zyzyly (zyzyly) wrote,
zyzyly
zyzyly

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June12--A sensless tree is like a coldhearted mind

I've been somewhat moody/reflective/crabby the past day or two. I worked all day yesterday. I went in to work on a project that is due this week, and ended up spending the whole day working on the summer program that will be starting in two weeks. I had the realization that time was passing by, and I needed to get shit done.

I met with the incoming summer group at the start of their class at 5 pm. I explained how 4th semester works, and what the expectations are. Because the group is somewhat of an anomaly, they aren't able to access the course site I set up for them, so we have to port everything over to their current site and keep it going through the summer. So that's what I did. I anticipate further issues as the semester progresses, as no one really thought any of this through. I guess when I asked, "who's responsible for this?" a while back, that's why no one answered. Now I am.

As I was trying to go to sleep last night, I thought about my first job (other than my paper route). Actually, I didn't think about the job itself, which was working in a hospital kitchen, but thought about the woman who was my boss during most of the time I worked there.

Her name was Maxine. She was a dietitian, and was about 29 years old. The thing I remember about her was that she was one of the most beautiful women I have ever encountered. I was 17, and had a huge crush on her.

She had blonde hair and flawless golden skin. I can't remember the specifics of her appearance--just an impression. She looked like a Southern California girl.

She was married to a guy who had a Corvette, and she got to drive it to work sometimes. The rest of the time she drove a Chevy Vega wagon, which must have been a disappointment after driving the Corvette. They lived in a little beach community south of San Francisco.

She was friendly with me, and gave me quite a few opportunities in the kitchen. When she first became the boss, I was a dishwasher, but she gave me a chance to learn how to cook, and let me work with the old Estonian woman who was the regular evening cook. At the same time, I enrolled in a cooking program through my school district, and got credits for cooking at work. She suggested that I might consider becoming a dietitian, and offered to help me get into a dietitian program. I was all for it. I loved what I was doing.

One day I came in to work and found out that she had been fired, and was not coming back. I don't think it had anything to do with her specifically--it was more about some contractual stuff between the company that provided the food services and the hospital. In any case, she was gone.

For some reason, I was asked to clear out her desk. As I did, I came across a small piece of paper with some writing on it, separated by a line down the middle. There were two columns, each headed with some initials. It was a list comparing the attributes of her husband with some other guy. I recall that she had nice handwriting.

The first item written in the column that I presumed to represent the attributes of her husband was "Corvette". The first item in the column representing the other guy was, "Good sex". Each column had at least 10 items listed, but I can't remember anything other than the two at the top. What else could there be, really?

So I lay awake in bed last night, thinking about her, and wondering which one she chose. I mostly remembered how beautiful she was. If she is still around she would be about 73 years old. In my mind, she aged gracefully. She didn't choose either one, and eventually met someone else, who fulfilled her in ways well beyond good sex or Corvettes. She has a bunch of grandchildren, and still lives in the little coastal town.

After Maxine was fired, a new dietitian came in. Her name was Marlene, and she didn't think men belonged in the kitchen (or anywhere, really). She and I came to an understanding pretty quickly. I would quit, and she wouldn't oppose my getting unemployment until I entered the Air Force a few months later.

Which I did. And now I am here, somewhat moody, but very much fulfilled, thinking about someone whose path I crossed many, many years ago.

I don't have a picture today.
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