Today I was working as a breaker. That is going from station to station relieving the demonstrators. Gelato was wonderful but pork loin not so much. Anyway I was standing there saying "Pork loin, $2.19 a pound, great on the grill" and such when a middle aged couple comes up and says, "What's that?" "Pork loin," I answer, "Would you like to try some?" Many people say thank you, or no thank you, or ask about sodium or say they don't eat meat. Fine, I don't care, eat what you want. I have never had anything like this happen, though.
The man started to pound his chest and scream, "Allah akbar, Allah akbar! I don't eat pork!!" I see thousands of people each day and the muslims are always polite asking if the pizza or whatever has pork. Never that kind of ridicule. I said, "Please sir, can you be a little sensitive? We have many Muslim people working here and also customers." He started shouting at me and sending hate my way and so did his wife. His final rant was that I would probably vote for Mark Dayton. I turned away from him and gave him no more energy but it was scary to be in the path of so much hate.
I was shaking for a little while but people were so nice and friendly, clearly embarrassed by the way these Americans acted and I soon got over it in time to go relieve the Waffle Fries lady. But I couldn't help thinking about these people on and off for the rest of the day?
What did that man accomplish? Did he accomplish anything remotely positive with his sarcastic, hateful rant? Is the world a better place for his being alive?
I don't think spewing hate and degradation on any religion makes my beliefs more valid. It might attract other haters but it didn't attract others to his cause. It made people around him uncomfortable, and as one woman remarked, it put a hateful energy into the atmosphere.
Unless there is something one can do to improve a situation, screaming about it is not enough. Ridiculing Muslims is no way to make friends and influence enemies. It just made him look like the fear filled ignorant person he is. He did not make the world a safer place at all.
I am so proud of not arguing with him, of quickly disengaging. I said what needed to be said and then ignored him. Clearly nothing I would say would be of any use. Right after I went to the next station, a coworker came by to criticize how I was doing something telling me I would get in trouble if a supervisor saw how I was putting out the pizza. I said, "Give me a break, I can't live in fear." And that is the crux of it. Yes there are Muslim extremists. Yes they have done and continue to do some awful things, no doubt about it. But I will not condemn millions of people for following their hearts and worshipping as they please. There are extremists all over spreading hate in God's name.
People of faith know that the Creator doesn't work that way. You can say you are doing God's work, but unless you are doing it with love, all you are doing is spreading fear.
I chose not to live in fear. I choose to live as a positive person who tries to keep the personal space I live in as a positive port. Let my actions, thoughts, and words comfort others and let others find comfort in my presence.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Clearing the air
Today I was able to get rid of some negative stuff that has been bothering me for quite awhile. Short story, after I lost my job, a colleague in the same exact position but in another city retired. I applied for her job and got back a letter saying they would not interview me because I didn't have enough experience. I was livid. I'd been doing the job for over 4 years. I thought the man in charge was doing it on purpose to hurt me.
I was demonstrating raisin bread toast and butter today and a man walked by and said he recognized my voice. I recognized his face and asked his name. It was the man who did not interview me. He asked whether I worked there. (Duh, I come in and make toast for strangers for fun.) I was able to say that it was his decision to hire anyone he wanted for that position but quite hurtful to get a letter saying I didn't have enough experience. He apologized and said the letter could have been worded better, but he only interviewed two people.
And then it was over. That string tying me to a past resentment came undone and I am free of bad feelings toward this person. It is over. Should I have let sleeping dogs lie? Not when the last time he saw me I was in a position of power and now I am doing menial labor. I am glad I said something, I am glad to have an apology. Nothing has changed except my perception of an event and it no longer has the power to hurt.
It does make me wonder how many little hurts we carry inside and don't even realize the harm they do to our psyche? I freely give them up, I don't want them anymore! The problem is that many are so deeply hidden. There is almost a fear that if I start to dig them up I will fall in the hole. So maybe it is more like zits. The poison is under the skin and works it's way up to a point of exposure. It is ugly and hurtful but once on the surface it can heal.
I've always been lucky with good skin and dealt with blemishes as they appeared. So, too, with living.
I was demonstrating raisin bread toast and butter today and a man walked by and said he recognized my voice. I recognized his face and asked his name. It was the man who did not interview me. He asked whether I worked there. (Duh, I come in and make toast for strangers for fun.) I was able to say that it was his decision to hire anyone he wanted for that position but quite hurtful to get a letter saying I didn't have enough experience. He apologized and said the letter could have been worded better, but he only interviewed two people.
And then it was over. That string tying me to a past resentment came undone and I am free of bad feelings toward this person. It is over. Should I have let sleeping dogs lie? Not when the last time he saw me I was in a position of power and now I am doing menial labor. I am glad I said something, I am glad to have an apology. Nothing has changed except my perception of an event and it no longer has the power to hurt.
It does make me wonder how many little hurts we carry inside and don't even realize the harm they do to our psyche? I freely give them up, I don't want them anymore! The problem is that many are so deeply hidden. There is almost a fear that if I start to dig them up I will fall in the hole. So maybe it is more like zits. The poison is under the skin and works it's way up to a point of exposure. It is ugly and hurtful but once on the surface it can heal.
I've always been lucky with good skin and dealt with blemishes as they appeared. So, too, with living.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
For humans with breasts
I just came back from my annual mammogram and I feel good. A little smushed, but that is a small price to pay for early detection of breast cancer.
Lately there has been conflicting news about when women should start getting mammograms. Here is the low down that I got from the technician:
History of breast cancer in mother- ten years before it was detected. So if your mother got breast cancer at age 40, you should get a baseline mammogram at 30.
No history, start at age 40 and yearly thereafter.
If insurance says age 50, tell them that was a bad study and the gov't says 40. If you do not have the insurance to cover a mammogram, go on the internet and find who gives low cost or free mammograms. You know all those runs and walks and fundraisers? They are for just that reason. Do not let pride or lack of money prevent you from getting checked.
My mother died of breast cancer at age 42 leaving three children and a grieving husband behind. That was in 1958. My step mother is a 31 year breast cancer survivor soon to be 97 years old. That is the difference in early detection.
Men, this is not only your lady's concern. If during lovemaking you feel a lump or something a little different, bring it to her attention and MAKE her see a doctor. Very often it is just fatty tissue or something else non-threatening. But it needs to be checked out. Check your own male breasts also. Men DO get breast cancer, if you find a lump... check it out with a doctor.
(One last thing, if you have enhancements and are worrying about that, there is technology to get an image that won't ruin your implants. Talk to your surgeon for a recommendation.)
Wishing everyone good health and long life!
Lately there has been conflicting news about when women should start getting mammograms. Here is the low down that I got from the technician:
History of breast cancer in mother- ten years before it was detected. So if your mother got breast cancer at age 40, you should get a baseline mammogram at 30.
No history, start at age 40 and yearly thereafter.
If insurance says age 50, tell them that was a bad study and the gov't says 40. If you do not have the insurance to cover a mammogram, go on the internet and find who gives low cost or free mammograms. You know all those runs and walks and fundraisers? They are for just that reason. Do not let pride or lack of money prevent you from getting checked.
My mother died of breast cancer at age 42 leaving three children and a grieving husband behind. That was in 1958. My step mother is a 31 year breast cancer survivor soon to be 97 years old. That is the difference in early detection.
Men, this is not only your lady's concern. If during lovemaking you feel a lump or something a little different, bring it to her attention and MAKE her see a doctor. Very often it is just fatty tissue or something else non-threatening. But it needs to be checked out. Check your own male breasts also. Men DO get breast cancer, if you find a lump... check it out with a doctor.
(One last thing, if you have enhancements and are worrying about that, there is technology to get an image that won't ruin your implants. Talk to your surgeon for a recommendation.)
Wishing everyone good health and long life!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Great day for shaking it like Shakira
Today was a terrific day for me. I slept as much as I wanted to, took a shower and got lots done. Flu shot, credit union, library, fed a friend's cats, and had delicious food. Then I came home to continue the fun.
There is something absolutely lovely about living alone. No one can see me if I draw the shades.
Tonight Shakira was performing on Dancing With The Stars. I tried to keep up move for move. Of course I looked like one of the dancing hippos from Fantasia, except they are a bit more graceful. Doesn't matter. She popped her pelvis, I popped my pelvis, she reached down, so did I. I was shaking it like a polaroid. (Good thing no one took a picture!)
Then I realized if I had a video of Shakira singing and dancing and I followed along, I could have a lot of aerobic fun without watching some hard body in a "routine".
Going to have to look into that, finding a Shakira video. Maybe on Netflix?
There is something absolutely lovely about living alone. No one can see me if I draw the shades.
Tonight Shakira was performing on Dancing With The Stars. I tried to keep up move for move. Of course I looked like one of the dancing hippos from Fantasia, except they are a bit more graceful. Doesn't matter. She popped her pelvis, I popped my pelvis, she reached down, so did I. I was shaking it like a polaroid. (Good thing no one took a picture!)
Then I realized if I had a video of Shakira singing and dancing and I followed along, I could have a lot of aerobic fun without watching some hard body in a "routine".
Going to have to look into that, finding a Shakira video. Maybe on Netflix?
Monday, October 18, 2010
Mr Mischief
Look at him lying there on top on Piper. Makes you think he is just a sleepy kitten. Just a defenseless little baby who gets taken advantage of by his big brother. Don't you believe it for a minute! This is one mischievous personality in a tiny body. This one doesn't know he's smaller. He is funny, but not very sweet. Piper is sweet. This one is Mr Mischief, Mr for short. And I think I love him.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Halloween Party
I went to a wonderful Halloween Party at a hotel last night. People really outdid themselves this year. Pirates seemed to be the most popular theme and there were some really wonderful outfits. Ghouls, zombies and sleazy women abounded. I put on a business suit and name badge. I used the backside of the badge I use at work and printed in red, Endangered Species. Below that in blue was printed: Fully employed at a job with good pay, benefits, and dignity. I wore a pretty pink and gold eye mask, but somehow everyone knew it was me. (Could it have been my shoes?)
A friend was there in his famous "Camille Toe" costume. It is a padded suit meant to look like an aerobics instructor from the eighties, complete with pigtails. He looked at my badge and said, "Carol, you are so strange." I looked at him and said, "Me? Look at what you are wearing!" He had to admit it was the pot calling the kettle black when it came to weirdness. Frankly I think he won.
It takes guts to go to a party like this where couples abound and I am single. Everyone seems to have someone to have fun with. But it is much easier than going to a singles party. I remember working one when I first started as a banquet server. Most of the women were the age I am now and it felt like the dawn of the dead. I cleared the tables and watched the goings on and the competition for the few decent men there and thought how grateful I was to be married and that if anything ever happened to husband or marriage I would sit home alone rather than do that.
The truth is I get lonely and can very easily turn into someone who stays in bed reading rather than go out. Now that I am working and exhausted from talking to people all day long, I really want to stay home. (Then I can feel sorry for myself while others are out having fun.) But last night I talked to people, admired friends' costumes and danced with Darth Vader. He can really dance, old Darth.
They say the recipe for a successful party is to put too many people in too small a room. It worked last night for sure. It also helped that most people really wanted to have fun and got in the spirit of the party. Good security that kept out underage drinkers was a real plus. It was fun to see the bouncer give a couple of kids the bum's rush. Keeping alcohol in the room and not allowing it to enter or leave kept the registration area cool. I left before midnight having only drunk water and now am getting ready to take a friend to the airport before hawking something at work. I left a pair of jeans on the floor of the bathroom and the boys are curled up with each other sleeping on them.
Life certainly can be interesting.
A friend was there in his famous "Camille Toe" costume. It is a padded suit meant to look like an aerobics instructor from the eighties, complete with pigtails. He looked at my badge and said, "Carol, you are so strange." I looked at him and said, "Me? Look at what you are wearing!" He had to admit it was the pot calling the kettle black when it came to weirdness. Frankly I think he won.
It takes guts to go to a party like this where couples abound and I am single. Everyone seems to have someone to have fun with. But it is much easier than going to a singles party. I remember working one when I first started as a banquet server. Most of the women were the age I am now and it felt like the dawn of the dead. I cleared the tables and watched the goings on and the competition for the few decent men there and thought how grateful I was to be married and that if anything ever happened to husband or marriage I would sit home alone rather than do that.
The truth is I get lonely and can very easily turn into someone who stays in bed reading rather than go out. Now that I am working and exhausted from talking to people all day long, I really want to stay home. (Then I can feel sorry for myself while others are out having fun.) But last night I talked to people, admired friends' costumes and danced with Darth Vader. He can really dance, old Darth.
They say the recipe for a successful party is to put too many people in too small a room. It worked last night for sure. It also helped that most people really wanted to have fun and got in the spirit of the party. Good security that kept out underage drinkers was a real plus. It was fun to see the bouncer give a couple of kids the bum's rush. Keeping alcohol in the room and not allowing it to enter or leave kept the registration area cool. I left before midnight having only drunk water and now am getting ready to take a friend to the airport before hawking something at work. I left a pair of jeans on the floor of the bathroom and the boys are curled up with each other sleeping on them.
Life certainly can be interesting.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Of little kittens, sharp old ladies, and happy lights
I awoke to use the bathroom and found half a roll of toilet paper on the floor. Had there been more than half a roll left, it would have been on the floor, too. I can't even say, "Bad Kitty!" because I am thinking just how clever that little guy is. How do I know it was the tiny Siamese? Let's just say all evidence leads to him. Right now he is leaping between two shoes alternately attacking each one and a pen that is on the floor between them. These aren't just any shoes; these shoes fight back. You should have seen his face when he got caught by the velcro. After I pulled him loose the first time, he attacked with gusto and cunning. Piper watched in fascination. I think I have found the right name for him, Chief, short for chief mischief maker. It seems to fit, although he is so very small.
Yesterday evening I went to game night with some of the elderly ladies in my building. We play a version of a game called hand and foot. The cards were brand new and slippery. Shirley, sitting quietly on her walker seat was cleaning our clock until she went to get some coffee. Betty and I shuffled and shuffled and shuffled. Betty has arthritis in her hands, and I am just inept. Shirley was quite surprised to find she wasn't getting all the face cards and jokers anymore. We'd leveled the field. She still won by a huge margin.
While we were having coffee, cake and pistachio ice cream things got interesting. Mary asked what happened to my frosting and I told her I didn't eat it. She took a moment to digest that and shortly thereafter started offering second pieces. She said, "What's the matter? Don't you like my cake?" Then she laughed and told how her mother used to push second, third and fourth pieces that way. I remembered a Garrison Keillor story about his aunt, the best baker in the world, talking her way out of a prize at the fair because she kept apologizing for the dryness of her moist and delicious cake. That opened up a whole discussion of why women were that way. They attributed it to a false humility that didn't allow for praising one's own work. Not only that, they didn't allow others to praise either. I remember how some of our elderly hearing aid customers would go on and on about how they were so sorry to be such a bother. He would explain that they weren't being a bother, this was his business. He hated that belittling of self because it put him in a game he didn't want to play. Nearly all the ladies are old enough to be my mother and they agreed it was the older generation of their mothers that did it. Gerry sat there confused as heck because she does it all the time.
I demonstrated AmLactin Body Lotion at work yesterday. I didn't think I would sell any, but I sold out and was sent home early. I really think I could be a flim flam man (woman). Maybe I have a future in sales. I don't know whether I could demonstrate the slicing, dicing, chop, knead, and bring peace to the Middle East machine, but I can sell one on one. I would take someone's hand in mine and say, "Watch how much I use." Then I'd pump a pearl sized drop on their skin and tell them to rub it in. It would be enough for both hands. Oh I could give the spiel just fine. As men walked by I would say, "You know she loves it when you have soft hands." Say yes, say no, it didn't matter to me. I was standing for hours in the glow of The Happy Light by Verilux. Man, that thing really works! ($49.99 at Costco.)
Yesterday evening I went to game night with some of the elderly ladies in my building. We play a version of a game called hand and foot. The cards were brand new and slippery. Shirley, sitting quietly on her walker seat was cleaning our clock until she went to get some coffee. Betty and I shuffled and shuffled and shuffled. Betty has arthritis in her hands, and I am just inept. Shirley was quite surprised to find she wasn't getting all the face cards and jokers anymore. We'd leveled the field. She still won by a huge margin.
While we were having coffee, cake and pistachio ice cream things got interesting. Mary asked what happened to my frosting and I told her I didn't eat it. She took a moment to digest that and shortly thereafter started offering second pieces. She said, "What's the matter? Don't you like my cake?" Then she laughed and told how her mother used to push second, third and fourth pieces that way. I remembered a Garrison Keillor story about his aunt, the best baker in the world, talking her way out of a prize at the fair because she kept apologizing for the dryness of her moist and delicious cake. That opened up a whole discussion of why women were that way. They attributed it to a false humility that didn't allow for praising one's own work. Not only that, they didn't allow others to praise either. I remember how some of our elderly hearing aid customers would go on and on about how they were so sorry to be such a bother. He would explain that they weren't being a bother, this was his business. He hated that belittling of self because it put him in a game he didn't want to play. Nearly all the ladies are old enough to be my mother and they agreed it was the older generation of their mothers that did it. Gerry sat there confused as heck because she does it all the time.
I demonstrated AmLactin Body Lotion at work yesterday. I didn't think I would sell any, but I sold out and was sent home early. I really think I could be a flim flam man (woman). Maybe I have a future in sales. I don't know whether I could demonstrate the slicing, dicing, chop, knead, and bring peace to the Middle East machine, but I can sell one on one. I would take someone's hand in mine and say, "Watch how much I use." Then I'd pump a pearl sized drop on their skin and tell them to rub it in. It would be enough for both hands. Oh I could give the spiel just fine. As men walked by I would say, "You know she loves it when you have soft hands." Say yes, say no, it didn't matter to me. I was standing for hours in the glow of The Happy Light by Verilux. Man, that thing really works! ($49.99 at Costco.)
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
A Single Man
I can't get this movie and the acting by Colin Firth out of my mind. It was so extraordinary. I wanted to see it when it was in the theaters but hesitated because I had seen one clip over and over on talk shows. It was the scene where he sits alone crying. I somehow got the impression that it was an hour and a half of a grieving man and nothing else. Very wrong impression. It is the story of a grieving man's day and all the people he meets. There is a part where he is trying to get comfortable so he can do something that had me laughing out loud. There was a part where he declares his love that made me understand how hard it must have been to be gay in the post WWII years and into the sixties. Indeed, through most of the twentieth century.
On National Coming Out Day, I want to say to the GLBT community that I am glad you do not have to live closeted lives unless you want to and I am sorry that some people still need to be secretive for their safety. I look for the day when people are not judged by their sexual preferences and their unions celebrated openly. I look for the day when the goodness of anyone's heart is the standard of excellence for all.
On National Coming Out Day, I want to say to the GLBT community that I am glad you do not have to live closeted lives unless you want to and I am sorry that some people still need to be secretive for their safety. I look for the day when people are not judged by their sexual preferences and their unions celebrated openly. I look for the day when the goodness of anyone's heart is the standard of excellence for all.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
I'm sorry I have no tact or sublety
The last time I saw Scott he was still in the hospital, in pain. He looked like himself, but very uncomfortable. Today, for the first time in almost a month I saw him again. He looked awful and I told him so. I kept saying, "You look terrible." Yeah, no tact or subtlety. No, "I'm happy to see looking so well and up and around." He was always thin, but now he is gaunt. He's been inside and has lost most of his healthy color and he is still in pain. He says standing is the hardest and he was holding himself stiffly. Poor guy.
His ribs are a little caved in on the right side and he has lost muscle tone and his arms are so thin without muscles. But as his mother and I spoke this evening, he is very lucky to be alive and I am very glad he will recover. I did feel bad about telling him how awful he looked so called tonight to apologize. He thinks in a few weeks he might go to the health club to start light spinning to get back some muscle tone and stamina. That would be good. Ten minutes on a stationary bike is like an hour for me, an hour is like ten minutes for him.
I have always thought he was one of the best looking men I have ever known, and no one looks better in a tux. But a month of pain and suffering has aged him. I hope the ice cream and pizza will start to put some padding on those rib and fill out his face. I hope that when the pain leaves for good, he will smile and have happy eyes once again.
So here's to Scott! On the road to recovery and beyond.
His ribs are a little caved in on the right side and he has lost muscle tone and his arms are so thin without muscles. But as his mother and I spoke this evening, he is very lucky to be alive and I am very glad he will recover. I did feel bad about telling him how awful he looked so called tonight to apologize. He thinks in a few weeks he might go to the health club to start light spinning to get back some muscle tone and stamina. That would be good. Ten minutes on a stationary bike is like an hour for me, an hour is like ten minutes for him.
I have always thought he was one of the best looking men I have ever known, and no one looks better in a tux. But a month of pain and suffering has aged him. I hope the ice cream and pizza will start to put some padding on those rib and fill out his face. I hope that when the pain leaves for good, he will smile and have happy eyes once again.
So here's to Scott! On the road to recovery and beyond.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Everyday vs gourmet
It is an interesting life under the visor and hairnet. As an observer of people it is fun to watch their reactions to the samples we give out. It is fun to manipulate my spiel to the product.
Yesterday another demonstrator was sampling a very froufrou fresh gourmet ravioli. It had proscuito and chestnuts and apples, (oh my!) I was sampling a frozen spinach and cheese one. It was funny to watch the people go from the other station to mine. When I saw them throwing the gourmet sample away I added the information that mine was a more traditional ravioli. Aside from the wonderfulness of the taste I sold the re-closable bag. Just use what you want.
Was anything wrong with the fancy kind? Not really. And I would have sold it appealing to the adventurous who wanted to expand on their ravioli experience and you can bet I would have told them to expect the sweetness and suggest how to serve it. Tell them who they are and why they want what I have.
Sometimes in life we want the everyday. Most times we want what is comfortable. Truffle oil is not for everyday. Caviar is for a special occasion. Go into any restaurant and get baffled by the choices. Sometimes I feel I need a decoder. There is a local pub with very good food. Their most popular item? Homemade macaroni and cheese served in a crock.
I don't know what the hell I want. Toast or a fresh baked croissant? If I start eating croissants, I want about three and am still not satisfied. One slice of whole wheat is enough. But I do not want soft mushy whitebread with no character and no mouth memory. I guess I want a balanced life, one with oatmeal and special dishes. I want an appreciation for both the everyday and the gourmet. I want to appreciate the deliciousness of life.
Yesterday another demonstrator was sampling a very froufrou fresh gourmet ravioli. It had proscuito and chestnuts and apples, (oh my!) I was sampling a frozen spinach and cheese one. It was funny to watch the people go from the other station to mine. When I saw them throwing the gourmet sample away I added the information that mine was a more traditional ravioli. Aside from the wonderfulness of the taste I sold the re-closable bag. Just use what you want.
Was anything wrong with the fancy kind? Not really. And I would have sold it appealing to the adventurous who wanted to expand on their ravioli experience and you can bet I would have told them to expect the sweetness and suggest how to serve it. Tell them who they are and why they want what I have.
Sometimes in life we want the everyday. Most times we want what is comfortable. Truffle oil is not for everyday. Caviar is for a special occasion. Go into any restaurant and get baffled by the choices. Sometimes I feel I need a decoder. There is a local pub with very good food. Their most popular item? Homemade macaroni and cheese served in a crock.
I don't know what the hell I want. Toast or a fresh baked croissant? If I start eating croissants, I want about three and am still not satisfied. One slice of whole wheat is enough. But I do not want soft mushy whitebread with no character and no mouth memory. I guess I want a balanced life, one with oatmeal and special dishes. I want an appreciation for both the everyday and the gourmet. I want to appreciate the deliciousness of life.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Piper and Sweety
The boys are getting along quite well, lots of wrestling, biting, howling, running around, eating their food and using the litter box!
I just caught them snuggling on a chair by the dining room table. Yes I think Sweety and Piper are going to be great buds and my little condo is now a home.
Visibly Invisible
If, as a woman, you want to feel both invisible and sexless, put on a hairnet. Suddenly you are generically female, unattractive, and totally forgettable. If a man wears a hairnet, it is noted. "Hey, there's a guy wearing a hairnet, doesn't he look stupid?" Except for Ester, who is 92 and tiny, we all look the same. We can be 40 or 70, lunch ladies all. The other day I was recognized twice. First it was my internist. Then it was someone I worked with at the Hilton. What made them look twice at me was my voice. And they did have to look twice.
Uniforms are funny things. I did not grow up wearing one and used to envy the Catholic School kids who did not have to decide what to wear each day or keep up with fashion. I later learned that the kind of white sox or saddle shoes or loafers became just as important to them as the fads in the public schools. As an adult the only uniforms I've worn have been in food service. The uniform allowed me to go up to a table of strangers and talk to them. The uniform allows me to stand in Costco repeating drivel about pizza to the multitudes. "Made in Maple Lake by your neighbors Ole and Guido!" (I made that up for laughs. Also Sven and Tony, and Lena and Maria, a takeoff on the old Ole and Lena jokes.)
Why do we put people with weapons in uniforms? Why do monks, nuns and priests of different religions wear identical clothing? Is it easier for individuals obey authority if they are all perceived as the same? There is no ego, just a soldier, or a religious. In Buddhism the monks and nuns all shave their heads and wear the same robes. I wonder if there is a cool way to wear them that only the evolved know?
Yesterday I stood in front of a mirror and tucked all my hair under a net and stared at my naked face. I looked old and ugly, and after adding an apron, sexless. I know that I don't look my age, am pretty and a desirable woman. At the local upscale market the product demonstrators wear pretty blue jackets and present dainty tidbits. They have their hair and makeup just so and look like the suburban women they are. I know the hairnet doesn't actually change me, just the perception people have of me. I become just the sample lady with the pizza who is cutting as fast as she can.
Uniforms are funny things. I did not grow up wearing one and used to envy the Catholic School kids who did not have to decide what to wear each day or keep up with fashion. I later learned that the kind of white sox or saddle shoes or loafers became just as important to them as the fads in the public schools. As an adult the only uniforms I've worn have been in food service. The uniform allowed me to go up to a table of strangers and talk to them. The uniform allows me to stand in Costco repeating drivel about pizza to the multitudes. "Made in Maple Lake by your neighbors Ole and Guido!" (I made that up for laughs. Also Sven and Tony, and Lena and Maria, a takeoff on the old Ole and Lena jokes.)
Why do we put people with weapons in uniforms? Why do monks, nuns and priests of different religions wear identical clothing? Is it easier for individuals obey authority if they are all perceived as the same? There is no ego, just a soldier, or a religious. In Buddhism the monks and nuns all shave their heads and wear the same robes. I wonder if there is a cool way to wear them that only the evolved know?
Yesterday I stood in front of a mirror and tucked all my hair under a net and stared at my naked face. I looked old and ugly, and after adding an apron, sexless. I know that I don't look my age, am pretty and a desirable woman. At the local upscale market the product demonstrators wear pretty blue jackets and present dainty tidbits. They have their hair and makeup just so and look like the suburban women they are. I know the hairnet doesn't actually change me, just the perception people have of me. I become just the sample lady with the pizza who is cutting as fast as she can.
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