Thus far, I have really enjoyed working at a restaurant this summer. A split shift is a little much though. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone interested.
One of my good friends from high school is interning this summer with the Massachusetts Avenue Project, an urban farm located on Buffalo’s West side.
Besides getting a fantastic tan from being out in the sun all day, she also is allowed to bring home some of the plants from the garden. Perk of knowing her: a free tomato plant!
Stay tuned for fresh salad recipes. Or instructions on how to make compost from dead tomatoes.
It’s the little things that add up to a well-rounded life. Also this is something I should have learned a long time ago, as someone who drinks about eight cups a day.
I remember the good old days when drive-in rates were per car, not per person. That is the fairest way to do it, in my opinion. Even though I got under blankets in the trunk as we rolled through the ticket booth, of course I popped up after a minute and yelled, “Surprise, I’m back here too!”
And the nice ticket lady gave me a funny look, chuckled and said: “That will be nine dollars please.”
I was driving home from work singing full-volume to that stupid Katy Perry song about birthdays, when I saw flashing lights at the end of my street. The intersection that usually bustles with fast-paced traffic, was stifled by a line of cars waiting to be allowed to cross and a crowd of neighbors who had trickled out from their homes. A teenager sat alone on his bike at the curb, watching at a distance. I pulled over and got out.
The vehicle was flipped on its side and there were many men in uniform circled around, watching their partners work to cut whoever was still inside out. I listened to two of my neighbors talk angrily behind me.
“It’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “This intersection is absolutely ridiculous, it’s a miracle someone doesn’t get killed every day! They need a stop sign, or a one way, or something to get this under control.”
The man next to her nodded in agreement. We watched silently for a few minutes until a blonde woman was pulled from the car — alive and conscious. Eventually the crowd trickled away, I got in my car, and drove home.
The same man I had a 2 hour interview with on Tuesday.
I thought meeting twice would enable me to focus the talk on my questions rather than his tangents. But from sentence once, I was loosing control.
“Wow you brought a lot of stuff today,” I said conversationally.
“You know Lindsay, I brought a lot of stuff today because…” my eyes widened as he effortlessly transitioned into restating every single thing he had already explained to me two days ago. All attempts to cut him off were quickly thwarted.
I left the interview in exhausted disbelief. If I learned anything it is this: people don’t change. True, two days is plenty of time for someone to become a brand new person. However, that does not mean they will do it.
Riveting, I know.
But I actually felt inexplicably joyful watching hundreds and hundreds of sheets go into the shredder at Journey’s End Refugee Center, where I volunteer once a week. I usually work the front desk — telling case managers their appointments have arrived and transferring calls to the wrong extensions — but today one of the lawyers had a project for me to work on.
I happily accepted her offer to let me sit at a desk shredding piles and piles of outdated files. It’s an adrenaline rush like no other, trust me.
This summer I have been working with Buffalo Spree magazine and although I only go into the office once a week, this week I had a lot of interviews scheduled. Today, I planned to meet four people in a row.
After the first, I met my second interviewee at a restaurant at 11 p.m. for what I thought would be a brief interview – I had to meet someone else at 2. But this man had a lot to say, and two hours went by before I had asked even half of my questions.
We ended up having to schedule another interview to finish our conversation. I’m clearing my entire day on Thursday for this interview, now that I know what to expect.
My dad works as a salesman, he goes around to different schools facilitating fundraising sales. Today I was chatting with a customer who said that he works in schools. I casually told him what my father does for a living, and he asked me to write down my father’s business information so that he can get in touch with him. Who is the breadwinner of the family now?