Murray Madness

In search of a bottle of wine to celebrate that J-me was here, I dragged** both of us to Murray ave, where I had thought I might have since the allusive ‘Wines and Spirits’ sign. About three blocks up, right across from a Giant Eagle (aka Giant, why they add the extra ‘eagle’ is beyond me… maybe to show off that they pronounce it ‘iggle’ not /i/ but /I/ so I think i’ll refer to it as the Iggle), there it was! I found a not quite illegal parking space, which didn’t require money (AMAZING FIND), and we walked down towards the main road. J decided to go to the Iggle and look around while I picked out a bottle of white wine. As he left, I realized that in light of the abercrombie adventure from the day before, which I will share eventually, I might not have put my ID card back in my purse. I fumbled around outside the store, long enough to attract the attention of four boys. Their appearance was slightly gansta style… with the low riding pants etc etc. Being a little oblivious, I didn’t know they were talking to me when they yelled, “Hey! White girl”, but soon, when two of them approached me, I understood their cat calls were meant for me. The boy/guy brought up some interesting points in his argument to get my phone number. Take a read of some of the interaction…

him: ‘is that your nword across the street’

me: ‘yes’

him: ‘why he leavin you. such a pretty sexy thing’

me: ‘uh i’m getting the wine (emphatic stress on wine) and he’s going to the store’

him: that nword shouldn’t be doin that. it’s not safe out here*. He should want to be with you.

*it is very safe on Murray. The guy in wines and spirits was watching the entire time.

me: i think i am ok

him: you need a nword like me. You’re much too sexy for that pale nword. You need a black nword. 

me: no, sorry. I have a boyfriend (which is a lie but w.e)

him: just give me your number. It’ll be on the side. He’ll never know. you’re so damn sexy.

* I notice the other two guys from the group coming and look to make a speedy exit.

me: [laughing] thank you but no no i can’t.

at this point I proceed to walk in the wines and spirits as the guy heckles me with something about my sexy shorts and please give him my number etc etc. As I took a deep breath once inside my safety zone, my guarded castle, I saw the three other guys pull away the one who was giving me a hard time.

So as I regained my composure inside of the liquor store, this little B (i.e. me) felt flattered and a bit frightened. 

 

—possibly more to come on how J noticed, got very angry, and addressed the issue with these fine gentlemen as I waffled between a bottle of sauvignon blanc or a riesling, again totally oblivious to the outside world, that world outside of my wine haven—

 

** dragged is the grammatically correct for here, however, keeping up with my descriptive linguist ways, I would most likely say drug if I were talking. It’s just like the whole roofs vs. rooves thing (see Bauer’s English Word Formation). Call me stupid if you want. it’s true. I studied it.

Hoo Hoo Hooters Part 2

So once again I have nothing to do so I’ll finish some of my Hooters story… 

I showed up for my second interview, expecting a grueling interrogation that would rival the first, which had consisted of questions ranging from, “So do you have a problem with what the girls are wearing?” to, “Do you have any visible tattoos?”. By answering a believable “no” to the fore-mentioned questions, I had secured a second interview. Of course I was nervous. I had never waitressed, never tried to get hired for a job based solely on my appearance. I had returned, hair done as if i was going on a hot date or night on the town (neither of which i’ve really ever done, but if I had, I imagine I would have done my hair like that), a cream white top, and a pair of high heels. The manager came through the double doors. I took a breath in and smiled. He casually looked me up and down and said, “Come in tomorrow around 5:30 to try on the outfit”. Confused, I looked at him and asked, “Does that mean I’m hired”. To which he responded, “Yep, I’ll see you tomorrow”.  I walked out not knowing if I should be insulted or excited.

So that’s how I got to the next chapter of the story, sitting in the car outside of the restaurant, wasting time before I had to go put on the short shorts and tight top…

Double Life

Just to get it out there, I lead a double life. I work at Hooters and Abercrombie and Fitch, but I am graduate student. I study linguistics, which most people seem to think means I speak many languages. However, on the contrary, I only speak English and French (which I must admit, I am struggle with and when I need to use it, tends to fail me). I also know enough Chinese to say “I am American” and “I love you”, neither of which is really all that helpful when ordering Chinese food. In a few short weeks, I am going to be balancing my time between short shorts, ‘casual luxury’, and a load of classes, on subjects most people never knew existed. As a side not, I have to say that I feel prepared for my phonology course, considering that I successfully answered all of the questions under the phonetics category last week during the  jeopardy ”tournament of champions” competition. 

So let me recount the Hooters and Abercrombie tales for anyone who has not been so blessed to hear them. 

I should have known from the start that Hooters would annoy someone like me who is a little uptight about her schedule and likes to get everything done a week in advance… but the first sign of the clash between my style and their style would be the fact that they lost my application. Yes, I lose things, but usually not important things. Luckily (i think), when I called they decided to just give me an interview and have me fill out another application. The ‘interview’ was quite the opposite of everything with which I have ever associated the word. The guy- which seems better a word to describe him than man- who interviewed was uninterested in my previous work experience and my education. Example: I mentioned I was going to be attending graduate school to which he replied, “intimidating” and then went on the share that he had never gone to college. He seemed to be testing my sense of humor and of course made sure that I “didn’t have a problem” with the ‘uniform’. According to him, this job was all about the ‘look’ and the ‘personality’ (*or lack their of*). He assured me that many of girls never waitressed (which I am making a word by the way) before they began there and that “anyone can be a waitress, but not everyone can be a Hooters girl”. Somehow, most likely because I wore a low-cut shirt that day, I obtained a second interview…

The Bait

In case anyone was wondering, the title of my blog comes from a John Donne poem, which I recently stumbled upon. I posted it below. Also, the photo that is the header was taken in Père Lachaise and is scribbling on Oscar Wilde’s grave.

The Bait

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river whisp’ring run
Warm’d by thy eyes, more than the sun ;
And there th’ enamour’d fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be’st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest ;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes’ wand’ring eyes.

For thee, thou need’st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait :
That fish, that is not catch’d thereby,
Alas ! is wiser far than I.

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