Today July 14, 2014 At work

Today July 14, 2014

Three different people wanted me to ask them what their story was….I mean, maybe they didn't want me to ask them, but I felt like their actions and uniqueness was begging for me to ask, but as usual I just made stories up in my head for them instead.

Person #1 was a fellow with an 80s half shaved head, and long blond angled bangs hanging down in front. He looked like Tim, a fella I knew in the 80s that played bass for a fairly popular band. But this guy was younger than Tim was then and also thinner.

He pulled up to the front of the store in a Maroon Saturn an older car, being into cars I was already making up stories about his car, in my mind it was his moms car once.  The time of day was only about 9:45 AM, we sell sandwiches not breakfast. He looked at the door and saw the time, and went back to his car. Around 10 he came to the door and looked more carefully at the sign and saw the small number 30 after the 10. He went back to his car and fell asleep.  I asked my co worker, I wonder what his story is…my co worker shrugged and said

“I bet you do Melissa”.

“He’s probably waiting for his girlfriend’s boyfriend to leave for work”. I tossed out, mostly referring to the vast amount of apartment buildings that line the hills behind my work.

Joel said “You always go there don’t you? you think of the worst thing” we laughed bout that…..yes, I said something about that being more interesting.

Then after we opened and the fellow in the Saturn had woke up, gotten a sandwich and left. In comes a Mexican gal (self proclaimed) in hot pink short shorts, carrying an electric guitar in a decent canvas guitar bag and a big black backpack. At first I wasn’t sure if she was with some of the other customers that came in, she shifted about, was maybe looking for some money in her purse. Read our bulletin board full of posters advertising music and events.

She told us that she had never been to Thundercloud before, and we said, oh, did she want a sandwich? No, she was looking for Caldo Pollo (chicken soup), which they happen to have across the street at Arandinas, but not always. So we told her a few other places that had Caldo Pollo just in case, and she grabbed her guitar and took off across the parking lot. I wondered to myself, what was her story? Did she travel to Austin to play music and maybe get discovered, although to my knowledge not very many talent scouts are scouting about Austin. It’s not Nashville…or LA.  

Maybe at this point I should tell you about a little more about where I work-I work at Thundercloud Subs, it’s a local chain, but the one I work at has been here at this location for about twenty some odd years. We are close to downtown, this neighborhood used to be worse, I worked here at this store in 1990 and there was a methadone clinic behind us, and some of the apartments that are now hip party pads, used to be a housing project with boards on the windows. I mean it’s not a horrible neighborhood, because by other large city standards Austin doesn’t even really have a “bad part of town” that compares to say Los Angeles, Chicago or even Albuquerque, NM where my mom used to live. But this zip code is usually high on the crime rate statistics reports, usually second or first in homicides for the city. So, quite a bit of interesting things happen in our parking lot, we have large windows that provide a full view of the bus stop and the parking lot. There is a liquor store next door that has a steady stream of customers that are homeless, or “fly signs”asking for money on street corners.

So the third person to come in that made me wonder what his story was, is a guy who I have seen in there before, he seems like a regular guy, but something about his demeanor; the way he notices that I am looking at him makes me wonder what his story is…he has two scars under his left eye. They are in the shape of tears, sort of, I wonder if he had tattoos there, the kind you get in jail to indicate having killed someone, or a family member has been killed, etc. Or if he got those scars in a fight or just from some other accident, I want to ask him, but I know I can’t.

This reminds me of the time me, Diane and Joe Stassuli went to the “T, G and Y” convenience store on South Congress Ave. We were waiting in line to cash our paychecks and the fellow in front of me is an old Hispanic man, with a red tear tattooed under his left eye. I am standing behind him, but on his left side and Joe is right behind him, and Diane is somewhere near us. The man is cashing a very big check and the man behind the glass is counting a big stack of hundreds and piling them up in front of the cash window, little space where you take your money. I am just watching him count the money and seeing that it is about 5000 dollars now. The old man with the tear drop, and he had on a fedora hat, he looks over at me with very dark brown eyes, and squints and says right to me, “I killed a man once for looking at me”. So, I took a step back and maybe mumbled sorry.  Joe Stassuli being the crazy guy that he was, says to the guy-

“Oh yeah, how'd ya do it?”.  I looked at Joe, and Joe grinned, the old man completely ignored us, took his money, put it in his wallet and walked out. So, here I am at work and all of this is running through my head. I told Joel the story after the guy with the scars left. He liked that story, I knew he would.  

Then a little while later, the gal from Mexico with the guitar comes back, she has posters now, and she tells us they did have Caldo Pollo across the street and she was glad because you know “ a Mexican gal needs her Caldo Pollo in the morning sometimes”. Oh that’s good we say, glad you found it. She shifts around the front lobby area for a while in front of our counters, and not sure if she actually put up a poster or was taking one….she picked up her guitar and her backpack and headed back across the parking lot. Hot pink shorts, tall black cowboy boots, she reminded me of some cult movie character or something. Later I saw her at the bus stop talking to various people and laying on the bench. Not even worried if someone could grab her guitar which was a ways from her at this point. I just find people interesting, not sure how I got that way, I used to walk up to complete strangers as a child and ask them what their name was…and tell them mine in hopes of striking up a conversation and I still wonder what her story was…..

And open letter to cigarettes

Dear Cigarettes, April, 15, 2011

Hi, I know I see you everyday....and I don’t know how to tell you this, but I am going to have to kick you to the curb soon. We have been together for 28 years, I know this, because the doctor made me figure it out exactly, last time I was there. You really have no place in my life anymore. I felt a need to write you, because I have been thinking about this long and hard, for about 3 years now, ever since I first went to the hospital coughing up blood. That really scared me, it seems like you have no respect for me anymore. I tried to pretend like it was just a normal cough, but that was a real wake up call. The way you don’t even care that I am sick, and still keep coming, around makes me sad. And recently I have come to grips with the fact that you might even be trying to kill me. I want to be alive when my son graduates from College, and perhaps gets married, and maybe has children of his own some day. It doesn’t seem like you care if any of that happens, we just have different goals about life in general.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I played a part in this relationship, I don’t blame advertising or television commercials, those escape goats don’t exist in my decades. I knew cigarettes were bad for me, I was never under the delusion that they were glamorous like my moms generation was lead to believe. This was a completely different relationship you and I had, you were my ticket to the bad boys and girls club. Raised by basically health conscious female role models, I knew you were bad, and that’s what drew me to you. I was rebelling.

While on this journey of getting to the point where I can let you go, I think of how I went to several different high schools.

At first I was just being daring, hanging with my crazy friend Monique, maybe trying this or that…for fun. Then I landed at Sir Francis Drake High School, in Marin County, in my sophomore year, having just moved from New Mexico, and knowing no one, most people at this high school had known each other since grade school. Initially a nerdy brainiac showed me around, she was nice enough, but maybe too nice. Then I saw the smoking area, by the bleachers, there were some cool girls hanging out there, so I asked one for a cigarette. Did I smoke, no, but I would try, nice to meet you Marissa, and Liz. The cool guy with the long hair was checking me out. Ok, I could learn to do this….well luckily clove and rose pedal cigarettes were also cool here, so I didn’t really start smoking yet. But I did know how to meet cool people now.

Back in New Mexico, life was all about drinking, driving and smoking (anything we could get our hands on) New Mexico is a boring place for a teenager. You were my friend. You stuck with me, when my first boyfriend would run off with his crazy friend, and I would sit waiting impatiently in our apartment for his return. You were something to do when I was bored. You went well with alcohol, and I did plenty of drinking in my twenties. Like most of us in the 80's we just didn't say "no". Things I am ashamed of began to happen, and you were just yet another tool for my self loathing. I guess you were also a social prop of sorts, thinking I am outgoing person; it would seem I didn’t need to hide behind something as little as a cigarette, but I did…

Writing letters has always helped me figure things out, sometimes I don't even send them. I needed to write you this to accept my role in this relationship, and realize that now I am a grown woman, comfortable in my own skin. And the times have changed. Now the cool kids are not smoking. In fact I just look old and stupid standing outside the group smoking a cigarette. Now it is not only unhealthy to smoke, as we knew in the ‘80’s, it is also decidedly not cool. The few people that still do smoke don’t look well, and quite a few of my friends that continued to smoke and drink are no longer with us. So, I’m going to have to let you go, and along with that- let go of the “me” that partied like a rock star, hopefully embrace the “me” that is healthy and alive. Perhaps I will finish some of the projects I started before I ever met you, and get back into exercising. I don’t really know where I will go from here, but I just thought I should write to you and explain, I do owe you that, thank you for getting into the backstage, and helping me blend in with the crowd. But you obviously have lost yer touch, because you just don’t do that for me now. Goodbye old friend. I hope you meet some else, someone who is strong enough to deal with you, cause I am done.

My reply email to stupid Big Brother Communication Company

Dear AT&T,

You are idiots, if you would like me to come and tell you how to improve customer retention, I would be glad to, I have written an essay on the subject.

You sent me this and I do not have your services anymore, mainly because my internet connection constantly failed and you refused to fix it. But, like I said, for being the largest communication company in the free world, you can't communicate.

I am sure this will bounce back to my email, but it makes me feel good to write, that you are idiots and so is the robot that answers your phone and never let me talk to a person, and same goes for the robot that isn't going to read this email.

I hope your stock goes down rapidly and eventually Sprint takes over your company, because they answer their phones 24/7 and are helpful, knowledgeable, and polite.

Sincerely,

Melissa Brown.

Craigslist posting, author- unknown

f you can start the day without caffeine,
If you can get going without pep pills,
If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food everyday and be grateful for it,
If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,
If you can overlook it when those you love take it out on you when, no
fault of yours, something goes wrong,
If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
If you can ignore a friend’s limited education and never correct him,
If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend,
If you can face the world without lies and deceit,
If you can conquer tension without medical help,
If you can relax without liquor,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,
If you can say honestly that deep in your heart you have no prejudice
against creed, color, religion or politics,
Then, my Brother, you are as good as your dog.

Hippie Kid

Recently I found a bunch of people I went to an alternative school with, on Facebook.
Through this, I was directed to an online group for the school-Daybreak School -Los Gatos, Calif. Started by one of my childhood buddies David. We were in the "middle school" together, the school had no grades, no traditional grading system of any kind. So, I was about 10 years old when I started there, he was older, maybe 12, his sister also went there, she was younger and I think was in the "little school".
Daybreak was in the Santa Cruz mountains, on an old Novitiate property, there were large buildings, a chapel, and a 160 acres of redwoods. The property was surrounded by grape vineyards and had an old cemetery with a broken down really old house. It was leased by a group of Hippies in the '70's, to start this alternative school.

The reasons I went to Daybreak, mostly, were due to my mom. She had recently divorced my dad, and moved up to Los Gatos (where she was from originally) from Monterey, Calif. I think she was kinda "finding herself." She had me when she was just 19 years old, and now divorced from my dad, had a new boyfriend, who was a writer. I went to a public school there, briefly, having lived in Europe when I was in the first grade, I was a year older than most of the kids in my class. I remember taking an "IQ" test and it said I had a very high "IQ". I was pulled out of class and went to talk to the councelor, she explained that they needed me to take some other tests. After that, the teacher told the class I was "special"; and the kids all called me retarded at recess. I went home crying. My mom had heard about Daybreak and had some inheritance money, so off we went. I think I started right away, I don't think I ever told her about the "IQ" test cause it was very embarrassing, and it didn't seem like a good thing.

So, after finding my friends on facebook, I watched a movie that was taken by someone who was there, I don't really remember him. But, the movie comes off as sort of a study on the alternative education methods our teachers employed. When I found Davids Group, he asks-how we thought our alternative education effected us. So many thoughts went through my head, especially after watching the movie, I decided to write a blog about it.
I have to be brutally honest here, the movie kinda bothered me, because the teachers talk about how they let us do anything we wanted to do. The camera man who filmed the video at one point focus' on this one little girl she is quite beautiful, and wide eyed, but to me she looks kinda sad, a little spaced out. Not sparkling like small children I come in contact with now. I think she wanted direction, she wanted someone to tell her what to do. Perhaps I am projecting, perhaps I wanted someone to tell me what to do more, my mom was busy going back to college, my grandmother, who I spent a lot of time with thought I hung the moon, and pretty much let me walk all over her.
Later in my older teenage years I was taken to "Rainbow Gatherings" those are gatherings of "the people" much "sufi" dancing goes on, meditating, and communal cooking, learning of the hippie arts: making herbal tinctures, polarity healing, and while I was there, drinking of Peyote tea, fires and drum circles. Being about 14 when I went to these things, I landed up baby sitting the kids, in the "kid" village. I have fallen into that role a lot in life, watching kids of adults who are partying. One time at a "Rainbow Gathering" I saw this 11 year old boy sticking a stick in the fire and getting it red hot, and chasing dogs and other kids around. I watched him for a while, remembering how we used to love to do that at Daybreak. Play with fire, me and my buddies (I was one of only a few girls there) would build fires in pie tins, and catch things on fire all the time. But, eventually I had to tell this kid "Hey, what are you doing?" he stopped, "huh?".
"What are you doing, your going to hurt someone or a dog, what are you a pyromaniac?" He didn't answer me, he put the stick in the fire and we watched it burn up. He went somewhere, but I will always remember that, I really think he wanted someone to tell him to stop that, he didn't mind that I told him to stop at all.

After Daybreak I went to Public School in Carmel, California, 45 minutes from where my dad lived in the country. He also was a confirmed Hippie, although if you asked him he would turn Zen on you and ask "what's a hippy?" and wink. It was pretty hard for me to adjust, I went from wearing levi's with a skirt over it, being a girl, but needing the jeans to climb trees and such. To dressing like a "normal" girl, had to brush my hair everyday. That was a problem, since I had a large dreadlock- rats nest in the back of my head. Little lost braids with feathers sticking out of them. Toe rings, we didn't wear shoes much at Daybreak, moccasins accommodated toe rings. And to top it all of "normal" at this school was RICH!, Carmel, California, the median income I would imagine, was over 300, ooo a year. That school also included few rednecks from Carmel Valley, where I lived, I fell in with them at least they shared my love for tree climbing and were in the same income bracket, or close. I got very bad grades, except in subjects I liked, art, crafts, home ec. Drama and English/ Foriegn Language. Social Studies seemed like a no brainer. Science would have been cool, we did a lot of hands on science at Daybreak, however, the teacher was boring in Carmel. So, I just didn't do any homework, I didn't feel like I had to do anything, I didn't feel like doing. I found friends in Drama class and became a "drama kid'.
At home, my dad was also "finding himself" he was doing a ton of art, drinking a lot of beer and I guess pissing his girlfriend off. I baby sat for the whole neighborhood, and my little sister, who was born in '76.

My point in writing this blog? How did my "alternative education" effect me? And more interestingly how did it affect all of us kids that were raised by hippies in the 70's?
I complained to my mom one time, that I don't feel that going to Daybreak prepared me for the real world. For instance, I was fired from my first "real job", and it was a "head shop" a place that sold pipes and incense! The manager (who was on a power trip) told me straight up, "I ask you to do things, and you always have an answer or another way to do things. I don't have time to listen to your ideas, I've been running this place for a long time." After that, I learned to just say, "O.K." and do it my own way if that is better.
My mom thought for a while, and replied "But, you have to realize, you look at everything differently." Great mom, that's just great, it would be great if I had decided to be an artist, like my parents when I grew up. If I believed that art was even a viable way to make a living. Instead I saw my parents burn through, hundreds of thousands of dollars in the name of art. That's why we went to Europe, to see all the great works of art. We saw Picasso's house, the Louvre, etc. I don't want to appear thankless, my parents taught me a lot about how to get along with any kind of people anywhere. I am educated in the area of art, and foreign language and other cultures. I just am not sure how that prepared me to deal with this culture, that I live in on a daily basis.
I have found other old friends on Facebook, some from where I went to High School, after Daybreak, and Carmel, which was Santa Fe, New Mexico, which also had a private "alternative school." It appears, to me, like a lot of us went kind of a more disiplined hardcore "Punk" route. I wonder how many kids like us, that were raised by hippies also went this way? I, for one, know that I am way more hands on with my son. He does his homework, I make sure he brushes his teeth (every night) , and generally keep him pretty well reigned in.....of course I think everyone of this generation agrees, there are a lot more weird things that can happen to a kid now days. The days of wandering around in forests, and going wherever you want are gone for most kids.

Now, I am 45 years old, I work in a sandwich shop, it is hip as hip can be, I work with a bunch of young people who also were told they have high "IQs" in public school, but they just didn't want to do anything they didn't have to do. So, here we are making sandwiches listening to cool music.
I guess that's all I have, not much of a conclusion, but these are my thoughts on the subject.