Do you want to be a statistic too?
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Friday, June 24, 2005
No, It's Not a Cow
I made reference in my post about the duck to needing evidence to back me up when I say I saw a duck. And this reminded me of an incident that occurred when I was a hard-working teenager with a summer job at Six Flags over Mid-America. Unfortunately for me, I have no evidence that what I saw was actually real.
I was sixteen. I had gotten a job at Six Flags outside of St. Louis. To this day, I do not understand why my parents let me do that. I did not have use of a car, and Six Flags is easily a 25-minute drive from where we lived.
But I'm off track here -- I was sixteen and working my first real summer job. Like many teenagers working at amusement parks, I had dreams of working on one of the big rides. Mind you, I didn't like to ride the rides, but I thought operating one and telling people to "please keep your hands inside the car" would be a blast.
I got a job with food service. Yeah. Instead of corralling people through a maze of hot metal railings as they baked in the sun waiting to enjoy fifty-two seconds of torture, I was heating up baked beans in vats you could cook people in and deep-frying chicken in the back of amusement park restaurants only to then haul them down to the "catering area" where the park served the employees of corporations who put out the big bucks to entertain employees and their families with boiled hot dogs and full pans of yellow potato salad.
Working catering was interesting. I definitely have to list it as life experience -- both the job and the people I met. I met my good friend Kevin there. As he pointed out last week on the phone (after a return trip to Six Flags with his girlfriend Kay after many many years of absence), it's strange that the two of us who have such similar backgrounds, and grew up in the same suburb, and went to similar schools, would have to meet at an amusement park 30 minutes outside of St. Louis that employed thousands of teenagers -- and that we met working the catering gig with two other "permanent" catering employees and a manager just a few years our senior.
Kevin and I became fast friends after I taught him that when foiling the side of a chafing dish to protect the sterno flames from the wind, one should not foil all four sides of a chafing dish thus suffocating the sternos. He gave me a ride home that first day -- thus freeing my father from many hours in the car dropping me off at and picking me up from work.
Catering could be really challenging. We had no real facilities at the catering area -- a shed with some running water. We had to cook all the food at restaurants throughout the park and then transport the food to the catering area in "caves" and then move the full pans of steaming food to the buffet tables that we had also set up. Everything had to be washed off site as well. That summer I earned "catering hands" allowing me to pick up said full pans of steaming food with my bare hands and power-walk the 20 feet to a chafing dish with no spillage. The thick skin and calluses from developing catering hands helped to minimize the dish-pan hands I should have had from the many hours of dishes I did that summer. I also learned to expertly tear duct tape with my hands.
Due to the nature of catering gigs, we didn't work regular schedules that summer. Rather, we worked a few hours before a meal, through a meal, and then for several hours after the meal to clean up. Sometimes we worked both a lunch and a dinner in one day serving hundreds of people. A few times we actually catered a breakfast -- I know, gross -- which meant even longer days.
We were earning minimum wage -- or something just over it if we had earned bronze, silver, or gold medal stickers that granted us 5- or 10-cent raises. We were paid overtime, however. To be honest, I don't remember how much money it really was, but I felt like it was a lot. I even got a card at the local grocery store so I could cash my mega paychecks.
We worked very hard and we worked a lot. Depending on how catering gigs were scheduled, we could be working pretty insane weeks. Being a teenager, I also tried to squeeze in a social life. So, I was operating on very little sleep a lot of the time.
Yes, this is all leading up to something.
When he was able to drive, Kevin and I would go to work together. We'd go down to our respective locker rooms and change into our bright red and blue catering uniforms and then meet to walk through security together.
The security booth for employees to enter the park was near a warehouse that held food service inventory (and behind one of the popular water rides -- one of the few kinds of rides I would ever attempt). The men and young men -- yes all of them were male -- who worked at the food warehouse were an odd bunch (again, for another post). I had had just a few encounters with them previous to the particular day that I am slowly but surely leading up to.
This particular day was toward the end of the summer. I remember that because Six Flags used to have "Harvest Days" or some other autumn theme as the summer wound to a close. So Kevin and I were both exhausted having worked way too many hours. It was super St. Louis hot. We were walking through security. When I held up my id to show the security guard who couldn't care less, I spotted the young guys from the food warehouse. They were in front of the warehouse with the huge firefighter-like hoses that are used to wash down the park pavement after the park closes each night.
They were using the big hoses to wash off a cow. A real cow. A perfect cow with black and white spots on it. A cow that could be a cover model for milk cartons or butter packaging. The guys were laughing and enjoying themselves. The cow seemed happy to be getting cool in the summer heat.
I thought it was strange, but I did not say anything about it. Kevin didn't mention it either. We both walked into the park in silence and trudged our way over to the catering area.
Later that day when we took our lunch break, I thought I'd mention the cow. I know the park decorated for Harvest Days, but getting real cows was pretty impressive. So I mentioned the cow to Kevin. Kevin said,
"What are you talking about?"
"The cow the guys at the warehouse were hosing down this morning."
"Katie, what are you talking about? There was no cow."
"Quit messing with me, Kevin. I'm talking about the black and white cow that the warehouse guys were washing."
"There was no cow. Why would there be a real cow? The warehouse guys weren't even out this morning."
The more we debated it, the more I realized that there was no freaking way I saw a real cow being hosed down by the food warehouse goofs at Six Flags. I remember it so clearly. I have still have a vivid image in my memory of walking past that damned cow! As this was in the days before cell phones with cameras (hell, cell phones at all), I have no evidence of this cow's existence.
I am sad to admit that my one and only real-life hallucination occurred when the only thing I was under the influence of was lack of sleep and the hot hot sun.
And so, when I saw a duck in our neighborhood on two consecutive days recently, I took a picture for proof.
I was sixteen. I had gotten a job at Six Flags outside of St. Louis. To this day, I do not understand why my parents let me do that. I did not have use of a car, and Six Flags is easily a 25-minute drive from where we lived.
But I'm off track here -- I was sixteen and working my first real summer job. Like many teenagers working at amusement parks, I had dreams of working on one of the big rides. Mind you, I didn't like to ride the rides, but I thought operating one and telling people to "please keep your hands inside the car" would be a blast.
I got a job with food service. Yeah. Instead of corralling people through a maze of hot metal railings as they baked in the sun waiting to enjoy fifty-two seconds of torture, I was heating up baked beans in vats you could cook people in and deep-frying chicken in the back of amusement park restaurants only to then haul them down to the "catering area" where the park served the employees of corporations who put out the big bucks to entertain employees and their families with boiled hot dogs and full pans of yellow potato salad.
Working catering was interesting. I definitely have to list it as life experience -- both the job and the people I met. I met my good friend Kevin there. As he pointed out last week on the phone (after a return trip to Six Flags with his girlfriend Kay after many many years of absence), it's strange that the two of us who have such similar backgrounds, and grew up in the same suburb, and went to similar schools, would have to meet at an amusement park 30 minutes outside of St. Louis that employed thousands of teenagers -- and that we met working the catering gig with two other "permanent" catering employees and a manager just a few years our senior.
Kevin and I became fast friends after I taught him that when foiling the side of a chafing dish to protect the sterno flames from the wind, one should not foil all four sides of a chafing dish thus suffocating the sternos. He gave me a ride home that first day -- thus freeing my father from many hours in the car dropping me off at and picking me up from work.
Catering could be really challenging. We had no real facilities at the catering area -- a shed with some running water. We had to cook all the food at restaurants throughout the park and then transport the food to the catering area in "caves" and then move the full pans of steaming food to the buffet tables that we had also set up. Everything had to be washed off site as well. That summer I earned "catering hands" allowing me to pick up said full pans of steaming food with my bare hands and power-walk the 20 feet to a chafing dish with no spillage. The thick skin and calluses from developing catering hands helped to minimize the dish-pan hands I should have had from the many hours of dishes I did that summer. I also learned to expertly tear duct tape with my hands.
Due to the nature of catering gigs, we didn't work regular schedules that summer. Rather, we worked a few hours before a meal, through a meal, and then for several hours after the meal to clean up. Sometimes we worked both a lunch and a dinner in one day serving hundreds of people. A few times we actually catered a breakfast -- I know, gross -- which meant even longer days.
We were earning minimum wage -- or something just over it if we had earned bronze, silver, or gold medal stickers that granted us 5- or 10-cent raises. We were paid overtime, however. To be honest, I don't remember how much money it really was, but I felt like it was a lot. I even got a card at the local grocery store so I could cash my mega paychecks.
We worked very hard and we worked a lot. Depending on how catering gigs were scheduled, we could be working pretty insane weeks. Being a teenager, I also tried to squeeze in a social life. So, I was operating on very little sleep a lot of the time.
Yes, this is all leading up to something.
When he was able to drive, Kevin and I would go to work together. We'd go down to our respective locker rooms and change into our bright red and blue catering uniforms and then meet to walk through security together.
The security booth for employees to enter the park was near a warehouse that held food service inventory (and behind one of the popular water rides -- one of the few kinds of rides I would ever attempt). The men and young men -- yes all of them were male -- who worked at the food warehouse were an odd bunch (again, for another post). I had had just a few encounters with them previous to the particular day that I am slowly but surely leading up to.
This particular day was toward the end of the summer. I remember that because Six Flags used to have "Harvest Days" or some other autumn theme as the summer wound to a close. So Kevin and I were both exhausted having worked way too many hours. It was super St. Louis hot. We were walking through security. When I held up my id to show the security guard who couldn't care less, I spotted the young guys from the food warehouse. They were in front of the warehouse with the huge firefighter-like hoses that are used to wash down the park pavement after the park closes each night.
They were using the big hoses to wash off a cow. A real cow. A perfect cow with black and white spots on it. A cow that could be a cover model for milk cartons or butter packaging. The guys were laughing and enjoying themselves. The cow seemed happy to be getting cool in the summer heat.
I thought it was strange, but I did not say anything about it. Kevin didn't mention it either. We both walked into the park in silence and trudged our way over to the catering area.
Later that day when we took our lunch break, I thought I'd mention the cow. I know the park decorated for Harvest Days, but getting real cows was pretty impressive. So I mentioned the cow to Kevin. Kevin said,
"What are you talking about?"
"The cow the guys at the warehouse were hosing down this morning."
"Katie, what are you talking about? There was no cow."
"Quit messing with me, Kevin. I'm talking about the black and white cow that the warehouse guys were washing."
"There was no cow. Why would there be a real cow? The warehouse guys weren't even out this morning."
The more we debated it, the more I realized that there was no freaking way I saw a real cow being hosed down by the food warehouse goofs at Six Flags. I remember it so clearly. I have still have a vivid image in my memory of walking past that damned cow! As this was in the days before cell phones with cameras (hell, cell phones at all), I have no evidence of this cow's existence.
I am sad to admit that my one and only real-life hallucination occurred when the only thing I was under the influence of was lack of sleep and the hot hot sun.
And so, when I saw a duck in our neighborhood on two consecutive days recently, I took a picture for proof.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Going to the Bank
Since I started working again, I've had to go to the bank a lot.
Not that I'm complaining.
I have been planning to set up my paychecks to be direct-deposited. I am waiting for David and me to pick a new bank before I do this. I know that as soon as I go through the paperwork to set up direct deposit at school, David and I will figure out how we want to set up our accounts to handle our new dual-income household and decide to change banks.
So I go to the bank at least twice a month.
The other day I went to the bank at around lunchtime. Apparently I have avoided going to the bank at lunchtime before now. I had always wondered why they had the velvet rope thingys at the bank I go to. I have never waited in line with more than two other people. This time, there were no fewer than 12 people in line.
So I waited. I was stuck behind a middle-aged woman who looked nervous and like she wanted to make a break for it, and an elderly woman in an automated wheelchair behind me who moved her chair in spurts and managed to clip my ankle every single time.
This is not an entry to complain about being stuck between two women in line at the bank. Rather, I have another issue to complain about -- what in the world are people doing at the bank?
I know my issue -- I can't get around to joining the rest of the modern world and get my paychecks direct deposited (and I don't like the idea of sticking my paycheck in an ATM, thank you).
But what are these other people doing there? And why do they have passbooks?
I was surprised at how long most of the interactions took. One woman was trying to understand why the bank teller wouldn't deposit her checks. The teller was attempting to calmly explain that what the woman had were check stubs and not actual checks. Another woman made a cash withdrawal and then asked to deposit this cash in her other account -- but the problem was she had only one account at this bank.
Remember when banks started charging fees for using tellers? Remember how upset people got? I thought it was about banks thinking about the automation of most bank transactions via ATMs and online and the such and determining since they can charge at the ATM, they'll charge at the bank too.
However, I see now that banks want to charge fees for using their tellers because the only customers the tellers deal with face-to-face now are old ladies trying to deposit check stubs.
Oh, and me.
Not that I'm complaining.
I have been planning to set up my paychecks to be direct-deposited. I am waiting for David and me to pick a new bank before I do this. I know that as soon as I go through the paperwork to set up direct deposit at school, David and I will figure out how we want to set up our accounts to handle our new dual-income household and decide to change banks.
So I go to the bank at least twice a month.
The other day I went to the bank at around lunchtime. Apparently I have avoided going to the bank at lunchtime before now. I had always wondered why they had the velvet rope thingys at the bank I go to. I have never waited in line with more than two other people. This time, there were no fewer than 12 people in line.
So I waited. I was stuck behind a middle-aged woman who looked nervous and like she wanted to make a break for it, and an elderly woman in an automated wheelchair behind me who moved her chair in spurts and managed to clip my ankle every single time.
This is not an entry to complain about being stuck between two women in line at the bank. Rather, I have another issue to complain about -- what in the world are people doing at the bank?
I know my issue -- I can't get around to joining the rest of the modern world and get my paychecks direct deposited (and I don't like the idea of sticking my paycheck in an ATM, thank you).
But what are these other people doing there? And why do they have passbooks?
I was surprised at how long most of the interactions took. One woman was trying to understand why the bank teller wouldn't deposit her checks. The teller was attempting to calmly explain that what the woman had were check stubs and not actual checks. Another woman made a cash withdrawal and then asked to deposit this cash in her other account -- but the problem was she had only one account at this bank.
Remember when banks started charging fees for using tellers? Remember how upset people got? I thought it was about banks thinking about the automation of most bank transactions via ATMs and online and the such and determining since they can charge at the ATM, they'll charge at the bank too.
However, I see now that banks want to charge fees for using their tellers because the only customers the tellers deal with face-to-face now are old ladies trying to deposit check stubs.
Oh, and me.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Yes, It's A Duck
So a storm blew in yesterday afternoon. It was one of those quick storms that surprises you with its arrival, and then blows away shortly after you have closed all the windows.It was a beautiful storm. I got everything about closed up, and the rain came down in sheets. The rain was preceded by tremendous wind. Really, really big wind. It blew around the rugs on the porch (which takes a lot), ripped branches from trees (and deposited them on the porch), it was super dark, and the temperature plummeted.
It appears the storm also brought the neighborhood a new member -- the picture above was taken from our porch. Yes, it's a duck. I noticed the duck yesterday afternoon after the storm had cleared and people began to return to the Maifest going on down the street. I heard a family talk about a duck in a puddle. I thought I would check it out -- what could this family be mistaking for a duck? There is no water around here. Sure, we live in the city by the lake, but the lake is a short drive away.
I was somewhat confident that the family wasn't looking at a duck due to the distance to the lake and a similar experience with a father and daughter hanging out at Lincoln Square a few years ago -- the little girl looked to be about four and was decked out in dress-up clothes, a boa, and plastic pink high heels. Dad looked exhausted and had given up chasing her around. She squealed with delight and ran in circles swatting at all of the pigeons screaming, "Daddy, Daddy, look! Look at the chickens!"
Dave calls that a "spend the college fund" moment.
So -- the duck. It's a duck! I watched the family watch the duck in amazement while it casually bathed itself in a big puddle. Then this afternoon (after coming back from the Maifest), I went out on the porch to water the flowers in my flowerboxes, and there was the duck!
I thought I would take a picture just to make sure no one uses this one against me....right, a duck, sure.
For those who are curious to know, the can in the lower left corner is indeed a Milwaukee's Best Light can.
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