Wednesday, October 29, 2008

(W10) Diet

Not ten minutes ago I found myself enjoying pizza and soda from the Student Association. I took the two slices that I had selected and walked to the table I was sharing with my friend.

'There is pizza out there? Hmm.. I don't know, ah what the heck. I can't turn down free pizza.'

A member of the Student Association looked up and said, 'its not free, the student association payed for it.'

my friend turned and said 'I guess it is a perspective thing...'

To enjoy my free pizza, guilt free, I walked back out with my friend. There one of the students that works in the computer lab was pouring diet Pepsi into a cup 'Kinda ironic isn't it, eating pizza and drinking diet Pepsi.'

'Yeah I guess we all do that a lot.' After the conversation ended I was looking at all the sides of irony that where there. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

'Kinda ironic isn't it, eating pizza and drinking diet Pepsi.' He was saying that choosing the diet Pepsi over regular Pepsi was a healthier choice whereas the pizza was an unhealthy choice altogether. I saw the word diet as the most ironic part of the statement.

Soda companies use the word diet to mean: not containing sugar. The common American views the word to mean: a healthier choice. Sugar is unhealthy in high doses because it exerts organs trying to balance your body, a sugar supplement may very well be just as bad for you in high doses; there just has not been a scientific study on the effects of prolonged exposure to regular doses of a certain sugar supplement.

Kinda ironic isn't it.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

(W9) The Snot Squad

We had arrived an hour early for my bus back home; Jake, Tia and myself, the only members of the Snot Squad.

The Squads formation took place on my last day as a resident in Portland, I was walking with Tia to locate a brick that said 'WHAT', I wanted a picture of it before I left. On my search we ran into Jake. I gave up the search, when I found a spot where a brick once was and I convinced them both to go to get bubble tea. On the walk down I took a picture of Tia as she scrunched up her face. We sat down with our choices of bubble tea, each tasted like a different flower and the blue, pearl sized, 'bubbles' would hit the roof of your mouth as they came out of the straw. I went to take a picture of Jake and he scrunched his face. I looked back on the camera and sure enough it was the same scrunched up face Tia had made. I had my photo taken and we were hence forth the Snot Squad.

I had bought a SD card for this trip to Portland, it still had six hundred or so shots I could take. So, the second I got in I started taking pictures. We started laughing and joking about the Snot Squad and I decided that we needed a group photo. I turned to one of the people sitting on the bench and asked if he would take our picture. He got the camera ready and I said 'We are going to make weird faces, so don't worry we're supposed to look like that' We all scrunched up our faces, the man looked over the top of the camera to make sure the viewfinder was not playing a trick on him. It was all I could do not to laugh.

When it was time to form the line we sat down and started talking about random things we had done and friends that we had. When the topics started to run out, Tia said, 'have you ever played the pulse game?' We each took one of the others hands, the pulse was sent by squeezing the hand that had not just been squeezed. Tia squeezes Jake's hand, then he squeezes mine, then I squeeze Tia's. It continues until someone loses it, ours got to the point were it seemed that the pulse you had just sent was being received by your other hand.

The hour went by too quickly. After a man took a head count we traded hugs, they left the station and I got on the bus to go home.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

(W7) My Father

In this town, my father is well known. Anyone over thirty that has lived in this town for the least ten years knows my father. He spent the better part of sixty years in this town. When I run into people in the grocery store or on the side of the road, they turn to whoever they are with and say 'This is Everett's youngest.'

After graduating he worked for a local bar and sold brushes door to door. Then he worked for the post office for thirty-five years, twenty of which he was a postal carrier. He would always find time to talk about the day with anyone that said hi. He would hum songs and sing the choruses.

Whenever we go to the store at least three people would stop and say 'Hey Everett' He would talk to them for hours, ask them how there kids were, ask them if they still lived at such and such. I remember looking at him and going, 'Dad they said your name but you never said theirs.' To me he would admit that he had no idea what there name was, he knew where they lived because he delivered their mail, he knew they had kids because it was all they talked about.

My father is held in the memories of hundreds, as a good man that always had the time to talk.

-NK

(W8) Change in a Pocket

The Muscular Dystrophy Association researches to find treatments to 35 diseases. They work toward proper diagnose and treatment of thousands of patients. Millions of dollars are raised each year to fund the programs and research of the Association. Donations gathered by a telethon on Labor Day, will get you a mug or a t-shirt. Donations every time you walk by a small collection can, allow you to remain anonymous.

I live one tenth of a mile away from a Mobil Gas Station. When my thirst cannot be quenched by the contents of the refrigerator I walk to the gas station. The selection is astounding and limiting all at the same time, I select the drink that looks most appealing at the time. I always pay in cash, my alloted mad money for the week. After my purchase I deposit, anywhere from one penny to three quarters, two dimes and four pennies, into the the small plastic can that reads: Help Fight Muscular Dystrophy.

Why should I keep all that change in my pocket?

-NK

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

(W5) Teddy Grams and Mountain Dew

When I got back home after a year in Portland I owed a bank three hundred dollars in loans.

The story starts in the University Credit Union (UCU) loan department. A cubical with carpet wall dividers, with the frosted wavy glass at the top. The female banker sat behind a desk, one part for paperwork, the other part to the side for the computer. 'You do not have any credit we can not give you a loan without a co-signer.' I thought to myself Well there goes any hope of eating this summer.

I was not about to go back home, I enjoyed living on my own and being in the city. So I stayed, the payment plan was not all that bad, one fourth the summer fee each month. The problem lied in me wanting to pay it off in two so that I would have a bit in savings when school started up again. I payed in all but twenty dollars, the day I got my check. Two days later I was out of food and still had five days until my next paycheck. The first three days I spent eating the teddy grams from my mother care package, and drinking the 36 pack of mountain dew that I walked a mile with, after it was given to me at a LAN(Local Area Network) party. On the third day I woke up three times chugging a can of mountain dew, only to just pass out again.

I decided to use my UCU debit card to take out money, to buy a sandwich, I figured I would just have to pay a fee. The next few weeks found me with a good amount of money, and I went to the bank to make sure that I did not owe them any money, I did not. I continued to spend my money on CDs, energy drinks, and food.

As it turns out the UCU debit card comes with an over draft protection. When a card holder overdrafts the 'small' sum of one hundred dollars is transferred into their account. This protection covers up to three hundred dollars in loans.

To set myself straight money wise I decided it best to move back home.

Just to recap, in order to obtain a loan from the University Credit Union: You must prove that you have no idea what you are doing with your account. Don't bother trying to apply for a loan, just get a debit card with overdraft protection.


-NK

(W6) The Dooryard

The Dooryard is a multifunction, donation based loft space. I Black sheet made up the back of the makeshift theater. I cart with a projector and laptop set between mismatched couches and chairs. Off to the far wall there was another black sheet, a rope and green thing hung from rafters, and a footlocker chest sat oddly on the floor.

The theme of the day was The Thunderdome; It was the Mad Max marathon. Cinnabon coffee flavored drinks were stacked by the door in twelve packs, next to the donation plate and the e-mail sign-up sheet. In between the films there were an intermissions, the first was just a time to run and get food and chat. I went to the restroom, in which there was a typewriter sitting on a coffee table. The ribbon held small verses from random authors, I added a piece on how I came to be sitting in this location typing on a typewriter.

After the film the footlocker made sense; It was for the Thunderdome Arm Wrestling Contest. The ropes never saw there full function, something to do with the complication in the production of foam weapons and the early morning shifts for the renters of the loft.


-NK

Monday, October 6, 2008

(W5) Training, a Valueble Tool.

Back in November of 2005, I had been working in the department for three months; all of which was purely customer service and cleaning slicers. I remember looking at the person, that had only been there for a week, who was getting trained on breaking down the salad bar. Why was she alloted a different job when she had the same job title? I took it personally and the only reason I did not walk out was because I was brought up to never walk away. Through questioning on it, they told me that I was needed more on the counter, and that in January when business slowed down I would be trained on a few more things.

There were two ways to do things, by the book and the shortcut way. The shortcut way got the thing done, it just did not require as many steps and actions. Each member of management in the department had a different tolerance of the shortcuts, some would not allow you to do somethings; others, no shortcuts where allowed. The trick was to ask them how they wanted it done and watch when they lectured someone else on doing something wrong. The what not to do rules where more important then the actual rules.

March 2006, I watched one of the better associates get weeded out. He was unorthodox and pushed things to their limit all the time. It was more like he was operating a deli of the 70's; he did not believe in sanitizer, he would let meat pile on the slicer until he could not fit his hand in to catch meat. He got the job done without following the rules, but he did fit the changing face of the deli. People wanted there machines clean and sanitary. So, when new management arrived they placed him in the sink, he was to just wash dishes and clean the department at the end of the day; and if he did anything wrong he would have to hear about it for at least an hour the next day. He walked, he knew that they would just keep hassling him until he left.

In April of 2007, I started to work at the deli in the Portland store. I slowly got the knack for telling who was going to last a long time and who would only last a few weeks. Regular clerks and shift leaders were in constant flux. For the people that I got along well with I showed them the tricks to dealing with the deli; for those that were rude and seemed to lack the qualities needed for an effective service clerk, I let them run their course.

In the Portland store I trained and guided 14, three of which I thought would make it any given amount of time. Managers would read a list of objectives and point at the areas involved, when it came time to do something; someone who had done the job a hundred times over would tell you how to do somethings and what the outcome should be. A week after you were trained on something, if you could not do it efficiently they would tell you that you needed to do it faster. I worked my hardest to be the trainer, I knew that it did not matter how much potential person has if you do not teach them how to do the job.

In August of 2007 I returned to my first store and I watched as they started to follow new rules. All of the new rules had been in effect at the Portland store, so I knew that they were not new. Because I knew what the rules had been I talked about it with lower forms of management, by piecing what they said together I learned that somewhere there was a complete list of the rules and protocol, but we only had to make sure that we followed the ones that the store manager wanted us to follow.

Through my two plus years in the deli I learned the real training of a deli, is learning how to stay in the deli.
-Never take things personally
-Never do something you are not going to be able to do everyday
-Ask as many questions as possible
-Walk the line when it come to rules
-Be ready for change
-Learn how to meet their standards in your own way.

Standard deli training only teaches you to make the deli functional, it has nothing to do with keeping you there.

-NK