Last nights agenda:
Pick up Lauren.
Feed her junk food and sugar.
Take her to an overstimulating concert experience, i.e. loud music, giggly friends, lights, mass hysteria.
Get her home very late on a school night.
Hand her back to her mother.
Say "You get her to go to bed."
Mission Accomplished.
So I leave work early, pick up Lauren and we drive downtown. I suggest we grab something to eat and we pull into a innocent looking Jack-In-The-Box. The whole neighborhood looks rather dark, but nothing seems scary or anything. So we bounce into JITB, ponytails swinging, giggling, and get in line. That's when it hit us, really. Other than a few employees behind the counter, we are the only females in the building. And we had obviously wandered into 'the wrong neighborhood'. It was like everyone in there froze. Then we froze. It was like a neon sign went on over our heads 'Suburban White Chicks'. Then I thought, so we're different. So what? We're all just hungry people. So I tried to stand naturally, clutching my little pink Nine West MiniBag to my chest, trying not to shake my silvery, dangly earrings to much. If I had known that I was going to experience a different culture, I would have dressed a bit more inconspicously, but it was too late for that now. I saw to Lauren, "Should I get the chicken strips or the fish?" The guy behind me (and by behind me, I mean about an inch and a half behind my neck) says, "I think you should get the cavier", his voice dripping with sarcasm. I thought, humor defuses these situations, right? (and how did walking into a JITB suddenly become a 'situation'? What a world we've made for ourselves) So I laughed like it was this guy and my little inside joke and said, "Is that what's in those pita fajita things?" After that he was mostly quiet, except for muttering that what I should really buy was his dinner. I really would have, you know, except that I wasn't sure how to do it without appearing to be condescending, which would have confirmed their suspicion that I thought I was somehow better because my car is shiny and everything in it works. So I didn't buy his dinner because I think I would have bought his dignity from him at the same time. And frankly, I didn't want to create a problem with Lauren there. I ordered my chicken strips, and told Lauren (who was quieter than I've ever known her to be, EVER, I'm assuming because this was a rather new experience for her, not something she had ever encountered on her vacations to Fiji, or to New York for an opera) to order whatever she wanted. As soon as I said those words, two things happened. There was a collective snort from every man in there. And I realized I could have phrased that better. I am a simple creature, really. And ecomically, I think of myself as being far poorer than the style to which I was raised. A conscience choice on my part, of course, and one I'm very happy with. I realize that the concept of 'rich' is very relative, but I've never really been in a place where ordering anything you want at a fast food joint is someones idea of 'rich'. It was incredibly humbling, and I wanted to thank everyone there for the mental slap it gave my way of thinking. I really need and crave that. But it was scary with Lauren there. I was out of my comfort zone, but to her it was like being on Mars. She was scared. And I was scared for her. We left, Lauren thinking only of getting to the car and the safety it afforded, and I thinking of the tickets in my pocket, the cost of which would have bought everyone in there breakfast, lunch and dinner, but instead paid for us to sit in a chair and listen to music. Ouch.
After our little tour of a life very different from our own, we pull up the concert and I pay a man who I really hoped was a valet ten bucks to take my car. We met up with Coco, Shannon and Katie in the lobby and they all bought their t-shirts and hats and posters and buttons. They all bought hats and suggested I buy one too. So I bought a hat with "The Format" on it, which I assumed was the opening act and I figured it would make a good gift for JR. Coco insisted I wear it, and wear it 'the cool way' which is basically halfway between normal and sideways. The assured me I didn't look like the 'old people who tried to hard', but think that's just because, frankly, I could pass for 13 when I don't wear makeup, which I wasn't. I ran back down the car, which the valet found after offering me like 8 other white Focuses, to get Lauren's camera. In the elavator someone looked at my hat and asked me, "Who's The Format? Where are they from?" I was like, "I have no idea." They asked, "What's their music like?" I was like, " I have no idea." The first opening act was The Honorary Title. Great lead singer, but he insisted on talking, or rather, blithering idiotically between songs. I wanted to yell, "Shut up and sing something!". The Format was really cool. You could tell they were cool because I never saw anyone but the keyboard player's eyes, because of all the swingy, cool hair going on on these guys. Then at 10:16 (aka, my bedtime), Switchfoot came out. And ROCKED. HARD. I don't want to go into it much, because hearing about someone else's concert experience is about as interesting as seeing someones vacation photos from Disneyland. You really did need to be there. But I will say that they give an awesome live show and I would buy tickets to see them again anytime. And you should come with me.
Pick up Lauren.
Feed her junk food and sugar.
Take her to an overstimulating concert experience, i.e. loud music, giggly friends, lights, mass hysteria.
Get her home very late on a school night.
Hand her back to her mother.
Say "You get her to go to bed."
Mission Accomplished.
So I leave work early, pick up Lauren and we drive downtown. I suggest we grab something to eat and we pull into a innocent looking Jack-In-The-Box. The whole neighborhood looks rather dark, but nothing seems scary or anything. So we bounce into JITB, ponytails swinging, giggling, and get in line. That's when it hit us, really. Other than a few employees behind the counter, we are the only females in the building. And we had obviously wandered into 'the wrong neighborhood'. It was like everyone in there froze. Then we froze. It was like a neon sign went on over our heads 'Suburban White Chicks'. Then I thought, so we're different. So what? We're all just hungry people. So I tried to stand naturally, clutching my little pink Nine West MiniBag to my chest, trying not to shake my silvery, dangly earrings to much. If I had known that I was going to experience a different culture, I would have dressed a bit more inconspicously, but it was too late for that now. I saw to Lauren, "Should I get the chicken strips or the fish?" The guy behind me (and by behind me, I mean about an inch and a half behind my neck) says, "I think you should get the cavier", his voice dripping with sarcasm. I thought, humor defuses these situations, right? (and how did walking into a JITB suddenly become a 'situation'? What a world we've made for ourselves) So I laughed like it was this guy and my little inside joke and said, "Is that what's in those pita fajita things?" After that he was mostly quiet, except for muttering that what I should really buy was his dinner. I really would have, you know, except that I wasn't sure how to do it without appearing to be condescending, which would have confirmed their suspicion that I thought I was somehow better because my car is shiny and everything in it works. So I didn't buy his dinner because I think I would have bought his dignity from him at the same time. And frankly, I didn't want to create a problem with Lauren there. I ordered my chicken strips, and told Lauren (who was quieter than I've ever known her to be, EVER, I'm assuming because this was a rather new experience for her, not something she had ever encountered on her vacations to Fiji, or to New York for an opera) to order whatever she wanted. As soon as I said those words, two things happened. There was a collective snort from every man in there. And I realized I could have phrased that better. I am a simple creature, really. And ecomically, I think of myself as being far poorer than the style to which I was raised. A conscience choice on my part, of course, and one I'm very happy with. I realize that the concept of 'rich' is very relative, but I've never really been in a place where ordering anything you want at a fast food joint is someones idea of 'rich'. It was incredibly humbling, and I wanted to thank everyone there for the mental slap it gave my way of thinking. I really need and crave that. But it was scary with Lauren there. I was out of my comfort zone, but to her it was like being on Mars. She was scared. And I was scared for her. We left, Lauren thinking only of getting to the car and the safety it afforded, and I thinking of the tickets in my pocket, the cost of which would have bought everyone in there breakfast, lunch and dinner, but instead paid for us to sit in a chair and listen to music. Ouch.
After our little tour of a life very different from our own, we pull up the concert and I pay a man who I really hoped was a valet ten bucks to take my car. We met up with Coco, Shannon and Katie in the lobby and they all bought their t-shirts and hats and posters and buttons. They all bought hats and suggested I buy one too. So I bought a hat with "The Format" on it, which I assumed was the opening act and I figured it would make a good gift for JR. Coco insisted I wear it, and wear it 'the cool way' which is basically halfway between normal and sideways. The assured me I didn't look like the 'old people who tried to hard', but think that's just because, frankly, I could pass for 13 when I don't wear makeup, which I wasn't. I ran back down the car, which the valet found after offering me like 8 other white Focuses, to get Lauren's camera. In the elavator someone looked at my hat and asked me, "Who's The Format? Where are they from?" I was like, "I have no idea." They asked, "What's their music like?" I was like, " I have no idea." The first opening act was The Honorary Title. Great lead singer, but he insisted on talking, or rather, blithering idiotically between songs. I wanted to yell, "Shut up and sing something!". The Format was really cool. You could tell they were cool because I never saw anyone but the keyboard player's eyes, because of all the swingy, cool hair going on on these guys. Then at 10:16 (aka, my bedtime), Switchfoot came out. And ROCKED. HARD. I don't want to go into it much, because hearing about someone else's concert experience is about as interesting as seeing someones vacation photos from Disneyland. You really did need to be there. But I will say that they give an awesome live show and I would buy tickets to see them again anytime. And you should come with me.
1 Comments:
just out of curiosity... do you write fiction too? i bet youd be good at it...
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