Oh my god….pardon the pun… but where do I begin? I guess by stating that I am a self professed atheist. Not to be confused with being an agnostic. The difference being an atheist is absolute in their disbelief of a higher power, an agnostic acknowledging that there could be a higher power but they really aren’t sure. That is the difference as I understand it, if I am wrong please feel free to correct me.
I have no doubt there is no higher power. At several stages of my life I have tried to force or even trick myself into believing in God. I can no more force myself into believing in Him as you, the reader, can force or trick yourself into believing in Santa or the Easter Bunny. I wish I could. I envy those that can. I envy those that can and therefore do not look down upon them for their faith as long as they do not look down on me for my lack of mine. That is one of the many things I love about this country and my generation. I honestly can only tell you of one other friend I have that is also an atheist, and somehow I have many friends of faith and this has not hindered my friendships with those that do believe. Don’t shove your religion down my throat, I won’t shove my lack of religion down yours, and we can all be friends.
And also let me further reinforce this with an example of somebody I know and his daughter, and me and my children. I know a guy that got pissed at his mom because she took his daughter, her grand-daughter, to church. He is an atheist too. But not the kind of tolerant atheist I am. If somebody wants to take my kids to church, or a church function that is fine with me. I won’t get mad. There are far worse things children can get into nowadays other than church. I allow them to make their own decisions and love them regardless of what they do or believe, which is why I didn’t baptize them. My parent’s believe this was an error in judgment and believed I should have baptized them to “be safe.” What I do know about God is that he is supposed to be a kind forgiving God. I honestly don’t believe that if he were to exist he would banish my children from the Kingdom of Heaven because their parent’s wanted to allow them to chose their own faith when they were old enough and informed enough to do so. Religion is a personal thing, my belief is that nobody should chose it for you.
I was baptized. I still don’t believe. I have committed many a sin. Am I protected? I highly doubt it! If there is a heaven, hell, and limbo, my best bet is limbo! That is of course if you are basing how I spend the rest of eternity based upon Christian Dogma. And if you are I am most likely going straight to Hell.
If you are basing it on the Golden Rule, then Heaven is mine. I believe I am kind, help people when I can and I do unto others as I would have done unto me. I do not maliciously hurt people, I get more joy out of helping people, and I treat others as I would like to be treated. I understand that whores and drunks and junkies and thieves and other types of degenerates are sometimes victims of their environment, and pity them but do not judge them. Help them when I can and when I cannot help them, I at least try not to do anything to hurt them. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that what Christ did?
I recently watched a movie, and please don’t ask me what the name of it was, but it was basically about a mutant caveman that had somehow survived from the age of cavemen to the modern age because of this mutation. In one of his several lives he was Christ. He explains the missing years of Christ by saying that during those missing years he was learning from the Buddha. When he re-emerged to deliver his sermon on the mount it was totally misinterpreted. He was just delivering a version of the Golden Rule so that Israelites under Roman rule could easily interpret it. Those listening misinterpreted it and used it to overthrow their oppressors at the time. Who really knows what Jesus’ intent was over 2,000 years ago. We can only speculate.
In Boy Scouts we used to play a game. Line everyone up. One person makes up a sentence. Whispers it to the first person in line. They whisper the same sentence to the next person. So on and so forth, The last person in line tells everybody the sentence that was whispered in their ear. It is never the same as the original and often has been so mutated that it’s meaning isn’t even close as the original. That’s less than 20 people speaking the same language in less than 10 minutes getting the original message completely wrong. Now consider millions of people speaking hundreds of languages over 2,000 years. I honestly can’t believe we truly understand what the original message of Christ was or the intent of what that message should be.
Again I have nothing against religion and I envy those that do believe. Recently the Pope visited America. I really admire him. The sitting pope seems like a very humble man that was not afraid to address the issues head on. He even met one on one with people that are victims of child molestation by members of the Catholic church. That took a lot of courage and character.
But there has been two billion dollars paid out by the Catholic church to their victims of child abuse and molestation. Two Billion!!! This payout in settlements has not financially ruined the catholic church and I doubt another two billion would break the Catholic church either. Christ’s church was a pile of dirt. How do you think he would feel if he walked into a Catholic church with all its elaborate architecture and stained glass and gold fixtures and elaborate costumes while people just outside were begging for a crust of bread to make it through the day? Do you think that is what Christ would want?
And let’s break it down a little more. Just to show why I think religion is ridiculous and why I cannot force myself to believe. First there is Judaism. Where that began I am not sure. But as far as I can tell Christianity was born out of the beliefs and speeches and teachings of a misunderstood Jew. That , in not so many words is how I believe how Christianity was born. Then from there the Protestant religions were born. Protestant religions exist for one reason and one reason only. Because a British king that got sick of his old hag of a wife wanted a divorce so he could nail something a little younger and hotter. The catholic church refused his request for a divorce. So he started his own church. People live, die and kill to this day because somebody 400 years ago wanted a sweeter piece of ass than what he was married to! If you don’t believe that than you cannot dispute that people are killing each other over different ways to worship the same fucking God! I am talking about the strife in Northern Ireland.
And what’s the deal with all three of the world’s major religions having the same holy land in Israel? They all must be variations of the same basic religion if they have the same basic monotheistic belief system and all originated in the same place. I could probably do the research and find out if, how and why this is, but this blog is already too long and wandering aimlessly enough without me going off on any more tangents. My basic point is I can’t force myself to believe. With all the religions in the world which one is the right one? And what about all the religions that are now classified as myth? How long until Christianity, Judaism and the Muslim faith’s go the way of ancient Greek, Roman and Norse mythology? And how is it these religions have only been around a couple thousand years and we have been around 10’s of thousands of years? Oh wait. That’s right, creationism as opposed to evolution. Evolution which can be physically proven, and creationism which requires “faith”, or, as I like to call it, suppression of disbelief. That’s what I use to enjoy movies and cartoons, not base my entire life philosophy and morale compass upon.
I’m sounding bitter, and that wasn’t my intent. Just going to stick with the golden rule. That ought to be good enough for any god of any religion. If not than I don’t want to go to that God’s eternal paradise. To hell with Him or Her, and to hell with me!
Monday, June 2, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
What Can I say Here?
I was going to start a blog series about some of the jobs I have had. Got interrupted by a phone call and didn't finish it or post it. I shouldn't say interrupted, that would indicate it was a bother to speak to a friend, or writing blogs is more important than talking to friends. Glad I didn't finish it and post it though. Here's why.
So I know we as Americans have freedom of speech and we can say whatever we want. However our employers do reserve the right to decide if they want someone who is acting inappropriately, or saying inappropriate things outside the job place working for them, and can fire them if they feel it is necessary.
So I am a good citizen now, and the things I have done in the past may be "frowned" upon. But If I write about some of the wild and crazy things I did over 6 years ago do I have to worry about losing my job? Mostly because it involves some things done on the job, in previos jobs I've had. Do I have to worry about losing my job because I want to write about the past before I became a good citizen, and a company man?
Now I have no interest in discussing my current job, or revealing any top secret company information, and if I did want to discuss the company I work for now I wouldn't have anything bad to say. So what can I and can't I say?
I just want to talk about who I was, not who I am. Its really kind of stifling. Is there a way to post my blogs and be anonymous so I can freely express myself without fear of repercussion? Can I just write here like I planned and not worry about it? How do they find the blogs exactly, and who is writing them if my name isn't posted? I'm going to change my picture too.
Ok my picture is changed.
Cat Jedi will protect me!
So I really thought I had a good idea for some blogs to write and now I am too afraid to go on without knowing. I think I will go straight to my company's H.R. office tomorrow and get an answer one way or the other. Honestly though, why would they care? I could understand if I was in a face to face client relationship with my customers, but it is all over the phone and it is against company policy to give out anything more about my personal identity to my customers other than my first name and I.D. number. I really don't think anybody is reading my blogs, including the people I emailed and asked to read my blog. I just want to be able to write freely in a public forum and get shit off my chest without having to worry about losing my friggin' job! Is that too much to ask?
So I know we as Americans have freedom of speech and we can say whatever we want. However our employers do reserve the right to decide if they want someone who is acting inappropriately, or saying inappropriate things outside the job place working for them, and can fire them if they feel it is necessary.
So I am a good citizen now, and the things I have done in the past may be "frowned" upon. But If I write about some of the wild and crazy things I did over 6 years ago do I have to worry about losing my job? Mostly because it involves some things done on the job, in previos jobs I've had. Do I have to worry about losing my job because I want to write about the past before I became a good citizen, and a company man?
Now I have no interest in discussing my current job, or revealing any top secret company information, and if I did want to discuss the company I work for now I wouldn't have anything bad to say. So what can I and can't I say?
I just want to talk about who I was, not who I am. Its really kind of stifling. Is there a way to post my blogs and be anonymous so I can freely express myself without fear of repercussion? Can I just write here like I planned and not worry about it? How do they find the blogs exactly, and who is writing them if my name isn't posted? I'm going to change my picture too.
Ok my picture is changed.
Cat Jedi will protect me!
So I really thought I had a good idea for some blogs to write and now I am too afraid to go on without knowing. I think I will go straight to my company's H.R. office tomorrow and get an answer one way or the other. Honestly though, why would they care? I could understand if I was in a face to face client relationship with my customers, but it is all over the phone and it is against company policy to give out anything more about my personal identity to my customers other than my first name and I.D. number. I really don't think anybody is reading my blogs, including the people I emailed and asked to read my blog. I just want to be able to write freely in a public forum and get shit off my chest without having to worry about losing my friggin' job! Is that too much to ask?
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Jobs: The one I loved the most
I can't talk about my current job. My friend Razella wrote a blog about why, and I do work for one of those companies that has let people go for stuff they wrote on the inter-web.(I call it the inter-web. It makes me laugh. Stole it from a song by Say Anything. So henceforth I will be referring to the inter net or the web as the inter-web.) Zell's blog is quite funny and well-written. You can check it out at http://originalrazella.blogspot.com/. I heart her blogs.
At this point I would like to add a disclaimer. What is written here happened almost 12 years ago. I couldn't tell you the last time I smoked marijuana, and would happily take a urine test at any time. Also I stopped stealing on the job which is common in menial jobs like the one I had at the donut shop because people feel justified in doing so. Since then my beliefs and values have changed drastically. I realized it is better to be a "company-man" and not have to ever worry about losing your job because you never break the rules. If you feel your job sucks so much you are justified in stealing from your employer there is something you can do besides stealing. GET ANOTHER JOB! This is America after all. My beliefs and values changed drastically since then and have since been radically reinforced by the fact that I have kids and if I did something to compromise my good standing with my employer I would not be the only one to suffer. Also my employer sees the big picture. Happy employees make customers happy, happy customers keep coming back.
I can write about my previous jobs though, without much fear of repercussion. Mostly because that was several lifetimes ago, and I no longer do all those things now that could have gotten me fired then. So today I will talk about the job I loved the most. Did you notice I didn't call it the best job I ever had? The only reason it wasn't the best job is because the hours and pay sucked, and there was no insurance plan. But man I had it made!
When I was done with the military, and running around the country I came back to my home town and got a job in a donut shop, third shift. Here's how a typical night went. I would wake up around 9 P.M. Now during the year or so I had this job I lived at a variety of places, which I may talk about in future blogs. But this one is about the job, so I will focus on that for now. So I wake up around 9 P.M. I don't have a cup of coffee because I can drink all the great coffee I want on the job. I do however smoke a cigarette. Then a bowl, or a joint, or a few bong hits. After that either I get a ride or walk to work and smoke a few more cigarettes on the way and get there around 10-ish. I don't start until 11.
I walk in, go behind the counter and pour myself a cup. I sit at a booth and read or talk to some of the regulars. The majority of regulars are gear-heads, factory workers, and members of the local volunteer fire department. Apparently being a member of the volunteer fire department made you an alpha-male at the donut shop. Now I am a long haired-hippie nerd that cannot even begin to fathom their understanding of the world or why the members of the volunteer fire department are revered as alpha-males, but I am the one that is going to be pouring the coffee in less than an hour, and the one behind the counter so they have to deal with me and treat me with a certain amount of respect and will talk to me. Mostly they talk to me about what they are doing to modify their muscle cars and trucks. I just nod and try to look impressed in all the right places and have no idea what they are really talking about and wish they would just let me read.
Now the gear heads,factory workers and other general laborers will sit down at my booth and try to engage me in conversation. The alpha-male volunteer firemen refuse to acknowledge my existence until they have to order coffee from me and I ignore theirs. Sometimes all the non-alpha-male, non-volunteer-firemen will get into a civilized ridiculous argument and ask me what the real deal was. They had a certain reverence for me. It sounds like I am looking down on them, but in all honesty they are different from me, I am different from them, but I respect them and they respect me.Alpha-male-volunteer-firemen, different story.
Time to go to work.
Check the amount of coffee in the pots, get the next pot ready to brew, clean up a little and make sure everything is the way I like it. The third shifters for the other jobs are rolling in. The security guards, shelf-stockers, and factory workers. I see them drive in the entrance, by the time they get to the drive-thru window their order is waiting without them having to say a word. I take the money, they take their coffee and donut and go along their happy way. If I didn't have to take some money, all they would have to do is slow down a little as they rolled by the window and grabbed their order as I was hanging it out the window.
After them comes the police. They come on at 11 and they send the rookie patrolman to the donut shop with a list. A list the rookie can't make heads or tails of, much less read. It was so funny watching them try though. I would let the rookie cop try and read it, then interrupt them about half way through, and tell them what they needed. Before I did though I would ask what night of the week it was."Its Thursday? OK. So cop-x is off. That means you don't need a large black with one sugar. You do need two large regulars, a light and sweet, a cream only, a medium black, and a corn muffin." I fucked with the rookie cops one of two ways. Either I told them what the list said before they read it, or I let them struggle through it and looked at them blankly and when they were done had it all ready to go without making a move after they finished reading it.
By this time midnight rolls around. The cops and regulars have rolled through, and its still too early to throw out the donuts that are left over because the bar crowd will be rolling in soon. Now this is where a different kind of regulars have rolled in. The turbo-nerds. There's two kinds. The younger,hip enlightened group, that are too young to drink, don't want to hang out at home and have found a place where somebody that is almost like them is pouring the coffee. Also they know I will give them 4 coffees and charge for one and I am actually authorized to give out the donuts and pastries I would otherwise throw away. The camera is watching. As long as I put some money in the drawer I can charge for one then give out three or four coffees. I did it just so I had some people around to have intelligent, cultural conversations with during the slow period of the night. I appreciated their company, they appreciated having a place to hang out and free coffee and donuts. I would also prep things for the morning crowd and clean some more. Then I had time to kill.
So what to do?
Smoke some more pot, of course. Here's how it went. I would tell them to go to the bathroom. There is a door that goes to a small room that has a door for the men's room, a door for the ladies room then a door to the backroom.The camera in the public area sees them going to the bathroom, but they actually go to the door that goes to the backroom where there is one camera. We stand directly under the camera and get high. To be more accurate, it would be one at a time. One would go, take some power hits, go back to the lobby. There was a bell on the door and a buzzer for the drive-thru. So I could get high, and if a customer came in or was at the drive thru I would know when to go take care of them. Many a time I had to put down the pipe or joint when the buzzer rang and go wait on a cop. They aren't dumb, they knew what I was doing back there, but they got the coffee for free and I wasn't hurting anybody and they all said I made the best sandwiches. So all the people that were getting me high, or I was getting high couldn't all go to the bathroom at once, so one would go, come out, they would wait a few minutes then the next one would come in.
Then after everyone was good and high they got more free coffee and I blasted the music. Sometimes the stuff I wanted, or I would take requests, or play tapes they wanted to hear. Yes, tapes, not Cd's.
Then there were the other kinds of nerds. those that were in their mid-to late 30's and had probably never had contact with an actual, living breathing female. They sat in a booth and had heated discussions about dungeons and dragons, Star Wars versus Star Trek, the renaissance fair and stuff like that.
Pour a cup and go out back and smoke a bowl or joint. Have a cigarette or two, hang out with the nerd-regulars. The nerd-regulars start to drift away and the bar crowd starts to drift in. If you can make a decent cup of coffee and have it ready they are decent tippers. If you know what the register is supposed to average in the morning you know how to skim it and be your own best tipper. The secret is to never hit the no sale button. Somebody comes in and orders three large coffees. That's supposed to be $3.15. You ring up one large for $1.05 and put 3.15 in the drawer. You keep track of how much you have put in over what the register tape in the morning says you have put in. In the morning, before the next person comes in you count your drawer, and take the change from the tip jar and as you are converting your tips into bills take the extra you have over rung and the camera never catches a thing. On a good week my paycheck was just over a hundred bucks. I worked 5 days a week and made an extra ten to twenty dollars a day doing this. Never got caught either.
So after the bar crowd has drifted away its time to finish the donuts. I always worked with a baker that made the donuts. I worked with one of two bakers. We'll call the first one Peter. He is a skinny 70 something ex-hell's angel that will fuck anything that moves. Has 13 kids, 12 of them boys, and the one girl is the last one you want to fuck with and their names all start with the same letter. In this blog that letter is P, in real life, it is a different letter. The other baker is his son Paul, who really deserves his own blog all together. Both are supposed to be the ones really in charge, and because we had a great amount of mutual trust for each other, and I knew how to finish their donuts perfectly in a timely manner, they let me do what I wanted and never second guessed my judgement. My job was to throw out the old donuts and finish the new donuts. That means putting the chocolate and sprinkles on the donuts, putting the jelly or cream in the donuts,waiting for the glaze to dry on the different kinds of glazed donuts and putting them all in the tray, then the display case. And, let me just say there is nothing closer to the concept of heaven on this earth than biting into a warm , fresh donut that the glaze has barely dried on. If you think a good fresh donut is one that is less than 24 hours old, you have no idea of the level of ecstasy associated with sinking your teeth into a donut that is less than a half hour old. Now that I no longer work in the donut industry I am now jaded against donuts that only the general public can eat. There's no going back once you know how good a donut can truly be.
Now here is that portion of the evening where the "different kind of regulars" start coming in. I call them "different kind of regulars" because that is the only way I can categorize or generalize them. No two are the same and not one can easily be pigeon-holed into a category of gear-head, nerd, hippie, blue-collar worker, or any of the other types of regulars that hang out at the donut shop. Like me, they are all of these things and none of these things at the same time. They never fit in anywhere in their lives, and probably more than half of them have severe mental problems. Also they weren't the type of regulars that came around for years at a time. One, or a group would start showing up and come in for weeks or months at a time. Then as one would begin to stop coming in they would be replaced by another "different type of regular". Sometimes there would be gaps between them, other times they would overlap. this blog gets interesting in the overlapping of one of these different kinds of regulars with two other irregular regulars.
All the cops and drunks are fed, the donuts are finished, the backroom is clean enough to do surgery in and the "different kind of regulars" are hanging out in the lobby, and there aren't many of them. I guess it was between 2:30 and 4 am. They all had one thing in common they started coming in and kept coming in, either because I was getting them high, giving them free coffee or donuts or because they wanted someone to talk to in the wee hours of the night.
I was the common factor. Because of it, one of these different kinds of regulars almost got shot, and another one was given the means to kill himself. The other common factor was a Jesus-freak gun-nut that we will call Raymond. He was one of the different kind of regulars that I met in a previous job and would visit me at the donut shop because he appreciated the philosophical arguments we had about religion. I am an atheist, he is a militant christian. He wanted to save me and was reasonably intelligent. We had polite arguments. He was a different kind of regular that overlapped with two of the other different kinds of regulars.
The first one was Donald. Donald was tall dark and handsome. But he was schizophrenic, I think... There was something wrong with him. I heard stories about him going into the bathroom and cutting his wrists and spraying the bathroom walls with his blood, and other stories from the cops about how it took five of them to take him down in the nearby pizza parlor when he had one of his episodes, along with a myriad of stories of how dangerous he really was. Me and Peter, the skinny, old ex-hell's angel baker had a soft spot for him. Donald was somebody that really should have been under professional care thrown into the world to fend for himself without a pot to piss or enough sense to know how to make his social security check last the month. So we would let him in to keep warm in the winter months and give him some stew. The owner watched the video one night, knew who it was and didn't want him to cause a scene in her donut shop and told us to not allow him in anymore. So the next time he came in we told him. We told him to meet us at the back door and gave him a bowl of stew, and a bag of donuts and told him he couldn't come to the donut shop anymore. He said he understood, and took the stew and donuts and went quietly, but we could tell he was upset. A few nights later Raymond, the militant gun-nut was in the lobby, I was in the back finishing the donuts, and heard a noise. It was a muted banging. I came out to see what was going on. Donald was pounding both fists on the window on a below freezing night screaming through the window, " LET ME IN! LET ME IN!" Over and over. Raymond didn't know him, had his gun on him, was pulling the gun out of his jean jacket with his finger on the trigger ready to shoot to kill at point blank range, through the window, before I ran over with my arms flailing and screaming, "DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT!"
He put the gun away. I went out to talk to Donald. I told him what almost happened. He understood. I told him to meet me at the backdoor. Peter and I gave him another bowl of stew to go and another bag of donuts and told him this was the last time and not to come back. A few weeks later we heard the news. Donald hung himself with an extension cord. I broke the rules to skim the register, get high and give out coffee. I probably could have broken the rules to accommodate Donald, and he might still be alive. I don't blame myself a whole lot for that though, he was suicidal. You can't save anybody from themselves. He would've done it sooner or later. He had tried before, and this time he was successful.
Now here is the death that I really blame myself for. Once again the two central characters are Raymond and myself. Raymond would already be at the donut shop and then this guy started showing up. We'll call him Tom. Tom was a clean cut guy that showed up with two or three hippie kids about ten years younger than him. Tom was the manager of the local paint store and made light of his divorce. He drove them around, and actually lived with them. They were night and day and I never got the whole story of how a clean cut manager got involved with these hippie hoodlum types.Being a hippie / hoodlum type myself , that knows the true meaning of hunger, I would give them the garbage bags full of donuts I would otherwise throw out and they froze them and thawed them out over the course of the week to eat. Tom gave them a ride so they could pick up the donuts once a week.
So Tom showed up with his hippie hoodlum roommates as they were picking up their donuts and Raymond was there. Turns out Raymond and Tom went to high school together. They recognized each other and did the usual catching up. Where they have been and where they were. Stuff like that. I thought it was pretty cool that two people that were coming to the donut shop because of me actually knew each other before, and had it not been for me neither of them would have come there and met again. Until a few nights went by. Raymond stopped showing up. I heard through mutual people that we had worked with at the grocery store that they saw the homicide unit and crime scene investigation team outside his apartment. The hippie/hoodlum kids and Tom stopped showing up too.
Why did Raymond stop coming by?
Why was the homicide investigation unit outside his apartment?
Why did Tom and the hippie/hoodlum kids stop showing up?
All these questions were answered a couple weeks later when Raymond showed up once again. I asked where he had been. He was shocked to hear I didn't know already. The cops took away all his guns because Tom shot himself in his apartment. When they met again at the donut shop Raymond told Tom where he lived and bragged about his guns. Turns out Tom didn't take his divorce as lightly as he tried to make everybody think he did. He went to Raymond's apartment, and when Raymond wasn't looking he found one of Raymond's gun's and killed himself. Raymond was more upset about the fact they took his fucking guns other than somebody dying because he had them.
I don't blame myself for Tom's death because I was the common factor in both of them coming to the donut shop. That was completely innocent. I blame myself because a few years prior Raymond needed a reference to get his gun permit. He had two references. He was at the police station to get his gun permit with his two references. I ran into him when I went to the police station to get fingerprinted for military service. He begged me and pressured me to be his third reference to guarantee he could get his gun permit. Being young, naive, and on the spot I did. Even though I knew he was probably one of the last people on this planet that should own a gun. Your probably saying to your self that I am being too hard on myself. If I wasn't the reference somebody else would've been. But Raymond was such a recluse it would have taken him a long time to find that third reference and he may never have found it if he didn't find it in me. If he did, it would be somebody else's hands Tom's blood was on. But I was the final reference and it is my hand's his blood is on. End of story.
Those are the most drastic examples of the different kinds of regulars. I could write several blogs about some of the characters that came in between 1:30 and 4:30. But this blog is about a typical night at the donut shop. After the different kind of regulars leave the early risers start to come in. Some are early risers because they have to be to work Before 5:00 A.M. Other's are early risers by choice. They don't have to be to work for an hour or two, but like me they like to sit around and drink coffee for an hour or two. The prior are always in a hurry and seem like they are on the verge of a breakdown, the latter, laid back and easy going.
Regardless of what kind of early riser it is, I see them pull into the entrance and have their coffee and/or donut ready when they come to the counter or drive-thru. This goes on until the end of my shift at 7:00 A.M. My replacement comes in araound 5:30 A.M.
The lovely Jaina.
Words can only attempt to describe her beauty. An absolute vision. Everything about her was perfect. The only thing that would hold her back from being a professional model was height. She was short, and physically, that is the only thing that would hold her back.She had brown/auburn hair,high cheek bones, big doe-eyes, a perfect nose and a smile that made my heart sing. The only challenge was to get her to smile which became less of a challenge as time went on. Jaina had a reputation of being a bitch as far as all the donut shop employees and customers were concerned. She got a bum rap though.Let me explain why.
It is said that a beautiful woman is the lonliest creature in the world. Most men are too intimidated by their beauty to approach them, the ones that aren't are dirt-bags that only want to get into their pants, and most women that cannot even compare to their beauty are jealous. So to the majority of people they are either unapproachable, unattainable or more beautiful. It is a natural insinct for a beautiful woman to put up her defenses and keep them up. Jackie initially put up her defenses to me too. But I wasn't any of these people. I made sure everything was the way she wanted it when she came in, in the morning and at first she wasn't mean to me,but she didn't go out of her way to be warm and welcoming. In a word she was cold to me as she was to most people she met initially. Slowly she realized that I asked nothing of her that most people did. We were quite the team for the hour and a half we worked together. One customer would roll in and I would start getting their coffee ready as they rolled up to the window. The next regular would be right behind. I was tall enough to reach over her and get what I needed, she was short enough to get under me to get what she needed to wait on the next customer. We worked in a confined space, in synch, waiting on different customers without getting in each others way.
Let me tell you about the chicks that are real bitches. I have an example of another one that worked at the donut shop. Her name was Dana. Dana was plain. Here's the thing about plain girls.They actually are approachable. So they are under the impression they are actually very attractive.They only get as much attention as they do because they seem like an easy mark. Dana seemed like an easy mark and actually thought she was hot but she wasn't, and to her credit she was not an easy mark. She thrived off the attention and was a tease but never gave it up for anybody that I know of. Her false sense of ego was also boosted by the fact that she got a lot of attention from the aforementioned alpha-male-volunteer-firefighters. Also Dana was a bitch because she was nice to your face. And the men that came on to her had no idea she was simply being condescending, patronizing, and using them to boost her own false sense of worth. It made me sick. In Dana's defense this was 12 years ago and from what I hear she is different now. She is a family woman that gets her sense of self-worth from her husband and kids. We are both very different people today. A lot can happen in 12 years even though it goes by in the blink of an eye.
Back to Jaina. And how I won her over as much as I could. So it is no secret that I was madly infatuated with her. Before the first time I met her the first morning she came into replace me I was so scared from what everybody told me and how much of a bitch I heard she was. Little by little I learned exactly how she liked things to be when she came in, and I always tried to make conditons more perfect for her the more I learned how she liked things. At first she would come in and the first thing she would do is either change the radio station or take out my tape and put it on the country music station. Then she would clean this or prepare that. So what I would do is try to make sure this was clean for her or that was prepared for her. Over time I had it down to where she would come in and not have to do a thing. I wanted only to please her and wanted nothing in return except for her to be happy. She eventually demonstrated how greatful she was in the only way she could. She stopped changing the radio staion or taking my tape out in the morning. Doesn't sound like a big deal, but it was huge.
Also I have a pretty good idea that she had a pretty good idea of what was really going on at the donut shop. She was no dummy and managed the books and occasionally watched the security video. She must've known I was skimming the register, or she must've smelled the lingering smell of marijuana, or seen on the video tape some of the girls I took in to the storage room to shag. Not to mention all the missing coffee or donuts and hardly any money in the register. She let me get away with it for two reasons. The only reason the donut shop was open all night was because that was the best time to clean and finish the donuts and get ready for the next morning. You gotta pay somebody and keep the lights on while they're doing it, you might as well put a little dent in that overhead by selling a few cups of coffee and a few donuts, you don't do it because you plan on making a profit. The profit is made between 5 a.m. and 10 a.m., and if everything is set up by the person on the shift before,it makes it that much easier to service the customers in those profitable hours. The other reason she let me get away with it was because I would go out of my way to wait on the assholes that would hit on her so she wouldn't have to deal with them. If she did have to wait on them I would make some smart ass comment to make them feel stupid if they did hit on her. When I started doing that, that is when she really started to warm up to me. And when she stopped putting it on the country music station.
Clearly I was more than infatuated with her. Too bad she was in an on-again/off-again relationship with the donut shop owner's son. Not like I had a real chance at somebody like her anyway, but I would love to spend the rest of my life making her happy. She deserved so much more than what this world and circumstance had given her. I eventually stopped working at the donut shop, it closed down and I don't know what became of Jaina. I hope she found the happiness she truly deserves. Not only because she is so beautiful, but because I know there is more to her than the cold, hard front she puts on for the world to defend herself from the people that are truly prejudice or scared of beautiful women, myself among those that are scared.
Then the second and third replacement would come in and I could clock out. I would sit and have a cup with the regulars, and one of them would usually give me a ride to wherever I was living, knowing they could count on me to give them a free cup of coffee or donut the next time they came in. When I got home I would drink a few beers, smoke a little more weed and read, or listen to music, or contemplate the universe. Then off to bed. Don't get me started on sleeping while being a third shifter. I worked third shift in one job or the other for 9 years. One day you would get little or no sleep. The next you would do nothing but sleep. Or there would be days on end with no sleep, and days of nothing but sleeping. Also trying to recover from a having a night off and thinking you have the luxory of sleeping at night like regular people, only to have it mess up your sleeping shedule for the majority of the week. 9 years. I never got used to it.
This blog is the most generalized description of a night at the donut shop. With the most general descriptions of the regulars and the most extreme examples of the "different kind of regulars". Truth be told, I could write an entire book about a just a night or two at the donut shop, and actually thought I would one day. I am paranoid of being accused of ripping off my favorite modern day hero, Kevin Smith, writer, producer, director and actor. "Clerks" has already been written. It is the only movie of its kind and there is a reason. Perfection cannot be duplicated and if it can it is still pointless. There is only one Mona Lisa. If you can re-paint it perfectly down the tiniest brush stroke, you still weren't the first, even if you came up with the idea before you knew about the original, you still weren't the first.
Unless of course you want to create a whole new genre of film and writing about working class people in menial customer service jobs. The stories of the convenience store workers, donut shop workers, bartenders, bus drivers and cab drivers, Denny's waiter's and waitress's, the fast food workers, the 24 hour pharmacy workers, the list goes on and on. Mundane, though it may seem, there is a whole other world out there we take for granted when we and the rest of the world go to bed. They all have unique stories. While none of them have super powers, or live in a world where there are gunfights and explosions they live in the same world as us and their stories are truly spectacular because they are real and bizarre and can not be made up. They are true illustrations of the fact that truth is stranger than fiction.
(Kevin, if you read this let me know what you think and get back to me if you want to get back to basics and work on some independent Sundance shit that won't make me rich or you richer. )
Two things stick with me from my donut shop days.One, if I make you a cup of coffee once I will never have to ask you a second time the way you like it. I take a great sense of pride in this "talent". The other, I am most at home and comfortable behind a counter even if it is in somebody else's home. I found myself inspired to write this blog when I went to my neighbor's apartment that has a counter that one can stand behind and others can stand in front of. I was there for about an hour. Seemlessly I worked my way behind his counter, he was in front of the counter and I was serving him his own drinks out of his refrigerator as he sat like a guest in his own home being served his beer out of his refrigerator. I don't do it consciously either. I have no idea I'm doing it until am behind the counter and serving the drinks.
Many people may mistake this for wanting to be in the power position or control position. Maybe that's true. But honestly I just love giving people what they want and being able to know what they want and give it to them without them having to tell me. Most people think of heaven as some kind of tropical beach paradise. I would gladly trade that idea of paradise for a permanent position behind the counter at a little coffee shop taking care of my regulars and having their coffee waiting at the counter or the drive-thru before they come in or drive up. It makes them feel unique, special and remebered. We all deserve that feeling. And I love being the one to give people that feeling by simply remembering the way they like their coffee.
So if my atheist, pagan ways are wrong and there is a heaven, I will be the one serving the coffee.
At this point I would like to add a disclaimer. What is written here happened almost 12 years ago. I couldn't tell you the last time I smoked marijuana, and would happily take a urine test at any time. Also I stopped stealing on the job which is common in menial jobs like the one I had at the donut shop because people feel justified in doing so. Since then my beliefs and values have changed drastically. I realized it is better to be a "company-man" and not have to ever worry about losing your job because you never break the rules. If you feel your job sucks so much you are justified in stealing from your employer there is something you can do besides stealing. GET ANOTHER JOB! This is America after all. My beliefs and values changed drastically since then and have since been radically reinforced by the fact that I have kids and if I did something to compromise my good standing with my employer I would not be the only one to suffer. Also my employer sees the big picture. Happy employees make customers happy, happy customers keep coming back.
I can write about my previous jobs though, without much fear of repercussion. Mostly because that was several lifetimes ago, and I no longer do all those things now that could have gotten me fired then. So today I will talk about the job I loved the most. Did you notice I didn't call it the best job I ever had? The only reason it wasn't the best job is because the hours and pay sucked, and there was no insurance plan. But man I had it made!
When I was done with the military, and running around the country I came back to my home town and got a job in a donut shop, third shift. Here's how a typical night went. I would wake up around 9 P.M. Now during the year or so I had this job I lived at a variety of places, which I may talk about in future blogs. But this one is about the job, so I will focus on that for now. So I wake up around 9 P.M. I don't have a cup of coffee because I can drink all the great coffee I want on the job. I do however smoke a cigarette. Then a bowl, or a joint, or a few bong hits. After that either I get a ride or walk to work and smoke a few more cigarettes on the way and get there around 10-ish. I don't start until 11.
I walk in, go behind the counter and pour myself a cup. I sit at a booth and read or talk to some of the regulars. The majority of regulars are gear-heads, factory workers, and members of the local volunteer fire department. Apparently being a member of the volunteer fire department made you an alpha-male at the donut shop. Now I am a long haired-hippie nerd that cannot even begin to fathom their understanding of the world or why the members of the volunteer fire department are revered as alpha-males, but I am the one that is going to be pouring the coffee in less than an hour, and the one behind the counter so they have to deal with me and treat me with a certain amount of respect and will talk to me. Mostly they talk to me about what they are doing to modify their muscle cars and trucks. I just nod and try to look impressed in all the right places and have no idea what they are really talking about and wish they would just let me read.
Now the gear heads,factory workers and other general laborers will sit down at my booth and try to engage me in conversation. The alpha-male volunteer firemen refuse to acknowledge my existence until they have to order coffee from me and I ignore theirs. Sometimes all the non-alpha-male, non-volunteer-firemen will get into a civilized ridiculous argument and ask me what the real deal was. They had a certain reverence for me. It sounds like I am looking down on them, but in all honesty they are different from me, I am different from them, but I respect them and they respect me.Alpha-male-volunteer-firemen, different story.
Time to go to work.
Check the amount of coffee in the pots, get the next pot ready to brew, clean up a little and make sure everything is the way I like it. The third shifters for the other jobs are rolling in. The security guards, shelf-stockers, and factory workers. I see them drive in the entrance, by the time they get to the drive-thru window their order is waiting without them having to say a word. I take the money, they take their coffee and donut and go along their happy way. If I didn't have to take some money, all they would have to do is slow down a little as they rolled by the window and grabbed their order as I was hanging it out the window.
After them comes the police. They come on at 11 and they send the rookie patrolman to the donut shop with a list. A list the rookie can't make heads or tails of, much less read. It was so funny watching them try though. I would let the rookie cop try and read it, then interrupt them about half way through, and tell them what they needed. Before I did though I would ask what night of the week it was."Its Thursday? OK. So cop-x is off. That means you don't need a large black with one sugar. You do need two large regulars, a light and sweet, a cream only, a medium black, and a corn muffin." I fucked with the rookie cops one of two ways. Either I told them what the list said before they read it, or I let them struggle through it and looked at them blankly and when they were done had it all ready to go without making a move after they finished reading it.
By this time midnight rolls around. The cops and regulars have rolled through, and its still too early to throw out the donuts that are left over because the bar crowd will be rolling in soon. Now this is where a different kind of regulars have rolled in. The turbo-nerds. There's two kinds. The younger,hip enlightened group, that are too young to drink, don't want to hang out at home and have found a place where somebody that is almost like them is pouring the coffee. Also they know I will give them 4 coffees and charge for one and I am actually authorized to give out the donuts and pastries I would otherwise throw away. The camera is watching. As long as I put some money in the drawer I can charge for one then give out three or four coffees. I did it just so I had some people around to have intelligent, cultural conversations with during the slow period of the night. I appreciated their company, they appreciated having a place to hang out and free coffee and donuts. I would also prep things for the morning crowd and clean some more. Then I had time to kill.
So what to do?
Smoke some more pot, of course. Here's how it went. I would tell them to go to the bathroom. There is a door that goes to a small room that has a door for the men's room, a door for the ladies room then a door to the backroom.The camera in the public area sees them going to the bathroom, but they actually go to the door that goes to the backroom where there is one camera. We stand directly under the camera and get high. To be more accurate, it would be one at a time. One would go, take some power hits, go back to the lobby. There was a bell on the door and a buzzer for the drive-thru. So I could get high, and if a customer came in or was at the drive thru I would know when to go take care of them. Many a time I had to put down the pipe or joint when the buzzer rang and go wait on a cop. They aren't dumb, they knew what I was doing back there, but they got the coffee for free and I wasn't hurting anybody and they all said I made the best sandwiches. So all the people that were getting me high, or I was getting high couldn't all go to the bathroom at once, so one would go, come out, they would wait a few minutes then the next one would come in.
Then after everyone was good and high they got more free coffee and I blasted the music. Sometimes the stuff I wanted, or I would take requests, or play tapes they wanted to hear. Yes, tapes, not Cd's.
Then there were the other kinds of nerds. those that were in their mid-to late 30's and had probably never had contact with an actual, living breathing female. They sat in a booth and had heated discussions about dungeons and dragons, Star Wars versus Star Trek, the renaissance fair and stuff like that.
Pour a cup and go out back and smoke a bowl or joint. Have a cigarette or two, hang out with the nerd-regulars. The nerd-regulars start to drift away and the bar crowd starts to drift in. If you can make a decent cup of coffee and have it ready they are decent tippers. If you know what the register is supposed to average in the morning you know how to skim it and be your own best tipper. The secret is to never hit the no sale button. Somebody comes in and orders three large coffees. That's supposed to be $3.15. You ring up one large for $1.05 and put 3.15 in the drawer. You keep track of how much you have put in over what the register tape in the morning says you have put in. In the morning, before the next person comes in you count your drawer, and take the change from the tip jar and as you are converting your tips into bills take the extra you have over rung and the camera never catches a thing. On a good week my paycheck was just over a hundred bucks. I worked 5 days a week and made an extra ten to twenty dollars a day doing this. Never got caught either.
So after the bar crowd has drifted away its time to finish the donuts. I always worked with a baker that made the donuts. I worked with one of two bakers. We'll call the first one Peter. He is a skinny 70 something ex-hell's angel that will fuck anything that moves. Has 13 kids, 12 of them boys, and the one girl is the last one you want to fuck with and their names all start with the same letter. In this blog that letter is P, in real life, it is a different letter. The other baker is his son Paul, who really deserves his own blog all together. Both are supposed to be the ones really in charge, and because we had a great amount of mutual trust for each other, and I knew how to finish their donuts perfectly in a timely manner, they let me do what I wanted and never second guessed my judgement. My job was to throw out the old donuts and finish the new donuts. That means putting the chocolate and sprinkles on the donuts, putting the jelly or cream in the donuts,waiting for the glaze to dry on the different kinds of glazed donuts and putting them all in the tray, then the display case. And, let me just say there is nothing closer to the concept of heaven on this earth than biting into a warm , fresh donut that the glaze has barely dried on. If you think a good fresh donut is one that is less than 24 hours old, you have no idea of the level of ecstasy associated with sinking your teeth into a donut that is less than a half hour old. Now that I no longer work in the donut industry I am now jaded against donuts that only the general public can eat. There's no going back once you know how good a donut can truly be.
Now here is that portion of the evening where the "different kind of regulars" start coming in. I call them "different kind of regulars" because that is the only way I can categorize or generalize them. No two are the same and not one can easily be pigeon-holed into a category of gear-head, nerd, hippie, blue-collar worker, or any of the other types of regulars that hang out at the donut shop. Like me, they are all of these things and none of these things at the same time. They never fit in anywhere in their lives, and probably more than half of them have severe mental problems. Also they weren't the type of regulars that came around for years at a time. One, or a group would start showing up and come in for weeks or months at a time. Then as one would begin to stop coming in they would be replaced by another "different type of regular". Sometimes there would be gaps between them, other times they would overlap. this blog gets interesting in the overlapping of one of these different kinds of regulars with two other irregular regulars.
All the cops and drunks are fed, the donuts are finished, the backroom is clean enough to do surgery in and the "different kind of regulars" are hanging out in the lobby, and there aren't many of them. I guess it was between 2:30 and 4 am. They all had one thing in common they started coming in and kept coming in, either because I was getting them high, giving them free coffee or donuts or because they wanted someone to talk to in the wee hours of the night.
I was the common factor. Because of it, one of these different kinds of regulars almost got shot, and another one was given the means to kill himself. The other common factor was a Jesus-freak gun-nut that we will call Raymond. He was one of the different kind of regulars that I met in a previous job and would visit me at the donut shop because he appreciated the philosophical arguments we had about religion. I am an atheist, he is a militant christian. He wanted to save me and was reasonably intelligent. We had polite arguments. He was a different kind of regular that overlapped with two of the other different kinds of regulars.
The first one was Donald. Donald was tall dark and handsome. But he was schizophrenic, I think... There was something wrong with him. I heard stories about him going into the bathroom and cutting his wrists and spraying the bathroom walls with his blood, and other stories from the cops about how it took five of them to take him down in the nearby pizza parlor when he had one of his episodes, along with a myriad of stories of how dangerous he really was. Me and Peter, the skinny, old ex-hell's angel baker had a soft spot for him. Donald was somebody that really should have been under professional care thrown into the world to fend for himself without a pot to piss or enough sense to know how to make his social security check last the month. So we would let him in to keep warm in the winter months and give him some stew. The owner watched the video one night, knew who it was and didn't want him to cause a scene in her donut shop and told us to not allow him in anymore. So the next time he came in we told him. We told him to meet us at the back door and gave him a bowl of stew, and a bag of donuts and told him he couldn't come to the donut shop anymore. He said he understood, and took the stew and donuts and went quietly, but we could tell he was upset. A few nights later Raymond, the militant gun-nut was in the lobby, I was in the back finishing the donuts, and heard a noise. It was a muted banging. I came out to see what was going on. Donald was pounding both fists on the window on a below freezing night screaming through the window, " LET ME IN! LET ME IN!" Over and over. Raymond didn't know him, had his gun on him, was pulling the gun out of his jean jacket with his finger on the trigger ready to shoot to kill at point blank range, through the window, before I ran over with my arms flailing and screaming, "DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT!"
He put the gun away. I went out to talk to Donald. I told him what almost happened. He understood. I told him to meet me at the backdoor. Peter and I gave him another bowl of stew to go and another bag of donuts and told him this was the last time and not to come back. A few weeks later we heard the news. Donald hung himself with an extension cord. I broke the rules to skim the register, get high and give out coffee. I probably could have broken the rules to accommodate Donald, and he might still be alive. I don't blame myself a whole lot for that though, he was suicidal. You can't save anybody from themselves. He would've done it sooner or later. He had tried before, and this time he was successful.
Now here is the death that I really blame myself for. Once again the two central characters are Raymond and myself. Raymond would already be at the donut shop and then this guy started showing up. We'll call him Tom. Tom was a clean cut guy that showed up with two or three hippie kids about ten years younger than him. Tom was the manager of the local paint store and made light of his divorce. He drove them around, and actually lived with them. They were night and day and I never got the whole story of how a clean cut manager got involved with these hippie hoodlum types.Being a hippie / hoodlum type myself , that knows the true meaning of hunger, I would give them the garbage bags full of donuts I would otherwise throw out and they froze them and thawed them out over the course of the week to eat. Tom gave them a ride so they could pick up the donuts once a week.
So Tom showed up with his hippie hoodlum roommates as they were picking up their donuts and Raymond was there. Turns out Raymond and Tom went to high school together. They recognized each other and did the usual catching up. Where they have been and where they were. Stuff like that. I thought it was pretty cool that two people that were coming to the donut shop because of me actually knew each other before, and had it not been for me neither of them would have come there and met again. Until a few nights went by. Raymond stopped showing up. I heard through mutual people that we had worked with at the grocery store that they saw the homicide unit and crime scene investigation team outside his apartment. The hippie/hoodlum kids and Tom stopped showing up too.
Why did Raymond stop coming by?
Why was the homicide investigation unit outside his apartment?
Why did Tom and the hippie/hoodlum kids stop showing up?
All these questions were answered a couple weeks later when Raymond showed up once again. I asked where he had been. He was shocked to hear I didn't know already. The cops took away all his guns because Tom shot himself in his apartment. When they met again at the donut shop Raymond told Tom where he lived and bragged about his guns. Turns out Tom didn't take his divorce as lightly as he tried to make everybody think he did. He went to Raymond's apartment, and when Raymond wasn't looking he found one of Raymond's gun's and killed himself. Raymond was more upset about the fact they took his fucking guns other than somebody dying because he had them.
I don't blame myself for Tom's death because I was the common factor in both of them coming to the donut shop. That was completely innocent. I blame myself because a few years prior Raymond needed a reference to get his gun permit. He had two references. He was at the police station to get his gun permit with his two references. I ran into him when I went to the police station to get fingerprinted for military service. He begged me and pressured me to be his third reference to guarantee he could get his gun permit. Being young, naive, and on the spot I did. Even though I knew he was probably one of the last people on this planet that should own a gun. Your probably saying to your self that I am being too hard on myself. If I wasn't the reference somebody else would've been. But Raymond was such a recluse it would have taken him a long time to find that third reference and he may never have found it if he didn't find it in me. If he did, it would be somebody else's hands Tom's blood was on. But I was the final reference and it is my hand's his blood is on. End of story.
Those are the most drastic examples of the different kinds of regulars. I could write several blogs about some of the characters that came in between 1:30 and 4:30. But this blog is about a typical night at the donut shop. After the different kind of regulars leave the early risers start to come in. Some are early risers because they have to be to work Before 5:00 A.M. Other's are early risers by choice. They don't have to be to work for an hour or two, but like me they like to sit around and drink coffee for an hour or two. The prior are always in a hurry and seem like they are on the verge of a breakdown, the latter, laid back and easy going.
Regardless of what kind of early riser it is, I see them pull into the entrance and have their coffee and/or donut ready when they come to the counter or drive-thru. This goes on until the end of my shift at 7:00 A.M. My replacement comes in araound 5:30 A.M.
The lovely Jaina.
Words can only attempt to describe her beauty. An absolute vision. Everything about her was perfect. The only thing that would hold her back from being a professional model was height. She was short, and physically, that is the only thing that would hold her back.She had brown/auburn hair,high cheek bones, big doe-eyes, a perfect nose and a smile that made my heart sing. The only challenge was to get her to smile which became less of a challenge as time went on. Jaina had a reputation of being a bitch as far as all the donut shop employees and customers were concerned. She got a bum rap though.Let me explain why.
It is said that a beautiful woman is the lonliest creature in the world. Most men are too intimidated by their beauty to approach them, the ones that aren't are dirt-bags that only want to get into their pants, and most women that cannot even compare to their beauty are jealous. So to the majority of people they are either unapproachable, unattainable or more beautiful. It is a natural insinct for a beautiful woman to put up her defenses and keep them up. Jackie initially put up her defenses to me too. But I wasn't any of these people. I made sure everything was the way she wanted it when she came in, in the morning and at first she wasn't mean to me,but she didn't go out of her way to be warm and welcoming. In a word she was cold to me as she was to most people she met initially. Slowly she realized that I asked nothing of her that most people did. We were quite the team for the hour and a half we worked together. One customer would roll in and I would start getting their coffee ready as they rolled up to the window. The next regular would be right behind. I was tall enough to reach over her and get what I needed, she was short enough to get under me to get what she needed to wait on the next customer. We worked in a confined space, in synch, waiting on different customers without getting in each others way.
Let me tell you about the chicks that are real bitches. I have an example of another one that worked at the donut shop. Her name was Dana. Dana was plain. Here's the thing about plain girls.They actually are approachable. So they are under the impression they are actually very attractive.They only get as much attention as they do because they seem like an easy mark. Dana seemed like an easy mark and actually thought she was hot but she wasn't, and to her credit she was not an easy mark. She thrived off the attention and was a tease but never gave it up for anybody that I know of. Her false sense of ego was also boosted by the fact that she got a lot of attention from the aforementioned alpha-male-volunteer-firefighters. Also Dana was a bitch because she was nice to your face. And the men that came on to her had no idea she was simply being condescending, patronizing, and using them to boost her own false sense of worth. It made me sick. In Dana's defense this was 12 years ago and from what I hear she is different now. She is a family woman that gets her sense of self-worth from her husband and kids. We are both very different people today. A lot can happen in 12 years even though it goes by in the blink of an eye.
Back to Jaina. And how I won her over as much as I could. So it is no secret that I was madly infatuated with her. Before the first time I met her the first morning she came into replace me I was so scared from what everybody told me and how much of a bitch I heard she was. Little by little I learned exactly how she liked things to be when she came in, and I always tried to make conditons more perfect for her the more I learned how she liked things. At first she would come in and the first thing she would do is either change the radio station or take out my tape and put it on the country music station. Then she would clean this or prepare that. So what I would do is try to make sure this was clean for her or that was prepared for her. Over time I had it down to where she would come in and not have to do a thing. I wanted only to please her and wanted nothing in return except for her to be happy. She eventually demonstrated how greatful she was in the only way she could. She stopped changing the radio staion or taking my tape out in the morning. Doesn't sound like a big deal, but it was huge.
Also I have a pretty good idea that she had a pretty good idea of what was really going on at the donut shop. She was no dummy and managed the books and occasionally watched the security video. She must've known I was skimming the register, or she must've smelled the lingering smell of marijuana, or seen on the video tape some of the girls I took in to the storage room to shag. Not to mention all the missing coffee or donuts and hardly any money in the register. She let me get away with it for two reasons. The only reason the donut shop was open all night was because that was the best time to clean and finish the donuts and get ready for the next morning. You gotta pay somebody and keep the lights on while they're doing it, you might as well put a little dent in that overhead by selling a few cups of coffee and a few donuts, you don't do it because you plan on making a profit. The profit is made between 5 a.m. and 10 a.m., and if everything is set up by the person on the shift before,it makes it that much easier to service the customers in those profitable hours. The other reason she let me get away with it was because I would go out of my way to wait on the assholes that would hit on her so she wouldn't have to deal with them. If she did have to wait on them I would make some smart ass comment to make them feel stupid if they did hit on her. When I started doing that, that is when she really started to warm up to me. And when she stopped putting it on the country music station.
Clearly I was more than infatuated with her. Too bad she was in an on-again/off-again relationship with the donut shop owner's son. Not like I had a real chance at somebody like her anyway, but I would love to spend the rest of my life making her happy. She deserved so much more than what this world and circumstance had given her. I eventually stopped working at the donut shop, it closed down and I don't know what became of Jaina. I hope she found the happiness she truly deserves. Not only because she is so beautiful, but because I know there is more to her than the cold, hard front she puts on for the world to defend herself from the people that are truly prejudice or scared of beautiful women, myself among those that are scared.
Then the second and third replacement would come in and I could clock out. I would sit and have a cup with the regulars, and one of them would usually give me a ride to wherever I was living, knowing they could count on me to give them a free cup of coffee or donut the next time they came in. When I got home I would drink a few beers, smoke a little more weed and read, or listen to music, or contemplate the universe. Then off to bed. Don't get me started on sleeping while being a third shifter. I worked third shift in one job or the other for 9 years. One day you would get little or no sleep. The next you would do nothing but sleep. Or there would be days on end with no sleep, and days of nothing but sleeping. Also trying to recover from a having a night off and thinking you have the luxory of sleeping at night like regular people, only to have it mess up your sleeping shedule for the majority of the week. 9 years. I never got used to it.
This blog is the most generalized description of a night at the donut shop. With the most general descriptions of the regulars and the most extreme examples of the "different kind of regulars". Truth be told, I could write an entire book about a just a night or two at the donut shop, and actually thought I would one day. I am paranoid of being accused of ripping off my favorite modern day hero, Kevin Smith, writer, producer, director and actor. "Clerks" has already been written. It is the only movie of its kind and there is a reason. Perfection cannot be duplicated and if it can it is still pointless. There is only one Mona Lisa. If you can re-paint it perfectly down the tiniest brush stroke, you still weren't the first, even if you came up with the idea before you knew about the original, you still weren't the first.
Unless of course you want to create a whole new genre of film and writing about working class people in menial customer service jobs. The stories of the convenience store workers, donut shop workers, bartenders, bus drivers and cab drivers, Denny's waiter's and waitress's, the fast food workers, the 24 hour pharmacy workers, the list goes on and on. Mundane, though it may seem, there is a whole other world out there we take for granted when we and the rest of the world go to bed. They all have unique stories. While none of them have super powers, or live in a world where there are gunfights and explosions they live in the same world as us and their stories are truly spectacular because they are real and bizarre and can not be made up. They are true illustrations of the fact that truth is stranger than fiction.
(Kevin, if you read this let me know what you think and get back to me if you want to get back to basics and work on some independent Sundance shit that won't make me rich or you richer. )
Two things stick with me from my donut shop days.One, if I make you a cup of coffee once I will never have to ask you a second time the way you like it. I take a great sense of pride in this "talent". The other, I am most at home and comfortable behind a counter even if it is in somebody else's home. I found myself inspired to write this blog when I went to my neighbor's apartment that has a counter that one can stand behind and others can stand in front of. I was there for about an hour. Seemlessly I worked my way behind his counter, he was in front of the counter and I was serving him his own drinks out of his refrigerator as he sat like a guest in his own home being served his beer out of his refrigerator. I don't do it consciously either. I have no idea I'm doing it until am behind the counter and serving the drinks.
Many people may mistake this for wanting to be in the power position or control position. Maybe that's true. But honestly I just love giving people what they want and being able to know what they want and give it to them without them having to tell me. Most people think of heaven as some kind of tropical beach paradise. I would gladly trade that idea of paradise for a permanent position behind the counter at a little coffee shop taking care of my regulars and having their coffee waiting at the counter or the drive-thru before they come in or drive up. It makes them feel unique, special and remebered. We all deserve that feeling. And I love being the one to give people that feeling by simply remembering the way they like their coffee.
So if my atheist, pagan ways are wrong and there is a heaven, I will be the one serving the coffee.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
A Blog About Blogging
I was originally going to title this "Be Gentle...It's My First Time." But really it isn't.It's my second. I signed up for an MSN Spaces account and thought I could blog there but that was the one thing about the website that really pissed me off. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to get just the titles of my blogs show on my home page so people visiting my site could click on the title and just read the blog. I'm sure there is a way but if the site were user friendly I would've figured it out within fifteen minutes. I won't embarass myself by telling you how much of my life was wasted trying to figure it out before finally giving up and quickly finding this website. Now that I write this I'm not even sure there is a way to do it on this website.
So I often thought people who wrote blogs were fools that either thought the rest of the world really cared how they felt, or people that thought it was a way to become a writer without having to do all the hard work it takes to become a writer. There is a lot more to it than simply writing and hoping the right person reads it that will give you a book deal. I realize now that there is more to the whole blog universe than these two types of people. I know that because of all the news shows I watch and all the seemingly intelligent people that have blogs. Certainly not because I have read or subscribed to a lot of blogs. I do plan on looking for some blogs to read and possibly subscribe to, so I have a better feel of the whole blog phenomenon. I just wanted to write one before I did and start my own page so it was ready in case I am inspired to blog more after reading some other blogs.
If anybody reads this knows where the word blog comes from please tell me. I'm sure I could find it for myself but I am lazy and it's late.
So why have I started blogging?
So glad you asked.
I have been told I am a good writer. I believe I may have been once, but its been so long and I have never finished anything of great length or importance. I think the two things I'm proudest of writing are my grandmother's eulogy and the story of my son's birth. If I can figure out this website and feel comfortable using it I might post them here. You can actually read the story of my son's birth and my first real blog at:
http://bigvike1374.spaces.live.com/default.aspx?_c02_vws=1
I am blogging in hopes of real honest feedback about my writing from people that don't know me. I have shared a lot of what I have written with people I know and I have never had one person tell me that something I wrote was horrible. I'm sure not everything I have ever written is good. So please, if you think my writing sucks tell me, and tell me why. Feedback is a gift. The other reason I am blogging is to write on a regular basis. I guess that's what writers are supposed to do. I have also heard writers hate to write. I think writers hate to start writing is a more accurate statement. I had to force myself to start writing this, and didn't know what I would write about, but now that I am I don't want to stop. Even though it is late and I have to get up early.
And please don't get me wrong. I would love to be a writer, but I have no delusions about it ever happening for me. I probably could've made it it happen when I was younger but having fun was more important to me at the time. So I realize that ship has probably sailed and I will have to work until retirement age and hope I have enough money in my 401k to live the rest of my life if I make it that far. I just enjoy writing after I force myself to start. It makes me feel good too. So those are the primary reasons I am blogging.
I would like to start writing a piece of fiction. I have no idea where to start though. I can't afford college, nor do I have the time. Also refuse to pay for online courses and have a hard time trusting the free websites. So until I have that moment, where the clouds part, a ray of sunlight shines down just for me and there is a choir of angels singing, and I have an idea for a good piece of fiction I will blog. I am also working on a condensed history of my life, which may eventually appear here.
Even though it is late I am going to stay up a little later and try to understand this site a little more, find some blogs to read, and let people I know that I have a new blog. Thanks for reading and feel free to tell me my writing sucks. If you want to help me tell me why it sucks.
Thanks
So I often thought people who wrote blogs were fools that either thought the rest of the world really cared how they felt, or people that thought it was a way to become a writer without having to do all the hard work it takes to become a writer. There is a lot more to it than simply writing and hoping the right person reads it that will give you a book deal. I realize now that there is more to the whole blog universe than these two types of people. I know that because of all the news shows I watch and all the seemingly intelligent people that have blogs. Certainly not because I have read or subscribed to a lot of blogs. I do plan on looking for some blogs to read and possibly subscribe to, so I have a better feel of the whole blog phenomenon. I just wanted to write one before I did and start my own page so it was ready in case I am inspired to blog more after reading some other blogs.
If anybody reads this knows where the word blog comes from please tell me. I'm sure I could find it for myself but I am lazy and it's late.
So why have I started blogging?
So glad you asked.
I have been told I am a good writer. I believe I may have been once, but its been so long and I have never finished anything of great length or importance. I think the two things I'm proudest of writing are my grandmother's eulogy and the story of my son's birth. If I can figure out this website and feel comfortable using it I might post them here. You can actually read the story of my son's birth and my first real blog at:
http://bigvike1374.spaces.live.com/default.aspx?_c02_vws=1
I am blogging in hopes of real honest feedback about my writing from people that don't know me. I have shared a lot of what I have written with people I know and I have never had one person tell me that something I wrote was horrible. I'm sure not everything I have ever written is good. So please, if you think my writing sucks tell me, and tell me why. Feedback is a gift. The other reason I am blogging is to write on a regular basis. I guess that's what writers are supposed to do. I have also heard writers hate to write. I think writers hate to start writing is a more accurate statement. I had to force myself to start writing this, and didn't know what I would write about, but now that I am I don't want to stop. Even though it is late and I have to get up early.
And please don't get me wrong. I would love to be a writer, but I have no delusions about it ever happening for me. I probably could've made it it happen when I was younger but having fun was more important to me at the time. So I realize that ship has probably sailed and I will have to work until retirement age and hope I have enough money in my 401k to live the rest of my life if I make it that far. I just enjoy writing after I force myself to start. It makes me feel good too. So those are the primary reasons I am blogging.
I would like to start writing a piece of fiction. I have no idea where to start though. I can't afford college, nor do I have the time. Also refuse to pay for online courses and have a hard time trusting the free websites. So until I have that moment, where the clouds part, a ray of sunlight shines down just for me and there is a choir of angels singing, and I have an idea for a good piece of fiction I will blog. I am also working on a condensed history of my life, which may eventually appear here.
Even though it is late I am going to stay up a little later and try to understand this site a little more, find some blogs to read, and let people I know that I have a new blog. Thanks for reading and feel free to tell me my writing sucks. If you want to help me tell me why it sucks.
Thanks
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