on being a stereotype

In the Keys, everyone else, like me, is from another place.  It makes it interesting: unlike Kansas, where everyone has the same easy, unaffected manner of speaking, each person you meet has a unique accent.  Working at a resort employing three hundred people, i like to listen to the different dialects against one another.  In the HR office, is a young Texan & a middle-aged Bostonian.  My department, answering phones & manning the radios, is headed by a mother from Delaware & staffed with a grandmother from Michigan & a girl from Jamaica (among others, whom i rarely work with.)  Early in the morning, as the sun rises, i ride to work with men from the maintenance department who are from South Carolina, Tennessee, & New Jersey.

It's also great for conversation.  Asking where a person's from can easily segue into why they left, & what they're doing here.  You can learn a lot about a person very quickly.  Which is good, given that, for the first time in decades, i do not know everybody.  Quite contrarily: i know no one, & have little in common with anyone.  So i like being able to eat up minutes of small talk with that one question, & it's nice to get to know someone without needing to do much of the talking.

Obviously, this line of questioning usually veers next to where i am from.  The love of Kansas is deep in my heart, & i am not embarrassed by my newness to this place.  However, it's still awkward.  I think the main weirdness stems from the fact that i seem to be the only Kansan anyone has ever met.  Clearly, everyone has heard of the mythological state - Oz, evolution, tornadoes - but as far as i can tell, they assume nothing ventures to or from this bible-belt bread-bowl but wheat & beef.  I go suddenly from feeling like everyone else - transplanted like a seed in the island breeze - to feeling like an overwhelming stereotype - Kansas farm-girl with a boyfriend back home.  

Of course, no one knows about Lawrence.  About Thai/Vietnamese/Indian food, or gourmet coffee.  No one knows about my lip piercings, or that i break dress code with my 'extreme style' earrings: no one has seen me out of the 'island elegance' business-casual dress composed of all the clothes i own that could fit into the required category of 'conservative'.  It is a strange feeling, knowing no one, & being unknown to everyone.  To no longer be the girl back home, missing a few far away friends, but to now be the far away friend, missing everyone back home.

jobless

It has become immediately apparent that my planning wasn't as thorough as it ought to have been before moving across the country.  Mostly my financial planning.  Not only did i just plain not save as much as i had initially intended, but i spent a lotmore getting down here than i had expected. 

Additionally, i'm starting to worry about my employment prospects.  Never in my life have i worked to get a job.  I'm young, good looking, & smart, on the rare occasion i have to actually look for a job, i have no problem landing one that i want.

Before i left home, I had applied for a job taking pictures at the Dolphin Research Center.  Having never had a 'resumé' before, i got over-intimidated & spent weeks perfecting it, editing it, sending it off for proofreading, re-editing it.  So, by the time i sent it in, they had already started interviewing for the position & i didn't make the cut.  Lesson learned.

I had been keeping an eye on the local classified ads, scanning the employment & cars sections daily for new additions.  I was not surprised to see that most of the jobs said 'no phone calls' or 'please apply in person'.  My parents taught me that how you apply for a job is just as important as how you interview:  always look nice, speak with a manager when possible, fill out your application in house (don't take it home & wrinkle it all up,) so i always did, & when i started to be responsible for hiring, i would always take those things into account.  So, I decided that i'd rather follow proper procedure & charm the pants off of these employers my first week in the Keys.

Wrong.

Firstly, there aren't a lot of jobs.  Of any kind, not to mention those that i am actually capable of doing (although that ad for 'able bodied workers needed for lobster boat, NO DRUNKS!' keeps catching my eye, i don't think it's for me.)  Plus, not having a car really limits my options.  So, in addition to the gallery job in Islamorada that i never heard back from, my roommate drove me around Saturday to get applications of places that are within reasonable walking/biking distance: two of them.  One of them, not receptive at all.  Definitely not hiring.  The other, a keyzee restaurant (where the waitstaff has to wear hawiian shirts,) seemed super receptive, the manager handing me an application saying, 'Why don't you bring this by tomorrow around 3 or 4 & we can have a chat, I'm sure we can find someplace for you.'  Hooray!  Exciting!  No.  Sunday, i pay a $10 cab fare to be driven to a place i can see from my balcony (which sounds super lazy, but it's on the next island over, so even though i can see it, & it's maybe a half mile from our apartment, it's a two mile walk to get off my island, across the canal, & down that island to the interview... & i didn't want to be sweaty!)  I arrive, on time & adorably hirable, only to have him take my application & say, 'Thanks, we'll be in touch.' as he walked away.  I tried not to act disappointed, instead, i saved all my self-pity for the 45 minute walk home.

Luckily, the walk turned my self-pity into self-motivation & i spent the next day & a half working out a complete (ten year) job history, as well as perfecting two different resumés, one for management, & one for service.  Also lucky, a restaurant on the island where my roommate works had put out an ad for servers!  I called the number & arranged (what i hoped was) an interview for this morning.

I rode to work with my roommate & walked to the resort [sidenote: Amazing walk.  This island has a bike/walking trail separated from the highway by a wooded area, so it was like walking through a jungle!  It made my day.] Intentionally, i arrived about 15 minutes early, only to find the restaurant locked.  Undeterred, i sat & read, assuming that the guy would show up closer to interview time.  When he did not, i decided to call his mobile after the girl at the front desk said he would be out of town for a week.  He was on his way in, if i didn't mind waiting, so i sat back down to read.  Moments later, i hear some lady with a thirty-year whiskey-voice calling the same guy, with the same concern.  Discreetly, i looked at the balcony entrance to see a keyzee lady (too tanned, fake blonde hair) in a tee-shirt, shorts, & sneakers saying that she was scheduled to meet him at 11:00 or 11:30 (it was 10:35.)  Moments later, she shouts at me from the balcony, "Who's the author of your book?" Politely, i replied, "Kerouac, i'm reading On the Road." Her reply, "Oh.  Is that like, a mystery book, or a romance novel?" And then proceeds to ramble about how much she likes to read & where am i from because i am obviously not from around here because the color that my legs are & oh she's from iowa but hasn't been back there for twenty years, multiple times apologizing that she didn't mean to interrupt me, but then just continuing to talk until the manager arrived.  Needless to say, she was a bit confused, & maybe disappointed to realize that this young woman in a nice sundress was interviewing for the same position as she was.  It was an awkward 15 minutes.

But, to end on an upnote, while i was on the beach today (trying to adjust my leg color to a more 'local' tone,) i got a call from the keyzee restaurant on the next island, setting up an actual interview.  Let's hope it goes just as well.

nine days

Nine days left. Needless to say, i'm a little overwhelmed.

This morning, i bought plane tickets for my little sister & i. Originally, my plan was to buy a car for the two of us to drive across the country. However, after weeks of scouring the classifieds & craig's list, i came to this conclusion: any car in my price range would not make the drive from Kansas to Florida. I imagined it would lead to some grim scene involving the two of us sitting prettily atop my vintage suitcases along the side of some backwater highway in Alabama (great for cinematography, bad for personal safety.) So, after factoring in the billions of dollars i would spend in gas, i finally decided to fly.
When i first went to Southwest's website, i found a nonstop flight for $70 ($90 after taxes.) Right before purchasing, i called my mom to try & beg a rental car out of the deal. Ten minutes later, my flight was no longer available at that price. Naturally, i freak out & i spend the next ten minutes on the phone with my sister, searching for cheaper tickets. We found another set, even cheaper on USAir, but after factoring in the $25 charge for your first checked bag, we would only be saving $10 over the SW flight. So, $10 seems like a pretty good deal to take 2x the luggage & avoid a layover that would add 3 extra hours to our flight time.

Flying puts a concrete restriction on how much of my belongs are making the move (a restriction that factors in both weight & area,) four full-sized suitcases (50 lbs each,) one carry-on suitcase, & a purse. Wow. While that does seem like a lot, especially as i am moving into a studio apartment (already occupied by my best friend, her belongings, & her landlord's belongings,) ponder the complications of specific items i had planned to move:
- sewing machine
- juicer
- violin
- record collection
- typewriter
- books
So the next week is going to be like a giant puzzle. How to evenly distribute the weight between my four suitcases, while still leaving room for my clothes. I'll grant you it's frivolous to take these things rather than clothes & towels, but lightweight boxes are cheap to ship, & a sewing machine is not lightweight. And what about my violin? It would have to be my carry-on, which would eliminate that as suitcase space. But i am not panicking. I am just going to look at it like a nintendo game. A fun game that will determine how much of my stuff can live my new life with me.

escape velocity

In the twenty-six years that i have been alive, i have lived within twenty-six miles of where i was born. From four to seventeen, I attended the same school district. My parents & grandparents still live on the land where I was raised (where my own mother grew up.) The past nine years are the only i have spent living in a city, a college town of about 90,000.

Now, i am in the process of extricating myself from Kansas to live with a friend in the Florida Keys.

Anyone who has ever lived in & moved from a little oasis is surely empathetic to my situation: excited to leave, terrified to be gone, & effing tired of talking about it. Obviously, the constant dialogue about the perfect weather & the ocean view is helping to keep my spirits high, & is a definite nudge towards optimism. However, working as a barista in a busy Downtown coffeeshop, i have started to feel like a broken record.

Besides the obvious resident-turnover that will accompany a Big-12 state school, there is a constant ebb & flow of townies who all have the same Dorothy desires. It is expected that you will move. And when you do move, it is expected that your take-off attempt will fail, & you will return, tuck-tail to the motherly embrace of her limestone alleys.

Unlike a lot of others who have come & gone in the years i have been here, i love this town. It cannot be overlooked, the obvious drawbacks of living in a university town: alumni, greeks, basketball, football, freshman, art students, business majors... Undeniably, the suffocatingly exponential expansion of the 'west side' is only getting worse. And, a small town, is a small town, is a small town. We may not be rural, but Downtown is tiny enough that everyone knows everything, personal & otherwise. The frequent farewell parties all share the same refrain, 'I'm just so tired of this damn town.' & 'I can't stand any of these effing hipsters anymore.'

Ridiculous. I have the most incredible life i could ask for here. I haven't owned a car in seven years, everything i need is within a five block radius of my amazing apartment in a pre-civil war house, & there is convenient & reliable public transit for the rare occasion when i am required to leave Downtown. We have a lively (albeit wheezy) art scene, & most importantly, the ability to sustain one's self by 'living locally' (groceries, restaurants, shops...) It's a town where you can barter! A community where you all live & work nearby, therefore, you know everyone! I lead a blissful, luxurious life here. I fully intend to come back someday to grow old here.
While I have yet to make any kind of decisions concerning kids & career, I feel safer assuming that someday I could have one or both of those. So, why wait until having them binds me irreversibly to the Midwest? I am aware enough of the passage of time to recognize that the now is an opportunity to save myself from becoming an elderly woman who settled down without exploring her options.

Mostly, I just hate winter. I hate being cold. I take it as a personal affront. As if every bone-chilling breeze, & soul-crushing ice-storm is an attack on me, as an individual. For a third of the year i wear long-johns, thermal socks, undershirts, sweaters, gloves, boots, a coat, & a thick scarf. It's suffocating! Not just the scarf over my mouth & nose (or the frozen air when scarfless,) but the layers & layers constricting your movement & rendering you as unsexy, & uncute as possible.
Do you know where they don't have winter? The tropical islands known as the Florida Keys.
And what they do have in the Keys, besides beaches, palm trees, sunshine, & crystal clear water? Weather that allows me to wear sundresses for two thirds of the year.