Star Crafty

Lastly, before I ventured into absurd comedy land, your post made me cry a little tear. I have not seen water (save for the shower, dishwasher, washer machine and hidden sprinklers) in 42 days. It has not rained at all and I have not seen any body of water, either. It sounds stupid, but it feels as if I need this constant element or else I feel a bit off. Despite being considered a "paradise", summers in Puerto Rico are rainy, especially in my hometown, and you could count on the afternoon storm to roll on by at 12:45 and accompany you till 2:15. Last night, at around 3AM, my heart jumped in hopeful excitement as I heard some sporadic tapping on my window. Had the world been awake at that awful ime, I woud've kissed it. I thought it was raining. But of course, it wasn't. I miss the greenery the rain brings, I miss the small puddles of water that serve as stubborn evidence of the fury of a storm, I miss skipping over them as stylishly dressed blonde starlets did in quaint 60s musicals, I miss the peculiar smell of rain that reminds me of my Mom's cooking back in Sabalos, I miss my $3 Walmart umbrella with silly smiley faces that I hoped brought a smile to someone as I skipped down Broughton, I miss my irrational fear at the smallest hint of a tornado watch or warning (come to think of it, I also miss that annoying siren in Savannah), I miss attuning my ears trying in vain to count the drops per minute, I miss not having embraced the rain as much as I should've. But most of all, I miss the promise of sunshine, that little wink from God as he clears a few clouds and a rebellious streak of light breaks through, and the asphalt is illuminated with an unearthly glow made even more striking with the few remaining drops that do not surrender, hammering and hammering the ground with a force not seen in millenia, but they know they can't fight the Sun, and they know they are hated and despised by those who unfortunately need them. Well... here I am rain, I need you back in my life.

March 2007, La Parguera. When I think of my future it is no surprise that most of the events I fancy in happening, most are centered around the Ocean. My wedding will be at the beach (complete with grilled burgers and steak and cupcakes, of course). I want my house perched vulnerably by the sea (like Anabelle Lee). I want to marry a surfer (a very hot one) and I want my kids to grow up surrounded by this beauty. It's all very much like The Blue Lagoon. Minus that whole we're stranded on a island and now I have to build a very questionable house out of bamboo and fish scales survival fiasco. Yeah, not down with that at all.

March 2007, On our way to El Yunque. My friends will laugh at me when I tell them THIS is what I miss. Traffic jams over a storm in Puerto Rico. Okay okay, I don't miss rain that much.

March 2007, El Yunque. How not to miss this.

Example Number One: my shift at the restaurant today was going great, it was a steady flow of people coming in and we managed with just six servers (ideally, we should have nine). My good mood was ruined at ten minutes before I had to leave, and the graveyard (late night) staff was coming in, meaning the 3 o'clock servers were cut, leaving the floor with just three servers (until the 11 o'clockers came in). A couple came in and I informed them it would be 5 minutes for the next table because I had just sat my three very tired servers. Two other small parties came in and I told them the wait would be 5-10 minutes. I also offered them seats at the full-service bar if they were in a real hurry and because one of the ladies saw an empty floor I explained to them the situation with the just three servers and why I can't double seat them, etc.

This upset the lady at the front of the line. With a very rude and defensive attitude, she demanded to know why I didn't offer the bar or explain to her the situation like I did to the people on the back of the line. Among the billion things I tried to say, like I always offer the bar to the people on the back because I know they will be waiting a long time or The lady actually asked why there were so many empty tables and still had to wait 5 minutes or Ma'am I apologize for that, you will actually be sat in just under five minutes in a nice comfy table so I felt no need to offer you the bar or Ma'am I apologize, I did not mean anything by it, you are also more than welcome to seat at the bar if you so desire, and so on and so on. I glanced at her companion several times to see if there was any reaction from him, any indication that he was going to tell her that it's okay, we'll just wait/go to the bar. But he just stood there, partly watching the TV set above the bar seats while the "lady" treated me oh so gently.

And here I regret to mention the very insignificant fact that the couple was black. While she was ratting on me, I tried to pinpoint the reason why she was behaving like so. It could've been either,

A) she was upset I didn't offer the bar, because she actually wanted the bar, even though she was at the front of the line and was going to be sat momentarily and also the bar was open and she didn't even need to ask me for a seat;

or B) she was offended that the people on the back were sat before her, even though they opted to seat at the bar and I was going to seat her at a nice table, or, OR, who knows, even a comfy booth;

or C) and Dear God, I hope this wasn't it, she thought I was favoring the white couples on the back of the line because, well, she was black.

You know, maybe I'm the one being hyper sensitive in assuming that her anger stemmed from such a ridiculous social discrimination. But you know what? In the three weeks I have worked in this hotel restaurant, I have witnessed and experienced so much discrimination, not directly towards me, but towards our customers and other employees, that I can't help but assume option C). And I (partly) apologize to the lady if this wasn't the case at all.

Example Number Two: Last week, a server told the other host working with me that If they (customers) have an accent, don't send them to my section. I hoped she had said this in jest, but no, she was dead serious. In part this behavior can be reasoned because it is known that many foreigners do not understand the "tipping" system in American restaurants, thus tipping very low (if at all, I've been a server, trust me, I know). But it is absolutely unprofessional, and ridiculous, to reject a party based on their accent or nationality. First of all, you're a server, you don't chose your tables. And you know what, bitch, I have an accent. Had I come to this restaurant with my family speaking our native tongue, automatically we would've been mistreated by her. Needless to say, she got fired. And I'm glad. I do not tolerate that crap. I lived in Savannah, Georgia for five years where 57% of the population is black, and the majority live in poverty, and I never, NEVER heard such crap.

This city has certainly been a culture shock. Perhaps it is only a few people at work who behave so disgustingly, perhaps it's everybody. I will, of course, give it a second chance. I am too much of an idealist, and dare I say, naive. I believe in doing good for others, always. This job is just something to get by, I need it. But I am going to treat like if I was the president of the company. Why? Because I honestly want people to have a great experience, to finish every single crumb in their plate, to speak wonders about us wherever they go. I believe in great customer service. Even when you might think people don't deserve it.

Wait.. hold on...what's...what's that hanging from my left shoulder? Could that be... a new Star Magnolia bag? IMPOSSIBLE! SAY IT IS SO!

Well it is so! Technically it's not new. I cut out all the parts waaaay back in March 2006 for the Mutation fair, but I was so busy organizing and trying to graduate that I never finished any of the pieces I had intended to sell at the fair. A shame, I know. Along with some jewelry (that I may or may not have made while bored as heck at work), I will put out a Summer Cleaning Sale of Sorts just so I can gather some money to buy new materials (especially SS and GF chains).

Here is a sneak peek:

Old dirt road,
mushaboom, mushaboom)
knee deep snow
mushaboom, mushaboom)
Watching the fire as we grow,
mushaboom, mushaboom)
o-o-o-o-old
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Old dirt road rambling rose
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Watching the fire as we grow
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Well I'm Sold...

For the past few nights, as I drive my way back home from eight hours of continuous standing up, I blast this song loudly on the car stereo, watching the multicolor streaks of neon light of a city so alive and hectic form on the sides of my ever hopeful eyes. Streaks of lights that seem to point to a direction, or rather, directions, and they panic me. But only for a second, then I'm reminded I'll have plenty of time to follow all of them. And where they take me, I hope I find more neon streaks of light to keep the energy sparkling.

This song perfectly describes my place in life right now. I am collecting every single moment, every single face I meet, every single joke I laugh at in an old wooden jewelry box from Flagstaff, Arizona, hoping they will amount to something great.

In the meantime, I'll let a little joyous smile escape my lips as I make my way all the way from Tropicana to home every single night singing to my Feist's Mushaboom.