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January 10, 2002 - Thursday I picked up my kids early Sunday, thinking it would be nice to drive them back to Houston in the daylight for once. Their father gave me $10 to buy them fast food. In the car, I asked at which establishment they wanted to nourish themselves. The Baby screamed “Sonic! Vomit!” (We call Sonic vomit, ha, ha.) The Middle Child said, “Jack in the Box,” because he enjoys the cheese sticks with marinara sauce. The Oldest wanted McDonald’s. “Let’s vote!” said the Baby, who is now four years old. I decided to be decadent and drive to all three. At McDonald’s, the woman who took our order asked if all three boys were mine. I told her they were. I figured she was wondering why I was only buying one Happy Meal. After she gave us our food, she said, “No, I meant, are they ALL yours?” I told her again that they were. She said that I looked so young to have three kids. But she said it in an awed way and not a judgmental one, so when she asked my age I went ahead and told her “Thirty,” even though it wasn’t her business in any way, shape, or form. She gasped. “You look way younger!” I refrained from preening as we walked out the door. It’s probably my new glasses. Julie, friend of Francis, said they make me look younger, too. Now if only I could keep them cleaner… I wash them in the sink with dish soap, at work and at my home. The other day it occurred to me that it might be gross to wash your glasses in the kitchen sink at your workplace. Not that it’s technically any grosser than using said sink to wash the utensils you had in your mouth, but still. You know how people can be. People can be miserably bitchy and hateful, I find. A lot of people are unhappy and instead of owning up to that and trying to change it, they take it out on those around them. It’s alarming how hateful a lot of people can be. I see people who can’t stand for others to be happy and who revel in others’ misfortune and I wonder, “What the hell is wrong with you people? Why don’t you go work in a soup kitchen and find out what real problems are about?” Some people prefer sitting around and bitching about absolutely nothing, I find. Before I picked up my kids, I had gone to eat at a new restaurant in Austin called Java Grill or something like that. They sold Indonesian food. I decided to be adventuresome and try it. I figured I’d scope out the menu and if I couldn’t pick out a meal on my own, I’d ask the waitperson’s advice. Waitpeople are usually really good at asking you what you like and then telling you what you should order. So I figured I’d do that, but then I saw that the Java Grill was having a buffet. Woo hoo! So I went in and starting trying all the foods. The tables had handmade place mats under glass. The place mats were handwritten Biblical passages surrounded by cutouts from Victorian-looking greeting cards and the like. I decided in my hunger that it was more quaint than off-putting. After I spent a while eating, looking out the window, and surreptitiously glancing at the two families dining near me, the super-cute waiter walked up and solicited my opinion on the food. He wondered if I was surprised by the cuisine – if I’d walked in expecting something else. I told him I’d imagined that Indonesian food couldn’t be much different from Thai or Indian, and I’d been right. I said they needed labels on the steam table, though. He pointed out that another guy had applied labels while I ate. They had just opened the restaurant a few days before, he said. He seemed really proud to be working there. I wanted to get all in his business and ask if his family ran the place or what, and whose idea the religious place mats were, but I didn’t. I just ate a fried banana and then left. I’ll ask him nosy questions the next time I’m there. I’ll probably go back. The beef with peanut sauce has been on my mind. There's this lady at my work who likes to sing. She goes down the hall pushing carts full of ill computers, singing gospel songs. She has a really good voice and it always makes me smile to see how happy she is. Happy people turn me on. A couple of weeks ago there was this other lady at my work who was humming in the bathroom. Even in the stall. She got on my nerves because she was humming so thoroughly, hitting each syllable of the lyrics with a vibrato-filled "hmm!" I felt like saying, "Just sing, lady. You know you want to." But I didn't, because I'm not one to force behavior-modification wishes on others. When we had the Christmas music going on in our corporate elevator, I couldn't help but sing along, if I was alone. Now we're back to the new-agey crap that has no words, so I just dance. If I get in the elevator and no one else is there, I shake my booty like crazy. Then I walk out onto my floor like a normal corporate drone, ready to work work work for another few hours of my life. I used to be super-silent when there were other people on the elevator. I'd stare at the floor numbers or else at my shoes in my reflection. I'm tired of that now, though. Now if my copassengers seem inclined to chat, I do so. One of our elevators makes a scary groaning sound. The other day me and some guy were riding that one and it did its groan. We peeked at each others' reactions. The guy said, "I hate it when it does that." I said, "The worst is when it makes the noise and then the blood oozes down the wall." He laughed. I said, "I only saw that happen twice, though." Then the doors opened and I walked out to the parking garage, ready to climb into my dalmation-primered Subaru and drive back to my real life. |