Animal Magnetism

Retail is not for misanthropes or the faint of heart. If there were an alien invasion an the newcomers wanted to find out about the human race, a retail store isn't necessarily the face I would choose to submit in presenting the best attributes of our kind. People can be demanding, entitled, disrespectful and generally unbearable. However, there are gems to be found in dealing with the public, like the gay guy that bought a chair from me and just had to kiss my cheek in farewell after giving him a deal. In addition, there is always comfort to be found in commiserating with co-workers about that customer that you're sure needs to be on some medication or already is because no normal person in their right mind would act like that in public.

The real miracle is seeing a co-worker be extremely patient with a customer you really would have back-handed five times already. There is a girl I work with who surely deserves the Nobel Peace Prize for the people that she has dealt with. I sincerely cannot fathom having that level of tolerance. I get to a point where you're gonna get a New York attitude if 5.2 seconds if I don't hear a please or thank you in the immediate future, but this girl she handles these situations so well that I watch her in open-mouthed awe quite frequently. I've had to realize that some people are born for retail and I'm just not one of them. The funny thing is, this girl is like a magnet for the high maintenance client. They just find her in a store of like five employees. It's some type of animal magnetism.

I, on the other hand, vaccilate between feeling that Dante should have covered retail in his Inferno (he obviously wasn't selling Payless Italian Shoes during the holidays or it for sure would have been included) and feeling delighted that I get to meet some really wonderful people. I had a caterer from Cancun, Mexico (hubba hubba) who was so trusting in my opinion of the perfect placemat for his event that I had to giggle, given my "expertise" at placemat-ing. In short, I couldn't be more ambivalent in my regard of retail. I guess I'll take the good, the bad, and the just plain outrageous (i.e. New Yorkers who have to have their media stand right now when it's in the warehouse on the mainland).

Scarry Larry

I have a scary drugee stalker. Does anyone have connections in Maui for me to get him "roughed up"? Given, the last situation was partly my fault. I was naked. Here's the deal. To get to and from the shower you kind of have to walk around the building to the back of the Healing Center. Now, I have an aversion to getting dressed in the same room I take a shower in. Even on the mainland I always wondered how people did this. I guess it's because I take such hot showers the bathroom is muggy and when I put clothes on they stick to me and I start to sweat making me feel like it was useless taking a shower.

Well, last night post-shower when the Healing Center was closed for business and all the lights were off, I walked from the bathroom in just my towel because it was dark and I figured no one would be able to see me. Before I entered the front door of the Healing Center and proceeded onwards to my room, I saw a person in a football jersey afar off. I thought nothing of it, went inside and left the front door unlocked because you need two hands to lock it and mine were full. I closed my bedroom door and started my nightly ritual. I hear the front door open and close. Then I hear a knock on my door. I yell "Don't come in! I'm naked!" because I wouldn't want to scar whoever was on the other side of the door for life. I'm thinking The Yogi (my housemate) needs something.

Regardless, I hear my doorknob rattle and I thank God that I had the sense to lock it. At this point I'm thinking to myself, "The Yogi must have an emergency on her hands." In my towel, because The Yogi is a girl and has all the same equipment I do, I crack the door and what do I see? My drugee stalker wearing a football jersey staring at me from the hallway. By the way, he does have this nickname for a reason.

I was so shocked I said, "I think you'd better leave" and I closed the door to my bedroom and made sure it was locked. Luckily (and by luckily I mean by the grace of God), I heard the front door open and close again. I hurried and got dressed and went to make sure the front door was locked this time. He was outside and pointed to his wrist indicating he wanted me to tell him the time, but I just turned away like I didn't see him and went back to my room. Scary Larry! I know I should not be galavanting around in a towel late at night, but I got so scared I was angry!!

I wish I had my brothers Big J, Middle J, and Little J here to go kick some drugee stalker butt! Or at least my brother-in-law, The Bodybuilder. Or some mace. I was thinking about starting a "Special" Bodyguard Task Force. Our motto would be "We try to leave them alive . . . " But I think there's no way to tell if you're beating someone up for legitimate reasons. You're just going on one person's word. For all you know my drugee stalker could be Mr. Rogers' bosom buddy. Maybe that's a bad example. He was creepy, too.

Odd Hours

I'm bonfide. I have an official Hawaii State Public Library Card--read it and weep folks. Not that the Wailuku Library is anything to write home about. I'll admit it, I'm a library snob. I volunteered for two years giving tours of the Salt Lake City Public Library because the architecture alone was phenomenal, not to mention the art gallery on the third floor and the media center on the second. Alright, alright, I'm a spoiled brat.

Anywho, I went in looking for Dean Koontz' latest, Odd Hours. I'm already on chapter thirteen due to there being a Borders bookstore by my work. Because of the reliablility of the public transportation system, I am always ridiculously early just to be safe. I use this time to covertly read this particular book (having already read the first 3 books in the series and loved them) that I have yet to purchase. It's my way of sticking it to the man! Truth be known, I'm really just broke.

Besides, I'm really tired of reading smart and spiritual and good-for-you books. The last four books I have read have been really powerful works of non-fiction: The Power of Now (currently), Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, Eat Love Pray, and Skinny Bitch (promotes vegan lifestyle). I mean really, I'm overdosed on good advice and political awareness. Give me a Stephanie Meyer or Phillipa Gregory on the double before I become catatonic. I am desperate enough to take a Danielle Steele! Well, maybe not that desperate . . . yet.

All the more reason to rejoice in a library card. They didn't have Odd Hours of course, so I will have to continue my secret and systematic reading of "the contraband". I did, however, walk away with Robin Cook's latest. Looks like that little Wailuku Branch has a few treasures up its antequated sleeves after all. I'm ready for some honest-to-goodness entertainment. To Robin Cook and Diana Gabaldon I say, "Bring it!"

Bus Drivers

I love the bus system in Maui. The two buses I ride are free, and the others are $1. That's pretty awesome. I have a favorite bus driver that is Hawaiian and very loud. He's also quite charismatic and I always enjoy riding his bus because every time you get on or off the bus he says "Watch your step!" like we've never ridden the bus before and he gives a speech about no food or drink being allowed on his bus that always ends with "Much Mahalos" or "many thanks". He has been known to spontaneously start a conversation with anyone. He's the jovial type and has long hair down his back which is against the dress code but I guess they made a special exception for him. It suits him.

My other favorite bus driver might be a transvestite. All appearances suggest this particular bus driver is a female: long hair, flower behind the ear, long manicured nails, and attitude enough for RuPaul. The falsetto voice is too false, though, and the long lean muscularity is a type I rarely see in females. I have also overheard other passengers ask her about her "partner". The jig is up. I have launched a full scale undercover operation whose first item of business is to find out if she has an adam's apple. Either way she's still one of my favorites. The other day the smelliest transient got on the bus and we were all discreetly trying in our different ways to cope with the odor. When he got off she yelled "Does anyone have any perfume?! Please use it now because I'm tired of breathing through my mouth!" That's why she's a fave.

The last bus driver I like is a big Hawaiian lady with two toned very short hair, blond on top and brown on the bottom. She's kinda surly, actually, and is a Nazi with anyone under the age of 17. She likes to give youngsters a hard time by pointing out that there are cameras on the bus and warning them that if they put grafitti on the bus anywhere they WILL be caught. In addition, she likes to repeatedly tell them to keep their feet off the seats, and give them long eagle-eye stares that keep them in line. It actually works, the teens don't really cross her. Neither do I.

Of course there are the regular bored out of their mind bus drivers, but this is a list of the cream of the crop. At the very least, it's entertainment when I'm not in the mood to read Eckhart. I appreciate the diversion and hope you do too.

Feng Shui

I have a confession to make. The most intimidating thing about accepting a job at Pier 1 Imports is the design part. I am quite possibly the least creative person on the earth, highly inept at painting, poetry, interior decorating and basically anything that causes one to use the right hemisphere of the brain. Let's be honest here, the last time I got my very own place it remained unfurnished for six months! The Home Teachers asked if I was gainfully employed because any normal person with a job would at least have somewhere for them to sit! No sir, not yours truly. When I did eventually get furniture, I missed not having any.

I like to camoflauge my personal failings in creating aesthetic appeal by calling my style Feng Shui. I sincerely apologize to all those who practice this art for the dishonor I bring to the Feng Shui family (I'm too American to commit hari kari--I'll live with the shame). It's just that I usually fulfill the two major requirements of Feng Shui by being simple and clean. Still, that's no excuse to drag the name of this established practice through the mud.

So, today at work I had a "project". This "project" was to make a display of the sale soaps and lotions, of which there are probably 800, by the cash register so that customers would see them and buy them. I almost had a seizure. What do I know about arranging soaps?! It seriously took me all day. I mean, shouldn't I have had a class on this or something, kinda like flower arrangement? You would think that closing five registers in the 4th highest volume store in the company at night would make me more nervous than arranging soaps, but no. I swear, the next time they ask me to make something pretty I'm putting in my two weeks notice. I can't handle the pressure! Needless to say, the display was worse off after I got my creatively challenged hands on it. I did, however, get one bar of soap sold.

Good thing I had the foresight to mention my lack of skill in the interview. She probably thought I was joking. What a horrible way to find out the truth . . .

Maui is Magic

I went on a hike up the 'Iao Valley Mountains today, and maybe it's because I was born in a big city but I couldn't help feel a great deal of reverence for the mysterious majesty surrounding the mountains. It was breathtaking. It was also very different from the mountains I grew to love in Utah. Every inch of the landscape is full, lush, and green. High peaks and low valleys are covered in foliage of every kind. We passed wild mango trees, avocado trees, huge philodendron, fragrant plumeria they use to make leis and tons of plants I had never seen before. I was in awe.

There is a palpable energy that seems to emanate from the land itself, the mountains (really volcanoes) especially but also the ocean. The only way I can describe it is to say that when I get off the plane in NYC and take that first step out of JFK the pulse and energy of that city make me feel like I've just had two Red Bulls. It is just the opposite here. I saw a bumper sticker today that said "Why you in a hurry, you think this is the mainland or something?" Somehow this place forces you to slow down and take it easy. The humid air laying heavy on you, the pace of life, the tranquilizing ocean sounds all are so grounding.

More than that, this is a spiritual place. While I feel like the energy of New York City is generated mainly by the people, here I feel like that energy is generated by the geography. It is really interesting. I take a look and that unbelievably green mountainside, the hovering clouds shrouding both the seen and unseen and I think to myself, "Maui is magic." And it is somehow.

First Days

Betcha wish you had my wheels. She's a beauty with a combo of sky and baby blue shiny paint, new rims, and Shwinn in silver letters on her frame. She set me back only $75 this morning and in the twelve hours I've had her, she's been good to me. Today was my first day at work (Pier 1 Imports thank you very much) and I was closing. I knew I wouldn't get out of work until after the last bus home had left the area. I could have walked the 3.91 miles from work but a friend of a friend fixes up bikes and sells them for cheap. That's how I acquired Cheryl, my new wheels.

Now, I have to explain that I literally cannot remember the last time I was on an actual bicycle. I'm thinking Greenville, Texas when I was attending Travis Elementary and my bike had a banana seat and tassles (I was stylish even back then). Oh wait, I do occasionally ride the stationary bike at the gym. Nevertheless, we have the saying "It's like riding a bike" for a reason, right? Wrong! Whoever came up with that statement should be drawn and quartered.

First of all, it feels like someone dropped a H-bomb on my nether regions. Second of all, the only reason I escaped a gazillion catastrophic and potentially maiming events was my consistent mantra of "God is helping me. God is guiding me. God is protecting me, even though my crack is hanging out right now." Any innocent bystander would have thought I needed mental help. I had steering issues (i.e. off curbs and into traffic), braking issues (remember to put a foot down when you do that), gear issues (I couldn't seem to get the bike into certain gears), and overall form issues (the heel of my gimp foot kept knocking into the chains of the bike). In short, there were few things I actually did right, but by some miracle that includes mapquest I made it to work on time and in one piece.

On the way back, in addition to being dark it was raining. Coming home was a whole different adventure. It's all downhill on the way to work which means . . . You guessed it, all uphill coming back. While I did not happen to notice that I passed a prison on the way to work since I was entirely focused on staying alive, I did notice it on the way back. I noticed it because I was walking my bike up the sparsely lit hill. You might ask "Who walks a bike?" I'll be happy to tell you who. Someone whose legs have revolted in agony after standing for 8 hours, whose crotch feels like it just went nine rounds with Mike Tyson, and whose brain is too busy thinking about the ex-con that's going to jump out of the next bush! Needless to say, it was a two shower day. I was soaked to the bone when I got home and it wasn't the rain. FYI, drisilque and copious amounts of sweat are not the greatest combo.

I'm being ungrateful, though. It's an honest to God miracle I'm alive. No, truly. If you would have seen me today riding that bike, you would have no doubt that there is a God. Plus, I have Cheryl, a timely and wonderful gift that solved my transportation problem, and a job where I work with really nice people. More importantly, let's not forget the adventures along the way that make life more valuable. God definately finds ways to keep me religious and for that I am also grateful.

I also learned about myself. You really have to treasure those moments when you realize you can do it. I feel like I have to save them up for the days when my internal dialogue tells me I should move to loserville. So I'm glad today was one of those days when I get to say "I did what it took even though it was a risk and it was scary, and I'm proud of myself."

I'm with Helen Keller, "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."