Reminiscing About my Snack Bar Days

I used to work at a zoo snack bar. We had some of those ice cream carts that had wheels and we would roll them out to different areas of the park and then stay there for the remainder of the day. This day, I was stationed at the "playground" one of the worst places to be because children would run rampant throughout the park while their parents sat around on benches chatting with friends, or just weren't really paying attention to what their children were doing. I'd have hundreds of kids come up to me on a daily basis and BEG for ice cream, but of course I couldn't just give it to them. I'd always ask if they had any money, and they never did, and I'd tell them to go ask their parents for some if they wanted money (not my problem).

On this particular day, it was exceptionally hot, and one kid had a hardcore temper tantrum when I told him I couldn't just give him ice cream. Like FULL BLOWN, on the floor crying and screaming and I'm just like what the heck and continue to help other customers around his howling body sprawled on the ground. The brat finally pulls himself together and goes to find his mother. About 15 minutes later bratty and his mom stroll over to the cart, child sniffling and happy that he persuaded his mother for ice cream and they start checking out the selections. We had about 15 different ice cream options, all with prices clearly marked. The kid picks out the most expensive option and the mom is all like "whatever you want sweet baby". I hand her the $3.50 ice cream and she unwraps it and hands it to him. He immediately started drooling and slobbering all over it, and it was a day that was hot as hell so it started melting quickly. She asks me how much it is and I tell her, gesturing towards the clearly marked sign. She starts screaming at me about how she's not paying that much and I'm just like, "sorry ma'am, there's nothing I can do, he's already started eating it". She's like flipping out at me and finally gives me the money- all in change, mostly pennies and nickels.

Then, she asks for napkins. Ugh. The park wouldn't let us hand out napkins because too many people littered and the amount that it costed daily to clean up all the napkins in the park was too much for the park to afford (or so they said). Regardless, not my problem. I politely explain why we don't have napkins and apologize for the inconvenience and this woman literally flips out. She grabs the now disgusting drippy ice cream from her sons mouth (starting another temper tantrum, this time with better reason), literally throws it at me, and reaches into my tip jar and pulls out $3.50. She stomped away with her hysterical son and I had to try and wipe the ice cream off my shirt with LEAVES from a nearby tree, and was forced to sit at my stand for the rest of the day unable to do anything about it.

Public Restroom Rendezvous

Public bathrooms can be a source of embarrassment, awkwardness, and stress, especially for women. I know that some of my friends will trek to bathrooms on other floors or areas of their building to avoid running into people they work with after using the facilities. Or some people will wait in a stall until the whole bathroom is empty and then rush to finish their business before someone else enters the abode and sits in the stall right next to them. I know that many females, myself included, will go to great lengths to avoid an unnecessary bathroom run-in, going through added efforts for a smooth and worry-free bathroom experience.

One of the reasons that shared bathroom use can be so embarrassing is because some of the people in this world are really very strange. Not too long ago I sat in a stall next to a woman that was talking on her cell phone, speaking to the other person on the line between flatulent release and excrement discharge. Not only was this awkward because everyone in the bathroom could hear her conversation, I’m sure whoever was on the phone with her had the pleasure of listening to her bodily functions along with me.

Another bizarre situation that I experienced in a public bathroom not too long ago, was a woman belting out a song while dropping a D. She would even stop between verses to grunt and she strained herself to finish her business.

And unfortunately I have even had the opportunity to watch someone pick at their toenails from under my stall wall. They bent each toenail back, using their equally unmanicured fingernails to rip the mangled toenails off. I felt like passing her a nail clipper under the stall, and if I had had one, I probably would have. Also, not only was the toenail picking disgusting, she was bent so far over in order to reach her feet, that the automatic toilet flusher kept going off – over and over and over again. I can’t even imagine all of the splashing involved.

Along with these few examples of strange bathroom encounters, I can’t even begin to describe to you ones that I have witnessed at bars, while drunk, at 3 in the morning in downtown Buffalo. Use your imaginations – it’s as gruesome as you think.

Gas Pass

There’s a guy that sits across from my cube at work. His name is Sachin. The other day I got to work early and was diligently checking my email when I heard giggling from across the way. I glanced over and Sachin was tittering hysterically. “I farted,” he said between frantic snickers. Had he remained silent no one would have ever known about his gas.

Deja Vu

You know what’s creepy? When you meet someone in person for the first time and feel like you are having déjà vu. You just know that you have seen them someplace before, and as you exchange pleasantries, you wrack your brain to place the face. You converse and share stories, and all of a sudden you realize where you know this person from. You remember who they are dating, their brothers and sisters, their best friend, how they looked in high school... You know this person from your expert stalking on Facebook. Weird.

Mr. Peaches

During my first week at my new job, I was killing some time by washing some peaches at the communal sink near the refrigerators. I don’t know why, but I always wash my fruit – something about the sticky way fruit skin feels from pesticides that gives me the heeby-jeebies and convinces me that I’d rather my fruit smell slightly like dishwashing soap before consuming.

Anyways, as I was diligently washing my fruit, a voice from beside me said seductively “Mmmm are those peachessss? Do you always wash your peachessss?” “Umm, yes,” was my response. “Wow, those peaches look soooo juicyyy,” Ew, was all that I was thinking, but I managed a small smile. “I’m going to have to start washing my peachessss.” His conversation topic was nothing short of disturbing, so I quickly finished washing and scampered away.

Weird peach dude was quickly forgotten until one day I saw him staring at me from across the department – like 20 cubes away. Oh no, I thought, and ducked my head low, using my cube walls as protection. Once again, I pushed Mr. Peach to the back of my mind, until the other night when I was leaving work.

As I left my department, he was in front of me and held the door open. I thanked him politely and continued on my way. Unfortunately, before being able to exit the building there were three more doors that needed opening before finally escaping outside. Mr. Peaches dutifully opened all of them for me and smiled at me creepily as I passed through each one. By the time the cold air hit my face as I walked outside, I thanked him one last time for holding open the door for me. He looked right at me, winked, and said with a sly, creepy grin, “I’m sure you’ll be able to think of some way to thank me in the future.” Ummm, no, that’s not going to happen, but needless to say, I’ve started walking out of the building with friends after my work day. And so far I have had no further run-ins with Mr. Peaches.

Nipple sucking driver

So the other day when driving (or rather not driving) in stop dead traffic, I happened to glance in my rear-view mirror and was very startled, and a bit grossed out, when I noticed the woman behind me having a drink out of a baby’s bottle. Now, I found this extremely strange considering she was in a beautiful brand-new looking convertible, and I was wondering why she couldn’t afford buying herself a water bottle at a rest stop or gas station or something instead of suckling liquid out of a plastic rubbery nipple. To be honest, I don’t care how thirsty someone is, there is no excuse for sucking your beverage out of a bottle that has a pseudo body part identical to the ones on your chest. And that brings us to another issue- what was in this bottle? Because, would she really go through the hassle of filling the bottle up with water, juice, or another beverage that an adult may enjoy consuming (perhaps it was milk – haha), or do we conclude that this woman was so thirsty that she was in fact indulging in her own child’s baby formula? Mind you, however, that in her immaculate convertible there was no sign of any baby paraphernalia – no car seat, no toys, not even a lost children’s sock… the only item that indicated she may have a child was the bottle that she was so enjoyably indulging in. And if in fact she was a lesbian, or woman who enjoyed female body parts, what would possess her to drink from a bottle, on a highway, in a convertible, in stop-dead traffic; as much of a turn on as it may be if she enjoyed that sort of thing. So, I guess the point of this little story is, don’t drink your beverage our of a baby bottle in case it grosses out the people around you… even if they are trying to mind their own business and somehow end up with their eyes glued to the rear view mirror trying to mentally come to a reasonable conclusion for your actions.

She is Strength

When she comes home at night I can hear her pull in the driveway and can imagine her sighing as she gathers her things, her purse, the mail, a water bottle, and some garbage that was tossed carelessly on the floor by her children. She shakes her head as she bends to grab the crumpled tissues and candy wrappers that litter the floor of her van, appreciating the fact that although her children begged her not to get her ‘soccer mom vehicle’, she made the right purchase and is thankful that she has something to drive. I hear her as she opens her car door, struggling to get out with her hands full, and imagine her kicking it closed behind her. She arrives at the front door and fumbles with her keys, struggling to get inside. Upon entering, I can hear her pour herself a glass of water and imagine how she closes her eyes as the cool liquid sinks to her stomach. Her shoulders slump in exhaustion, her back is tight with stress, her eyes look out the window into the yard she tries to upkeep, yet fails to keep perfect due to lack of time. I imagine her turning, her hair brushing her shoulders, as she shuts off the light above the sink. As darkness embraces her, she leaves the kitchen and walks up the stairs, smiling at the fact that her children are sleeping. She approaches the first door and quietly opens it, she walks to her son, who is sprawled out in a dead sleep. The thought of him not waking up, even if a bomb was to explode next to him, enlightens her and she grins with no one there to see her pretty smile. She then walks to the second closed door, and opens it slowly and quietly, to find her daughter fast asleep with her cell phone clasped in her hand. Prying it out of her hand and placing it on her night stand, she looks at her daughter with love. She approaches the third and last door. She once again enters silently and looks upon her eldest child. She tiptoes across the room so as not to wake the light sleeper and places a kiss gently on my cheek. She leaves the room and closes the last door behind her. She whispers a silent goodnight in the hallway before heading up to her own room. Although the time is after midnight, she still has many things to do before granting herself the privilege of sleep. She checks her email, opens the mail, pays some bills, and does tasks that normal women do during the day with their free time. She goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth and stares at the reflection looking back at her. She sighs at the wrinkles that line her face, from years of stress and worry. Sadness has permanently creased the space around her eyes, though around her mouth are creases from laughter and happiness. After brushing her teeth, she tiredly stumbles to bed and envelopes herself in her blankets. Sadly, though, the spot is empty next to her, the pillow bare with no one to kiss goodnight. She holds the teddy bear that she sleeps with close to her heart, willing it to give her comfort and fight the loneliness away. And then, clutching the stuffed animal that she shares her bed, she whispers her prayers and falls into a deep sleep. She awakes bright and early, before any of her children begin to stir, and starts her tasks for the day. She makes sure that all her children are fed and ready, after greeting them each with a kiss and cheery hello. They admire her strength, and her chipper attitude. After waving to her daughter who heads off to work, she drives her other two children where they need to go. Then she runs some errands, and heads back to the house to do chores and yard work necessary to keep her household running. She works hard, and her back aches as she does manual labor that a husband usually takes care of. She gasps as the hot sun pounds against the back of her neck and she wipes away the sweat that creeps down her forehead. She glances at her watch and is discouraged to see that it is already early afternoon, and work awaits her. She quickly cleans herself up and drives herself to work, not looking forward to having to stand for eight hours running hundreds of samples in the hospital laboratory. However, she will do anything necessary to provide for her children. After work she wearily drives home, willing herself to stay awake as she drives the windy streets. When she comes home at night I can hear her pull in the driveway and can imagine her sighing as she gathers her things, her purse, the mail, a water bottle, and some garbage that was tossed carelessly on the floor by her children…

This woman is loving. She provides and cares. She is strong. She is happy. She is my mother.