#please don't knock over older men on the subway

[sunshinykittens-blog]

The Dearest Diary There Ever Was,

Let me start by apologizing that I didn’t let you in on the events of my life sooner. But let me tell you, it’s been a busy life lately. Kate’s car was “liberated” of quite a few things and then took an adventure. And I’m going to miss that damn car. It was a beauty, I tell you.

But that was later in the week. I have other news - not sure about the fact that it’s good or bad yet. But, I got a job. Or seven, actually. While Kate was given primarily office jobs and had to wear really nice clothing that she had managed to snag for a song at the local thrift store, I got to wear jeans and tees and my favorite tennies. Not that I don’t have experience working office jobs, but it seemed that people wanted me to do heavy lifting and cleaning and stuff like that. So that’s the assignments I was given.

The first day, I was given an address somewhere close to downtown that was basically helping someone who had just rented a small business that they were planning on turning into a boutique and needed muscle to move the fixtures into the building and then arrange them to their liking. It hadn’t been a hard job, but it had really given my muscles quite the workout and, even though it had only gone on for six hours, I was honestly ready to go home, take a shower and drop into bed and take a tiny coma. Sleep wasn’t going to do it that night.

The next job I got was two days later, the day that Kate’s car had taken a permanent vacation. It was another heavy lifting job, but this time it was unloading a truck when half the usual crew had called out and it was a time-sensitive load.

I was rushing to the closest subway station entrance when, as luck (though I don't know that I would call it luck, exactly) would have it, I ran, full body into someone else. Like, actually ran into that person so hard that they teetered on their feet a bit and I had had to grab at their shoulders to ensure that they had remained upright as I attempted to apologize my face off. It wasn’t the most effective apology ever as I realized who it was I had run into. I wanted to stand there and spout movie lines of his own making at him, but restrained myself to just a reference and half-whispered in mock-confession, "I'm sorry, I've recently been released from The Psycho-Neurotic Institute for the Very, Very Nervous. My reflexes aren’t quite what they used to be.” Lame, I know, but it made the man in front of me smile. And I consider that a win in the disaster that was usually these types of situations. He quietly told me it was okay that he hadn’t been watching where he was going either and that as long as I promised not to try to push any other old men down the stairs, he wouldn’t make a scene. I nodded and promised on my children’s very souls that I would learn to look around more often and he reciprocated with another smile. We then went on our respective ways - me about to miss the train that I had been running for in the first place - and still in shock that I had almost bowled down the one and only Mel Brooks.

That was, thankfully, the only human interaction accident I had managed to have that day. The boxes I was carrying near the end of my shift, however, didn’t fare as well. But at least it was only two of them and nothing had really broken, per se.

Third job was at a printing place just down the street from where we live, so it wasn’t that much of a commute. This was definitely something I had experience with in the past, so I figured there was little chance of me messing anything up. And, on the first day, that was the truth. The second day, however, was quite another story. Let me preface this bit of the story with the fact that I momentarily forgot toner was a thing. Without going into too much detail, the walk home, I looked like I had gotten into a fight with a cartoon squid and said squid had won in a most spectacular fashion. Kate met me at the downstairs door to our apartments and demanded that I all but strip before setting even the tiniest bit of a foot into the building. She had, however, been nice enough to bring me my robe and, together, we roped a kindly passerby into holding up a bed sheet for me to disrobe behind. All-in-all, far less disastrous than it could have been.

Job Number Four was at a business that specialized in shredding sensitive documents. It happened that the contract was for a very high profile client and, so, the job was overnight. We had had to sign non-disclosure agreements before even getting to enter the building proper. Then we were directed to the shredding machines. Big, lumbering, LOUD, shredding machines. Machines, that we were warned, if we weren't paying close enough attention, could take our arms off in mere seconds. We were asked to remove all of our jewelry and pull our hair back if it was longer than our shoulders. Thank goodness one of the other women had brought extra hair ties as the one I had been wearing on my wrist had snapped when I tried to put it in the tight pony I had hastily swept up on the top of my head. Four boxes into the load I had been given, they had called “lunch” and I pulled out my paper bag before securing my station and heading off to the break room with everyone else.

Two cold pizza slices (that were NOT Hawaiian! ICK!) later, it was back to the job and as I opened and started the fifth box, right under the lid was a spider. I know you know this, dearest diary, so it hardly bears repeating that the action I made when that eight-legged menace made it’s appearance was probably way more amusing to those around me than it was to me. It was also a good thing that I had tucked my tee shirt into my jeans - something that was quite odd for me to do, actually - otherwise I would have been pulled into the shredder that was humming in front of me.

After dispatching the arachnid with help from two of my temporary coworkers, I set back into the box, but not without a weary and healthy fear of what else might be lurking in its confines

The rest of the night went well though and I was able to get home in good time and Kate had even set up the coffee pot to go off a bit after I was expected home. I then showered and went to sleep, knowing I had a job only five hours from the time my head hit the pillow.

Number Five. Product Demonstrator at a Local Grocery Store. This one had a low chance of me doing anything stupid, and, as it had been pointed out by everyone I knew, I had the knack of being able to “Sell snow cones to a Yeti”, so this was the perfect temp job for me.

I had set up a wonderful demo for a some new waffle flavors that Eggo was trying out in a select market and given a small toaster oven to use. I had a little cooler full of boxes of the breakfast food and was unboxing the inner bags to save myself some time when the store manager came up to me and started a small conversation about having never seen me doing demos at his location before. I half-explained that I was new to town and that had been working with Acme Employment Agency. Over the course of talking to him, I managed to get the first round of waffles done to perfection and he sampled them before running off to his office. I was doing fairly well the whole day, noticing that the little suggestions of side items to eat with the waffles were actually helping to sell the side products as well. I was hoping that it would actually lead to more jobs like this as I felt totally in my element. And, honestly, it was like a dream right up until I ran out of stock and had to go to the back to get more. It shouldn’t have been an issue, but, I am me, so it was bound to be far more complicated than it needed to be. And, if I am being completely honest, then it wasn’t even the stock I was working with that gave me the trouble. It was one of the displays that an actual employee of the store had created. As displays went, it was spectacular to say the least. But, 24 packs of cola and I do not get along. At least not when they are stacked in impossible combinations. Never did understand why that was a thing anyway. Soup cans, I got. Those wonderfully large pyramids of simply colored cans just reminded me of all the sitcoms where they were bowled over like so many bowling pins. And, I always took a little pride in the fact that I had never reenacted that very scenario as long as I had been entering grocery stores. And, it didn’t happen this time either. No, it was, instead the packs of coke cans. And the young mother that didn’t see me coming down the aisle where both the soup cans and cola packs resided. I wasn’t doing anything that should have caused anything bad to happen, I really wasn’t. Except for maybe talking over my shoulder to a man I had almost run into with the cart because, again, being honest, he was really a delight to look at and he actually talked back to me when I said something under my breath about how good the soup tower looked and how I was not going to run into it if I could help it. And I didn’t, so we shared a slight laugh over that. But, I did manage to run into the 24 packs.

So, little bit of trivia for you. When you ram headfirst into a large tower of 24 packs of soda, the liquid equivalent of fireworks happens. And, if you are not the one to cause the spectacle, I am willing to bet that it’s very exciting. At least, that was the impression that I got from the squealing toddler that stood there clapping at the literal fountain of caramel sugar water that rivaled the time I went to see the geysers at Yosemite. All I could do was stand there and stare before looking around and catching the eyes of someone that I had met earlier that week. And those eyes were disappointed. I sighed in apology as he mouthed something about not being able to keep out of trouble. Great. The great Mel Brooks had seen me at my “best” at least twice now.

That, predictably, ended my job for the day and I, covered in the stickiest substance I currently knew to man, collected my pay and slunk out of the grocery store, head held down and wondering exactly what Kate was going to say to me.

Job six was at a local bar, hauling in supplies. It was short, but it involved me carrying stock in. Not a single bottle was broken. I mean, what do you take me for a heathen? Liquor is sacred. According to my beliefs, not one drop shall touch the earth without just cause. And none did. I think Kate was as shocked as I was to hear this news.

Which brings us to job number seven. At a family restaurant that had the promise of possibly becoming a full-time job in a field that I was more than familiar with. I showed up in the required uniform of a crisp white button down and black dress pants fifteen minutes early despite almost missing the train a second time. (But NOT running into Mel Brooks, I might proudly add.)

I arrived to find the restaurant itself a nice little cozy place that was well laid out and just felt like home. The menu itself was simple and filled with comfort food and the prices were very reasonable. It didn’t take long for me to catch onto the operational processes that were common to the place and, before long, the owner came up to me to tell me she was very impressed with my work. I smiled to myself, hoping that meant that this might, in fact, become more permanent.

It was, in fact, almost the end of the night when I spotted a familiar face once again. At this point, I almost thought that Mr. Brooks was stalking me, but that was too ludicrous even for the likes of myself, so I just smiled and thought about how good the food must be here and how awesome he must be because he had no qualms about being out and among the actual public without the fear and pretention most celebrities had.

Unfortunately, when I spotted him, I was wheeling a very heavy desert cart and lifted my hand for the briefest of hand waves and smiles before I felt the cart stop moving with an almost violent jolt. Fearing I had misjudged the distance to the wall and had crashed headlong into it in my effort to greet a man that I felt I was becoming “coincidence buddies” with, I looked up, silently cursing. And found that I wasn’t actually looking at a wall, but, rather, at a man, doubled over trying to catch his breath.

I grimaced out a quick “oopsie” and pulled the cart back a bit to help the man and issue and apology only to see who it was that I had assaulted. I tried, I really tried to not say the thing, but, my brain was unable to not say the thing and, so, I blurted out, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Mr. Broderick, the man himself, gave me a glare that might have been able to peel paint off a house had I been either a house, or painted. But I was neither and I braced myself for the harsh sound of being fired on the spot. But that didn’t happen either, so I slowly backed the cart away as if being rewound and made my way back into the kitchen to inform the owner that I might have damaged a damn national treasure. But she had seen and wasn’t really all that mad - she said she was going to go out and offer to pay for his dinner. And that it really wasn’t the worst thing that she had had happen to someone in her restaurant after all and that the worst thing that had actually happened actually involved her and that, no, we weren't talking about it thankyouverymuch. I was so glad to find a kindred spirit in her that the sigh I let out must have amused her greatly.

After going out to do damage control, she returned to let me know that he was more amused by the situation than he was angered, so it was all good. She also let me know that she would, indeed, be glad to have me back if she needed a substitute waitress, if only for the free floor show I had given the dining room. In fact, she asked if I would come back for a shift the next night.

I was standing outside waiting for the cab I had decided to splurge on when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“You can’t manage to stay out of trouble for one moment, can you?”

I shook my head in mock-humiliation and replied. “Well, at least he didn’t land face first in the meringue pie that I had on that cart.”

The old man smiled slowly. “Well, I would have written it that way.”

It was then that the cab decided to show up and, as I turned to give the driver the “wait” signal, he was already walking away, chuckling to himself in the way that only writers can. I was honestly worried when I would run into him next.

BTW, I’ve been working at that restaurant for three days now and there hasn’t been another incident. And that brings us up to date. For now. 

May your days be as eventful as my last week or so has been,

It’s Always Sunny!