This past Friday afternoon I was about two hours from the end of my shift when one of my coworkers called me over to the front counter and gestured to a couple of women standing there.
The younger woman spoke. "Hi, do you remember me? I'm Patrick's daughter." Patrick was one of my most beloved regular customers, and I remembered having met her once a while back when she came in with her dad. We both went to Buffalo State, and we'd talked about school stuff. I said, "Oh, yeah, hey! How's it going?" She took a deep breath and offered forth, "I just wanted to let you know that my dad passed away on Sunday."
My jaw dropped, I gasped loudly, and my hands flew up to cover my gaping mouth. My eyes welled up immediately thereafter, and I just stood there, my hands clamped on my face, for what felt like several minutes. My supervisor came up behind me and said, "Why don't you go sit down for a bit?" I nodded my head and walked over to hug Patrick's daughter and offer my sympathy. She told me the funeral was the next morning, gave me the information, and I told her I would be there.
The cause of death is unknown. He went to bed Saturday night and just never woke up. He was 61 years old. Same as my father. Two years younger than my mother. And one of the funniest, friendliest, most appreciated customers I've had in the more than six years I've worked there. Patrick was smart, compassionate, and so fucking funny I used to burst out laughing just looking at him. Sometimes I'd start laughing as soon as I saw his car pull in. He stopped in several times a day. He was retired, but he'd been a USAF medic in Vietnam, and spent most of his time working as a VA Pathfinder, a veterans' advocate.
We used to talk for long stretches when it was slow, and sometimes he'd be in there when I'd stop in on a day off and we'd stand around and talk. We talked about cars. We talked about being Irish and our respective trips to Ireland. We talked about his kids. He shared off-color jokes. Sometimes our conversations got serious and deep, and we talked about Vietnam, and my dad, and my relationship with my dad, and I think in a lot of ways I kind of looked at Patrick as the kind of dad I wish I'd grown up with. I remember thinking how lucky his daughter (who is in her early 20's) was to have such a great guy for a father. My heart broke into a million pieces for her now. How could she be blessed with such a wonderful dad only to lose him so early?
Patrick was more than just a customer. He was a terrific human being. One day I had left work and was running errands when my car ran out of gas. I called the store to see if anyone was there who might be able to come and get me. Nobody was leaving any time soon, but Patrick was there. He got on the phone and told me to sit tight. A few minutes later he arrived to pick me up. He took me back home to get my gas can, then took me back to my car, waited while I put what was in the can into my car, and then followed me to the nearest station to make sure I made it okay. And at his service yesterday, I heard account after account of things like this that Patrick did for people. He was just that kind of guy.
Life hardly seems fair sometimes. I can think of at least a dozen douchebags I'd like to see drop dead, people I wouldn't miss for a second if they went away forever. But Patrick? He was one of the good ones. I know it seems strange that a customer's death would have such a profound effect on me; after all, he's not the first customer who's died. There have been a few others in the last 6-1/2 years I've been at this job. But none were such stable and enjoyed presences there as Patrick was. The others were daily customers, nice people whose deaths definitely hit me in the gut and sent a wave of sadness over me. But never until now have I actually mourned a guy whose lattes I looked forward to making.
Rest in Peace, Patrick Galvin. You will be missed dearly by everyone who was lucky enough to know you.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
I Heart Brides in Flip-flops
When my sister got married nine years ago, her wedding was a 500-guest, $50,000 affair that took place in a convention center, and involved two outfits for just about everyone (of which the bride's second weighed an estimated 50 pounds from all the embellishments). It also involved a lavish Indian/American spread, two cakes, and gallons of free-flowing liquor. For four days prior, there'd been a function every day and a house party (mini-mansion party, actually) every night. The party might have continued after the wedding, for all I know. I left the morning after their wedding on a 7:00 a.m. flight, finally getting to experience what a still-drunk hangover at 30,000 feet actually felt like (highly NOT recommended). Everything about this wedding was high-class, yet beyond fun (I'm not kidding - the Punjabis can party).
This is not what my sister had envisioned her wedding to be like. At all. Not just the cultural aspect, but the expense of it. It was truly over the top, and coming from the modest means we did, it was a little intimidating at times. But they got married this way because my brother-in-law's parents paid for it. At one point, they were ready to elope to Antigua because my sister just couldn't take the planning stage anymore - mostly because she wasn't doing most of the planning and her mother-in-law was driving her insane.
While none were as over the top as my sister's was, most of the people whose weddings I've attended have thrown relatively lavish affairs - high-budget events with a couple hundred people in attendance, a country club or four-star ballroom reception, and massive flower arrangements. There were some lower-budget ones, too, but still semi-formal events with DJs and open bars. And in just about every case, the parents had thrown down for the wedding.
Then for a while, the weddings tapered off and stopped altogether. I managed to go four years, in fact, without having to go to one. Now it's starting up again. But this time around I'm noticing a trend - the casual reception has become the thing to do. It could very well be that my friends are now older and are footing the bill themselves and/or feel silly putting on a big fairytale show near mid-life. But I've seen this trend with younger couples as well. I did some research, and found that the wedding industry is taking a huge hit during this economic crunch.
The next wedding I am attending is my cousin's, and if his fiancee's shower was any indication (um, catered sit-down lunch?), this is not a casual affair. But a large number of people I know getting married this year are doing it small; they're keeping guest lists limited to closest friends and family and having receptions in unlikely places like park pavilions and backyards, with "open bars" consisting of coolers filled with canned beer and soft drinks, h'ors d'oeuvres of cheese and crackers, and dinner being sit-wherever-you-want buffets with games of kan-jam going on in the background. The bride wears a (not white) sundress and the groom is in a Hawaiian shirt. The flowers are already growing where the party is.
Now guess which one I like best. Guess which one I think brings out the best in people and eliminates the discomfort of figuring out which fork to use. Guess which one is more likely a true celebration and not just a show. Guess which one I'm going to do if I ever get married (not likely, but still...). I'm not knocking big weddings, not at all. I've enjoyed myself at every wedding I've ever been to, and hell, I like eating gourmet food from time to time. But I also like how it's becoming more socially acceptable to have picnic food, and to be creatively budget-conscious while still throwing a hell of a fun party to celebrate a marriage. Because, after all, isn't that what it's all about?
This is not what my sister had envisioned her wedding to be like. At all. Not just the cultural aspect, but the expense of it. It was truly over the top, and coming from the modest means we did, it was a little intimidating at times. But they got married this way because my brother-in-law's parents paid for it. At one point, they were ready to elope to Antigua because my sister just couldn't take the planning stage anymore - mostly because she wasn't doing most of the planning and her mother-in-law was driving her insane.
While none were as over the top as my sister's was, most of the people whose weddings I've attended have thrown relatively lavish affairs - high-budget events with a couple hundred people in attendance, a country club or four-star ballroom reception, and massive flower arrangements. There were some lower-budget ones, too, but still semi-formal events with DJs and open bars. And in just about every case, the parents had thrown down for the wedding.
Then for a while, the weddings tapered off and stopped altogether. I managed to go four years, in fact, without having to go to one. Now it's starting up again. But this time around I'm noticing a trend - the casual reception has become the thing to do. It could very well be that my friends are now older and are footing the bill themselves and/or feel silly putting on a big fairytale show near mid-life. But I've seen this trend with younger couples as well. I did some research, and found that the wedding industry is taking a huge hit during this economic crunch.
The next wedding I am attending is my cousin's, and if his fiancee's shower was any indication (um, catered sit-down lunch?), this is not a casual affair. But a large number of people I know getting married this year are doing it small; they're keeping guest lists limited to closest friends and family and having receptions in unlikely places like park pavilions and backyards, with "open bars" consisting of coolers filled with canned beer and soft drinks, h'ors d'oeuvres of cheese and crackers, and dinner being sit-wherever-you-want buffets with games of kan-jam going on in the background. The bride wears a (not white) sundress and the groom is in a Hawaiian shirt. The flowers are already growing where the party is.
Now guess which one I like best. Guess which one I think brings out the best in people and eliminates the discomfort of figuring out which fork to use. Guess which one is more likely a true celebration and not just a show. Guess which one I'm going to do if I ever get married (not likely, but still...). I'm not knocking big weddings, not at all. I've enjoyed myself at every wedding I've ever been to, and hell, I like eating gourmet food from time to time. But I also like how it's becoming more socially acceptable to have picnic food, and to be creatively budget-conscious while still throwing a hell of a fun party to celebrate a marriage. Because, after all, isn't that what it's all about?
Monday, June 14, 2010
Cool gig
In other news, I've been hired to do the logo for this year's Sigma Tau Delta (International English Honor Society) eastern chapter conference. The logo gets used on all print materials (fliers, brochures, posters), on t-shirts, and on the website. How fucking sweet is that?
Never underestimate the power of Facebook.
Never underestimate the power of Facebook.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Thin Privilege and Fat Discrimination
My friend Amanda posted this (click here to read it) on her Facebook wall a while back, and it's been resonating with me since then. I've been meaning to write about it for some time, but, you know...life happens.
While I can certainly understand the "feeling" of being fat, and I respect mostly every woman's opinion of her own body (because I get it, completely, and how you feel about your body is what matters, so if you're not happy with it, I fully encourage you to change it, whether you feel like you need to lose 5 pounds or 500 pounds, or tone your thighs, or Botox your forehead or whatever), Dolly really does hit the nail on the head with this.
Women who are thin and complain about "feeling fat" have NO idea what it is truly like to walk through life with the burden of extra weight. I remember being thin for about seven minutes in my 20's, and I can tell you from experience that LIFE IS DIFFERENT when you're thin. People's perceptions, reactions, and interactions with you are worlds apart when you're not packing muffin tops and an ass the size of Nebraska. And whether you choose to believe that or not, or want to bury your head in the sand and proclaim fat discrimination to be a figment of imagination or some made-up fear by those lacking self-esteem, it's the truth.
I'm actively losing weight (again - dieting seems to be somewhat of a lifelong sport for me), but I'm still a fat girl. I'm not going to list numbers and stats and all that, but suffice to say I'm "plus sized," even after losing 51 pounds. I would really rather NOT be plus-sized, and having been any number of sizes ranging from 6 to 22, I can tell you toward which end of the spectrum I'm happier on (hint: it ain't the double digits). And while I'll admit that a size 6 is dreamy, it isn't realistically maintainable; it requires me to dip down into the 120's, and honestly my body simply won't go that low and stay there for any length of time unless I decide I can subsist on iceberg lettuce and amphetamines. If history is any indication, 140 is about where I should be, where I've previously felt best about myself, and where I fit comfortably into a size 8 or 9. At that weight, I've "felt" fat (while standing next to a 120-pound, size-6 woman, usually), but I knew in all honesty that no one was looking at me in public and instantly branding me with the Fat Lady! label. And this is where Dolly speaks fucking gospel.
I'm not going to rehash all the points she already made. That's why I linked back to her blog. I can only tell you that when I was reading it, I kept thinking, "Oh, man...yes. Yep. Uh-huh. Yeah, that's how it really is." Spot. On.
You know, all things considered, I'm a relatively fabulous individual. I'm educated. I'm intelligent. I have a variety of interests that keep me busy. I have an enormous circle of excellent friends and an ever-expanding social and professional network. I'm employed, independent, and self-sufficient. I'm a decent conversationalist and I can hold a small crowd in social settings. I'm the "lively center of attention" type, the funny girl who isn't afraid to crack a joke at anyone's (including - and especially - her own) expense. I'm cute. I have nice eyes. My teeth are straight, white, and all there. I have great boobs. And I never, ever leave the house is pajama bottoms.
I'm also fat.
So when people see me in public (and you can deny this until you're blue in the face, but you'd be incorrect), I am willing to put hard cash on the bet that they aren't thinking, "Oh, that woman looks like a creative person" or "I bet that girl would be a lot of fun at a party." IF they're thinking anything at all (because, after all, there's no one quite as invisible as the largest person in the room), they're thinking, "Slob," or maybe "Jesus, I wonder how many eggs she eats for breakfast." (For the record: one. Over easy. With sprouted grain toast. Dry. And black coffee).
Okay, so maybe they're not even thinking that deeply. Let's forget for a second that we're talking about anyone with people-watching tendencies, and just go with first impressions. Or first descriptors. Do you think when people describe me they say, "the redhead with the glasses?" Of course not. They say, "The, uh, heavyset gal with the red hair and the glasses." They say, "That fat girl in my Animation class." Because I'm not the only redhead with glasses, but I AM the only fat one - or at the very least, the fattest.
I am sure that most of the people who are closest to me pay little attention to my weight. They know me, they like me, and while I have had some very close friends and family members express concern for my health, I like to think that none of them refer to me as "my fat friend/daughter/sister Deedee." But the rest of the world is not so forgiving. So rock on, Dolly. And those of you who feel fat in your single-digit sizes yet have never known the sensation of the floor shaking when you walk across it or endured the disparaging looks from random strangers, or been rejected by a potential date because of your size, suck it up. You're beautiful. And privileged.
While I can certainly understand the "feeling" of being fat, and I respect mostly every woman's opinion of her own body (because I get it, completely, and how you feel about your body is what matters, so if you're not happy with it, I fully encourage you to change it, whether you feel like you need to lose 5 pounds or 500 pounds, or tone your thighs, or Botox your forehead or whatever), Dolly really does hit the nail on the head with this.
Women who are thin and complain about "feeling fat" have NO idea what it is truly like to walk through life with the burden of extra weight. I remember being thin for about seven minutes in my 20's, and I can tell you from experience that LIFE IS DIFFERENT when you're thin. People's perceptions, reactions, and interactions with you are worlds apart when you're not packing muffin tops and an ass the size of Nebraska. And whether you choose to believe that or not, or want to bury your head in the sand and proclaim fat discrimination to be a figment of imagination or some made-up fear by those lacking self-esteem, it's the truth.
I'm actively losing weight (again - dieting seems to be somewhat of a lifelong sport for me), but I'm still a fat girl. I'm not going to list numbers and stats and all that, but suffice to say I'm "plus sized," even after losing 51 pounds. I would really rather NOT be plus-sized, and having been any number of sizes ranging from 6 to 22, I can tell you toward which end of the spectrum I'm happier on (hint: it ain't the double digits). And while I'll admit that a size 6 is dreamy, it isn't realistically maintainable; it requires me to dip down into the 120's, and honestly my body simply won't go that low and stay there for any length of time unless I decide I can subsist on iceberg lettuce and amphetamines. If history is any indication, 140 is about where I should be, where I've previously felt best about myself, and where I fit comfortably into a size 8 or 9. At that weight, I've "felt" fat (while standing next to a 120-pound, size-6 woman, usually), but I knew in all honesty that no one was looking at me in public and instantly branding me with the Fat Lady! label. And this is where Dolly speaks fucking gospel.
I'm not going to rehash all the points she already made. That's why I linked back to her blog. I can only tell you that when I was reading it, I kept thinking, "Oh, man...yes. Yep. Uh-huh. Yeah, that's how it really is." Spot. On.
You know, all things considered, I'm a relatively fabulous individual. I'm educated. I'm intelligent. I have a variety of interests that keep me busy. I have an enormous circle of excellent friends and an ever-expanding social and professional network. I'm employed, independent, and self-sufficient. I'm a decent conversationalist and I can hold a small crowd in social settings. I'm the "lively center of attention" type, the funny girl who isn't afraid to crack a joke at anyone's (including - and especially - her own) expense. I'm cute. I have nice eyes. My teeth are straight, white, and all there. I have great boobs. And I never, ever leave the house is pajama bottoms.
I'm also fat.
So when people see me in public (and you can deny this until you're blue in the face, but you'd be incorrect), I am willing to put hard cash on the bet that they aren't thinking, "Oh, that woman looks like a creative person" or "I bet that girl would be a lot of fun at a party." IF they're thinking anything at all (because, after all, there's no one quite as invisible as the largest person in the room), they're thinking, "Slob," or maybe "Jesus, I wonder how many eggs she eats for breakfast." (For the record: one. Over easy. With sprouted grain toast. Dry. And black coffee).
Okay, so maybe they're not even thinking that deeply. Let's forget for a second that we're talking about anyone with people-watching tendencies, and just go with first impressions. Or first descriptors. Do you think when people describe me they say, "the redhead with the glasses?" Of course not. They say, "The, uh, heavyset gal with the red hair and the glasses." They say, "That fat girl in my Animation class." Because I'm not the only redhead with glasses, but I AM the only fat one - or at the very least, the fattest.
I am sure that most of the people who are closest to me pay little attention to my weight. They know me, they like me, and while I have had some very close friends and family members express concern for my health, I like to think that none of them refer to me as "my fat friend/daughter/sister Deedee." But the rest of the world is not so forgiving. So rock on, Dolly. And those of you who feel fat in your single-digit sizes yet have never known the sensation of the floor shaking when you walk across it or endured the disparaging looks from random strangers, or been rejected by a potential date because of your size, suck it up. You're beautiful. And privileged.
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