The Inappropriate Lunch Lady

So, my husband told me yesterday that he had an interesting interaction with the cafeteria lady at work.

Upon arriving up at the counter, the woman said to my husband, "I've been meaning to tell you that you have beautiful hair. It makes me want to run my fingers through it."

My husband, Mr. Quiet, was like, "Um... I get that a lot." What else is he supposed to say? Here! Run your fingers through my hair right over my tray of food and while you are at it, pinch my cheeks like an annoying extended family member.

It reminded me of the time that we went to Applebees and the waitress arrived at our table for the first time. She looked at me and said, "Whoa! Your eyes! They are like, seeing right through me. I can't even look at them."

Awkward.

I can just imagine what our children will look like. Someday people will have the unexplainable urge to run their fingers through our children's hair while at the same time be unable to look at them in the eyes.

I am sorry future child of mine.

P.S. Whenever I think of a lunch lady I think of Chris Farley on Saturday Night Live.

You Can Call Me Shirley

I am nearing the end of my time working at a university in Central Florida. I have included below a short list of what I will miss when I move to Indiana.

1. The student who called me Shirley, which does not remotely resemble my real name.

2. The Psychological Services sign that hangs ironically outside the doorway to my suite. Whoever hung that sign, knows what it means to be a Financial Aid Administrator.



3. The one particular student who emails me the same question every day and to whom I have offered the same answer 50 times in 50 different ways. Breathe.

4. I will miss the student who called me vanilla. "You can be vanilla. I'll be chocolate. That guy with the red hair can be strawberry. We are Neapolitan. We work together."

5. Sending emails to students who have ninja, warrior, deathstar and shizzle in their email addresses.

6. Working with an amazing group of people who, despite the stresses of working with money, take the time to laugh and live life to the fullest.

I will miss you all.

Texas Style Mayberry

One day, not so many years ago, I worked a classic car auction in Texas.

Bid 1000 would ya give two? Two, would you give three? I see that hand! $3000, $3000, $3000, would you give four?

I determined that since I was in Texas for the first time in my life that I would leave for the airport early when the auction was complete. I wanted to explore on the way. As I drove, I passed by cheesy pottery dealers and open expanses of field, but one exit caught my eye. The sign boasted a small town historic district.

It was about lunch time so I decided to pull over.

I cannot for the life of me recall the name of the town but I remember driving down the abandoned Main Street. It was Sunday and it appeared as if most folks were in church or sleeping.

Despite the quiet, I noticed there was a section of Main Street where cars lined the streets. Wearing gray pants,a black shirt and high heels, I walked into the restaurant and the whole town was inside. I looked out of place but I bought myself a cup o' chili (because that is what you eat in Texas) and listened to the guitar-playing man in the corner.

As the waitress was serving my food, the cowboy singer broke out into the song I Got Friends In Low Places and the whole room started to sing along. The waitresses clapped and men in flannel shirts patted their neighbors backs.

I couldn't believe it. I had been transported back to the time that deep down we all wish it was but are too uptight to admit. I couldn't make myself clap or sing though. I just smiled and stuffed my face with chili.

Next time I go to a small town in Texas, I am going to sing along with the cowboys. I will also replace my heels for a flannel shirt.

Retirement Home Revelries

When I was in high school I worked at a retirement home as a waitress. I grew to know and appreciate the quirks of the residents there.

Elsie and Robert were a couple that usually sat at a table by themselves. Robert drank hot water with lemon every day. Mary, a few tables over, had a raspy smokers voice. "Butta! Where's the butta?!" she'd yell. She did not know how to speak quietly.

Wanda always wore pink and when I told her she looked nice, she would pat her hair and blush while George, with his neck scarf and black rimmed glasses, hit on every female that walked through the room.

I will never forget the day that E refused to eat her meal. She was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's and stubborn about what she ate. I was under strict orders to serve her soup, a meal and then ice cream for dessert. She only ever wanted soup and ice cream so when the plate of potatoes, chicken and green beans came out she stared at it for the longest time.

I walked by her table a while after the meal was served and asked her how she was doing. She gave me the stink eye, punched me in the shoulder and spit out chewed chicken on her plate as if to say, "You see that vomit on my plate? There is more where that came from. Go ahead and try to feed me again."

I wonder what I will be like when I have gray hair and am two inches shorter? I hope I have as much projection as Mary, as much beauty as Wanda and as strong of a body punch as E.