Esquire Daddy and the Bad Barista

So Thanksgiving was this past week. Everyone was thankful for stuff. We ate turkey and mashed potatoes. We were thankful for that. Then we all went out and bought a bunch of stuff we didn't need. We were probably not as thankful for that as we should have been. Then we stopped worrying about being thankful and turned into the holiday consumers we were meant to be.

But the thing about me is that I have a tendency to be a touch slow about processing things. So while the rest of the world camped out in front of Walmart or whatever, I started having profound thoughts about thankfulness (maybe because I was at work, and hadn't slept much, and things just feel profound when you're sleep deprived). 

Wait! Work?! 

Oh, yeah. That's right. When I last left you I was desperately, but not very actively, seeking employment. I had made a snarky resume and everything. So I guess I owe you an update. I haven't written in almost a year because we've been a little busy. In case you've been living under a rock these last few years (or just don't know us that well), I should let you know that the Bureaucrat has been extra busy pursuing the pinnacle of bureaucratic careers, and is now a card-carrying (literally...he has a literal card that looks just like a health insurance card...classy) member of the Bar. Bureaucrat, Esquire. Or, as the Dictator dubbed him, "Esquire Daddy." He now is a hardworking attorney and we're all very proud.

Back Row Left to Right: Esquire Daddy, Aspiring Trophy Wife
Front Row Left to Right: Anarchy with a Blanket,  the Dictator

I, at the same time, have been actively pursuing the pinnacle of liberal ed major careers and am currently working my dream job as a (bad) barista.* It turns out that clumsiness isn't an asset when your job involves working with piping hot liquid at 5:30 in the morning. That's okay. I consider this a transition career. I am really an aspiring trophy wife, and I have the credit card debt to prove it. 

Generally, we're all very happy with this arrangement. Despite three years of a family dynamic that would have made  most marriage counselors' "What Not To Do If You're Not Interested In Divorce" lists, our family is still very much intact. Granted, most of my conversations with the Bureaucrat involved a bunch of Latin words I didn't understand (mens rea just sounds a whole awful lot like something discussed in a chapter of What's Happening to My Body?, for example). But I feigned interest while looking at the top of his head bent over a book every night of my life for three years straight. If that's not love, what is?  

And now he's graduated, I'm working, he gets the kids off to school, I pick them up from the bus stop, we see each other at night, and all is well...that is, if you consider our children going to school looking like characters from Lord of the Flies "well." It turns out the Bureaucrat, while usually having an eye for detail, fails to notice if the Anarchist has dreadlocks or the Dictator has decided that a shirt, see-through tights, and tennis shoes are a complete, school-appropriate outfit. The price we pay for success! 

The Dictator is still a good student, despite her continued lack of concern for handwriting technique. The Anarchist is a card-carrying (not literally) kindergartener. The Fat Assassin is still fat and ornery. I am still neurotic (albeit, less so). And we're all very busy. So that, of course, completely explains why I haven't written in over a year. (And also, I was trying to spare you, but I've decided I don't care anymore...tough. You're the smart one who clicked the link, and now you have to live with the consequences). 

Okay. That almost completely explains why I haven't written in over a year. As it happens, it's a little more complicated than that. It turns out that there had been something that had kept me writing, compulsively, week after week (besides, of course, the very gratifying ego-boost of watching the little graph chart all the hits each post would get...mostly from my mom, I'm sure, but gratifying nonetheless). And I thought that the something was gone/over/completed. And so I didn't need to write anymore...like...ever. But it turns out I was a little bit wrong. Things are never all the way gone. The things that happen to you reach out in a million different directions, spin off out into years and years later, touch everything and everyone you come in contact with, whether you want them to or not. You don't just get to be "done" with things. That's not how it works. And for that, I am thankful. Which is what I was originally going to write about. Which is what I'm still going to write about. Later. Maybe tomorrow. 

Right now, I'm going to be a good American and get back to my online shopping. I have my future trophy wife image to think about. 

*At what other job could I find a copy of Orthodox Psychotherapy in the men's bathroom and spend 10 minutes a day reading it? (Okay, maybe the library; but librarians don't get tips...and I like tips). Also, I should mention that you'd better not ask where I work, because I had to sign a lengthy legal-sounding document promising not to reveal too much via social media, and I have no idea what "too much" is, but I felt like I was signing on to work for the CIA, and I think that means that if I told you, I would have to kill you, so let's just pretend it's Starbucks ('cause it's not), and move on with our lives.

In which I totally invade my daughter's privacy

The Dictator has been reading books from the Junie B. Jones series recently and has become inspired by the books to do many new things, including starting every sentence with "Only except" and "And also, too,"reiterating constantly how much she "hates" things, and last, but by no means least, writing in a journal.  In the books, Junie B. has to write in a first grade notebook during school, so the Dictator has repurposed an old sketchbook filled with her artistic endeavors from last year (when she actually cared about art) and turned to the few empty pages not covered with characters from Disney, Nick Jr. and PBS Kids in order to begin a first grade notebook of her own.

Dictator N., First Grader

Now, I'm just going to admit up front that I am an awful parent, and went ahead and read every page of her journal the minute she went to bed last night.  I'm admitting this mostly because I'm about to cite the entire thing verbatim in this very blog entry, so it wasn't going to stay secret for long anyway.  I know, I know.  When you invade your child's privacy out of sheer curiosity (rather than because you think she has become a drug trafficker), you risk losing  her trust, causing her to hate you/authority figures/etc., screwing her up for life, blah, blah, blah.  Only except, I've completely rationalized this, so there's no need to fear.  See, she dictates these things out loud to herself as she writes them...with us in the room.  So clearly, she has no reasonable expectation of privacy.  And also, too, she obviously wants  someone to read them.  This is definitely a cry for help...or at least, attention.  And they're so darned cute.

So without further ado, annotated first grade diary voyeurism.  You're welcome.

Teusday Decmber 13 2011
Dear first grade nootbook notebook.*  Today I am watching PBS Kids with myself.  At first I was watching On Demand, but it started to mute so I am no watching Word World.  The eposodes are calld Duck's Hiccups and Achoo!.  In Duck's Hiccups, it is Duck's first time geting the hiccups.  In Achoo!, Pig is alrgic to peaches and I have a losse loose tooth and whenever I make a mistake I have to cross it out and I have a lot well not that many.**  Now Christmas is comeing up and I wrote tow two lists allreddy.***
From Dictator N Morton  First Grader

*Crossing things out is super cool because Junie B. does it.  The Dictator made most of her mistakes intentionally, in order to have something to cross out.  Although I believe that she really did have issues with the word "loose."
**We need to have a discussion about run on sentences.  This is sounding a bit Joyceian.  Dictator, no one can get through the first two pages of Ulysses, so how on earth are they supposed to read your adorable, yet completely impenetrable stream of consciousness journal?
***The existence of a second Christmas list is troubling.  I think I might need to find that.

This entry is followed by an elaborate diagram of Heartbreaker Boy and his sisters, utilizing arrows to show the complex familial interrelations between the three.  Fascinating.

Next is this page full of division problems.  Apparently the Dictator knows how to divide.  Who knew?

Following this is a page of words that she is practicing for her spelling bee.  What a good student!


Next entry.

Dear first grade notebook,
I just got back from scool*.   And now I found out my conputer is borken!**  But I decided to rhit riht in this notebook, but I have a pen.  I have***

*Apparently the words "school," "computer," and "broken" are not on the list for the spelling bee.
**The Dictator doesn't actually have a computer.
***The entry breaks off abruptly, here.  It seems that the simple possession of a pen does not a first grade notebook entry make.  

Next/final entry.

Dear Notebook,
Today is Wedsday witch which* was my favorite day but is not enyanymore.  Why?!  Now you're asking me "why?!"  Weel  Well, I will not teel tell you.  NO!  NOT RIGHT NOW!  Ok.  Soory Sorry.**  I did not mean to hurt your ears.  I just had a bath and yesterday for dinner we had rice.  Yum (but Yuck! to the Anarchist, my sister, so Dad just gave her soup...eww a little...I like it this much and she love it this much.  Wow!  This much!)  Today is art, that is why I dread Wedsday.***  Most of what I am talking about is food.****  Now, how many sentences have I wrote?*****
From,
Dictator N Morton First Grader

*Okay, the first "witch" misspelling was my fault.  She asked me how to spell "which" and I immediately thought of the kind that Puritans liked to torture.  "No, mom.  Like, 'which way did the car go?'  THAT which!"  Silly me.
**I don't think she needed to cross out "soory."  Canadians are cool and we should totally emulate the way they talk move to their country and become Tim Horton's consuming citizens.
***I have absolutely no idea why she dreads art.  I actually think she looks forward to art.  I think she just wanted an excuse to use the word "dread."  Wouldn't you?
****Yup.
*****My count is 15-ish.

So yeah.  I don't respect my daughter's privacy.  Only accept except I think she didn't really write anything too private and I had Taco Bell for dinner tonight and I like Taco Bell this much but it's not good for me and this weather is bad for me it gives me mygranes migraines.

From,
Me C Morton, Middle Ager**

*I didn't really misspell these words.  I just wanted a reason to cross things out.
**I have a tendency to subconsciously write in the style of whatever I've been reading, recently.  Hence, this blog is really good when I'm reading Tina Fey's Bossypants, and really depressing when I'm reading Sartre (and really incestuous when I'm reading Faulkner?).

Application for Employment

Name:  Morton, Me

Other Names by Which You Have Gone in the Past: Hey Mo-om, Aw No Fair, Honey U. Needtogetajob

Title: See above

Did you Attend High School:  Yes.  Before you were born.

Have you attended/are you attending college?:  Yes.

I think you will find that my ability to apply compelling post colonial criticism to current works of literary fiction useful in filling customer drink orders.

Also, my familiarity with Sanskrit and Latin and linguistics will come in particular handy when explaining the difference between a latte and a cappuccino to confused customers (I find people respond well to having the entire history of Indo-European language and it's accompanying consonant shifts explained to them when they're already late for work).

Please list any certificates, awards, etc. here:

• This one time, in high school, I got a scholarship for choir camp.  I had to wear corduroy knickers, but it was worth it.   
• Also, I was a National Merit Semifinalist.  If I had been an actual finalist, I would probably be off somewhere being a nuclear-physicist or a notable author.  As it stands, I was a semifinalist, and I'm a stay at home mom, currently applying for this job
• More currently (i.e., college...like, 8 years ago), I received a departmental award for English, proving that I am literate enough to read a training manual.  
• Most recently, my eldest daughter  referred to me as "The Best Mommy Ever."  However, I have yet to receive a written record of said accomplishment.

To which position(s) are you applying?:  The positions in which  I get to multitask, work with food, have people screaming orders at me, feign patience in the face of great upheaval, listen to incessant whining, accommodate great picky-ness, never get a moment's rest, and clean up after messy people.  Otherwise I might start to miss my family.

Is there anything that might prevent you from working a certain position?:  Hairnets.  Polyester.

Please list availability below:

Monday: so early the infomercials are still on-after the Anarchist's bedtime (which has become increasingly complicated and dramatic)
Tuesday: none
Wednesday: so early the infomercials are still on-the Bureaucrat has to go to class
Thursday: none
Friday: so early the infomercials are still on-as late as you need me to, in order to make up for the fact that all the college kids who work here have requested tonight off on account of the fact that they have lives.
Saturday: 2pm-as late as you need me to, in order to make up for the fact that all the college kids, etc.
Sunday:  No, thank you.*

*Alternately, 5am-10pm or 4pm-close.  Ooh, or open availability, every other week...but only if you could guarantee me that you wouldn't pull that thing where you agree to every other week, but end up using me every single week because people keep requesting time off and I'm a doormat.  I am a doormat.  If you consider this a valuable asset, you should totally hire me.  And ignore the previous stuff about not wanting to cover everyone else every single week.  I will do it.  Because I'm a doormat.  I'm your doormat.  Unless, of course you prefer an employee who is more assertive.  In which case, I'm that.


Required Starting Wage:  Required?  That's such a strong word.  And I know that if I put something too high you might not hire me.  However, if I put something too low, you'll totally take advantage of it and I'll be working for 75 cents  an hour less than everybody else.  Which--let's face it--is not cool.  Why do you even ask this question?  Is this to test my bargaining skills?  Is this secretly a psychological assessment?  Are you trying to see if I'm delusional?  Because I'm not delusional.  Neurotic, but not delusional.  And I'm only neurotic because I'm conscientious...which is a good quality in a worker, if I do say so myself.  And, possessing such a sought after quality, I find it reasonable to inform you that I require an hourly wage of $35 an hour.  Because peoples' lives specialty coffees are in my hands.  See?  So not delusional.

Employment History

Most Recent Job/Title: Bagel Schlepper/Bagel Schlepping Trainer/Bagel Schlepping Shift Manager (say that five times fast)
Job Description: All-high multi-tasker, bagel-lover, change-counter, baked goods-baker, sandwich-assembler, coffee-brewer, table-wiper, dish-washer, inventory-taker, food-prepper, bank-dropper, maintenance call-maker, drive-thru worker (classic English major, right there), customer-soother, coworker-motivator
Date Started: That one summer when I came back from college and needed a job, and they needed help so badly that they started me on the cash register the minute I finished my interview.
Date Finished: The day, seven years later (talk about company loyalty!), when I was hospitalized while pregnant with the Anarchist.
Reason for Leaving:  I wanted to give someone else a chance to schlep bagels.  Also: bed rest.

Job/Title: Western Michigan Annual Fund Phonathon Caller
Job Description:  Demanding money from alumni at meal time.
Date Started: the day I realized there were literally no other jobs available on or off campus
Date Finished: the day I graduated and never had to ask another alumnus for $500 at dinner time again.
Reason for Leaving:  Graduation.  Also: I hate bothering people.

Job/Title: Medical Records Clerk
Job Description: Address envelopes/alphabetize files/mooch off of drug rep luncheons
Date Started: some time in high school, before you were born...we didn't even have internet yet
Date Finished: some time shortly after high school, also before you were born...we had internet by then
Reason for Leaving: Relocation.  Also:  I though it would be neato to leave a well-paying, extremely easy job and instead obtain a completely impractical education, funded by ridiculous amounts of loan money, to be paid back by working far more demeaning, far less lucrative jobs in the future.


Have you ever been convicted of a crime?  I got pulled over once for a burnt-out taillight.  I got a "warning."  The police officer was super nice.  That's all I've got, though.  If you're looking for someone with grit, I feel like I'm totally failing you, here.

Are you qualified to work in the United States:  Yup.

Employment Inventory questions to determine if you're a bad person or not:

You are doing a complex counting task when a customers interrupts because she needs help.  You:
A) Stop what you are doing, but sigh audibly so as to make her aware of just how much of an inconvenience she is.
B) Keep counting.  Pretend you are deaf.  If you ignore them, they usually go away.
C)  Have another employee take over for the cashier, have the cashier take over for you, and go help the customer, per her request.
D)  Ask your manager.

Write in response: Leave a small sticker to mark your place, and make a written record of where my counting left off.  Help the customer.  Return to inventory counting unfazed.  Alternately, see if I have a coworker that can go and help her so that I can continue counting.  Doesn't that seem like a simpler solution, Employment Inventory?  Doesn't it?

You notice that some of your coworkers are making fun of a customer.  You:
A)  Cry.  That customer is your grandmother.
B)  Point out that, while cruelty is funny, getting caught is not.  Advise them to use their whispery voices when degrading other people.
C)  Join in.  Nothing says "make fun of me, next" like not participating in the mean-fest.
*D)  Ask your manager.

You are minding your own business behind the counter when an large, angry, enraged racist lunges behind the food line and at an employee who is a racial minority, threatening to kill him if he "doesn't go back to his own country."  You:
A)  Join in.  After all, you are a card-carrying member of the KKK.
B)  Scream and throw knives.  Maybe one will hit him.
C)  Throw yourself heroically in front of the threatened employee.  Advise the racist customer to use his whispery voice when making racist threats of violence.
D)  Ask your manager.

Write-in response: Ooh!  I have experience with this exact scenario!  The correct answer is, surprisingly, not "B."  It turns out knife-throwing is some sort of liability.  Whatever.  The correct answer is to send someone to get your manager, who will then threaten to call the police if Mr. Aggressive Racist Pants won't leave the store immediately.  Meanwhile, if you can throw your Caucasian self between the threatened employee and the racist, that's usually a good move, although it's possible that he will still mow you down in his fervor to do racially-motivated violence.  Usually threats of the police work.  Also, soothing tones and soft lighting might prove effective.  Finally, if all else fails, turn to the tip for appeasing disgruntled customers that you learned in your training video: offer him a free bag of chips or a cookie.

Thank you for your interest in our company.  We look forward to ignoring you meeting with you, if your qualifications meet our needs.