe it was 11 o’clock on weekends, and I couldn’t really go out during the weekdays. I thought it was pretty fair, but when I really started to think about it, I wondered why my brother had no curfew when he was my age. They argued, “Because he’s a boy”. I used to get so angry during these conversations because I had never done anything wrong like my brother, yet I still had to be home at these certain times.
My brother moved out a couple times during high school and then again when he graduated. My parents kind of just let him do what he wanted because they knew they couldn’t stop him anyways. They would fight, make up, and then fight again. He pretty much had complete freedom once he turned 17. I, however, had a curfew up until the summer before I came to college, even though I had just turned 19. When my brother went out, they left him alone. When I went out, they had to know where I was, where I was going, who I was with, and they would also text me throughout the night. If I didn’t answer, they would call whomever I was with. I always felt like I had little freedom, and I was jealous of the freedoms my brother got when he was even younger than me.
My parents could never really explain why it was that my brother got treated differently than me. They would just tell me that boys get treated different than girls, and that it was just because I’m more likely to get hurt when I’m out late. I am also their “little girl” and, not that they love me more or anything, but I think that just makes them more protective over me. I guess I can understand that, seeing now that boys are generally more able to fend for themselves than girls are. It still doesn’t change how unfair I thought it was back then though.
Now, for my younger sister, it’s about the same as it was with me, only there are special circumstances. My sister usually doesn’t go out much, and it’s harder for her to make friends. She’s 16, and spends the majority of her time at home. She doesn’t drive, so my parents take her where she wants to go. I feel like she pretty much gets to do whatever she wants. If she wants to be out late, she can be out late, even though she’s 16. When I was 16, I had to be home by 11. I can understand why my parents are like that with her. When they see she wants to actually go out with friends and have a social life, they jump at the chance to take her places. I suppose if she had an active social life and was out all of the time like I used to be, then rules would be set for her too. It doesn’t really upset me that she doesn’t have a curfew.
When I have kids, I’m not sure if I would go in the direction my parents did. While I do see their reasoning, I don’t necessarily think it’s fair that guys get an advantage just because they were born males. Then again, maybe it’s not so fair us girls get pampered and babies just because we were born females. Who knows?
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