You have this interesting writing style where the story always seems to be building toward some dramatic revelation, but then in the end the conclusion is just…an appreciation of ordinary life. But somehow you’ve made it a bit more dramatic.
It’s a good experience to claim. In college I worked for a couple months at a station that also had a quickie car wash attached. I think we got a tiny bonus for selling the gas/wash combo at The Bubble Machine. I have some distinctive memories attached to the place, though I only lasted about 2-3 months. One was an incredible fog that rolled in - we couldn’t really see across the street in broad daylight. I had also just gotten home to my tiny apt. from the night shift when I heard Howard Cosell tell the MNF audience that John Lennon had been killed. I got canned not long after scratching a van’s new custom paint job when the nozzle popped out and slid down to the ground as I washed the windows. Needless to say the guy was unhappy about it and it got back to the owner. Bummer.
Bravo. Very evocative, very tender, about not just the messy ones, in ways that are hard to articulate directly, which is why the piece is so strong. Thanks, and I look forward to the next one.
Great recounting of that time! You ALWAYS were a step (at least) ahead of me with good jobs. I worked at the Mobil on 87th and Canyon in '80 to '81. Ron and Yolanda George. Ron was a good guy, but Yolanda was a horrid battle ax. She wore the pants (in this case ill-fitting tights like a 10 lb ham in a 5 lb bag) in the family. I got on o.k. with a few of the pump jockeys not so good with one. But Yolanda would count pennies and the end of the night and go, "Shit! Shit! G*D DAMMIT!" She didn't have a pleasant bone in her body and there was no pleasing here. I think Dechant got me the job. I don't know whether or not to thank him or curse him. Anyhow I was at these dead end jobs as I was drifting behind at the time in school. She had some sort of unpleasant relationship with her daughter "STOP TRYING TO RUIN MY LIE!!' on the phone. When they'd both come in on a Sunday morning she'd be in her battle wear: Ill fitting tights, shin high boots, a wrinkly scowl across her face, glaring at me with hatred, etc. Finally the ***t laid me off. It was a relief even if a loss in income I could ill afford. And on it went. I was a miserable puppy until I got a technician's job at the last University I attended and things went better from there. All good for the time bein's and much less misery.
You have this interesting writing style where the story always seems to be building toward some dramatic revelation, but then in the end the conclusion is just…an appreciation of ordinary life. But somehow you’ve made it a bit more dramatic.
Love this. It's so tangible I can see it and almost smell it.
thanks Lisa!
I love this so much. Your writing paints a picture and fills it in with scent and music. Thank you.
thanks Sandra. lots of memory in smells!
It’s a good experience to claim. In college I worked for a couple months at a station that also had a quickie car wash attached. I think we got a tiny bonus for selling the gas/wash combo at The Bubble Machine. I have some distinctive memories attached to the place, though I only lasted about 2-3 months. One was an incredible fog that rolled in - we couldn’t really see across the street in broad daylight. I had also just gotten home to my tiny apt. from the night shift when I heard Howard Cosell tell the MNF audience that John Lennon had been killed. I got canned not long after scratching a van’s new custom paint job when the nozzle popped out and slid down to the ground as I washed the windows. Needless to say the guy was unhappy about it and it got back to the owner. Bummer.
Bravo. Very evocative, very tender, about not just the messy ones, in ways that are hard to articulate directly, which is why the piece is so strong. Thanks, and I look forward to the next one.
thanks David!
This is the shit right here. Great stuff.
thanks Kevin.
Great recounting of that time! You ALWAYS were a step (at least) ahead of me with good jobs. I worked at the Mobil on 87th and Canyon in '80 to '81. Ron and Yolanda George. Ron was a good guy, but Yolanda was a horrid battle ax. She wore the pants (in this case ill-fitting tights like a 10 lb ham in a 5 lb bag) in the family. I got on o.k. with a few of the pump jockeys not so good with one. But Yolanda would count pennies and the end of the night and go, "Shit! Shit! G*D DAMMIT!" She didn't have a pleasant bone in her body and there was no pleasing here. I think Dechant got me the job. I don't know whether or not to thank him or curse him. Anyhow I was at these dead end jobs as I was drifting behind at the time in school. She had some sort of unpleasant relationship with her daughter "STOP TRYING TO RUIN MY LIE!!' on the phone. When they'd both come in on a Sunday morning she'd be in her battle wear: Ill fitting tights, shin high boots, a wrinkly scowl across her face, glaring at me with hatred, etc. Finally the ***t laid me off. It was a relief even if a loss in income I could ill afford. And on it went. I was a miserable puppy until I got a technician's job at the last University I attended and things went better from there. All good for the time bein's and much less misery.
I remember that Mobil!