The Social Porcupine

I went on an indefinite road trip mid September, my main destination: Vermont . After packing up camp and taking a quick detour to New Hampshire, I drove to some friends' farm in New York.  "I'm thinking about going to the city," I'd told them.  "Well, you can't go without us ," they told me.  "Fine. But I have things I want to do. You don't have to do them with me, but I will be doing them." "Alright."  And so the three of us girls, barely knowing each other in real life, drove for the city, their boyfriends freaking. "We're not sure you should be traveling with this crazy girl. We heard she doesn't wear shoes or a seatbelt."  "Don't worry. She's not so crazy in real life."   We didn't want to drive into the city tired, so I pulled off at a rest stop about forty-five minutes outside of the city. We piled all of our luggage on the front seats then stretched out side-by-side in the back o...

I once worked in customer service. You know, the job where you paste a smile on your face when all you want to do is let that other person have what ought to be coming to them. But of course, you keep the smile, keep the words, and keep on serving. For the small, silly reason that you want to keep your job (though, those of us that have quit, know that we’d never take such a job back. Even when our bosses have told us over and over, “Oh, but you were made for customer service!”).  Hah. Made for it.  But how the world has changed.  Now, or so I heard, rude customer service is encouraged. Of course, only for the correct political reasons. Maybe I would have stayed in the business, had it been so in my day . . .  But then maybe not. Back then I definitely had my moments of wishing to spit in people’s faces. But now . . . with that warning constantly being bombarded into my eardrums, I’m sure I’d not be able to curb the temptation.  Back then I’d merely have been fi...

I didn't attend a single funeral last year.  And yet I know more people that died last year than any other year. As far as I know, only one was classified "due to COVID". I was saddened to not go to the first two funerals (I was in Germany).  This post has been begging attention for quite some time. But this is a topic that is hard for me to face, though it feels ever imminent, always present.  Shirley was one of my favorite clients. Normally I would just listen as she ranted over some horrendous happening. She had her favorite stories that she liked to repeat. 'Twas fine by me as I missed a lot of what she said, and thus always garnered a new detail. Some people would have thought she was grumpy. She probably was. But I loved her. I felt I brought her happiness. Which made me happy.  On my last time cleaning, before leaving for Germany, she hugged me and said, "You're one of my best friends."  I wanted to say the same. I wondered, but would it be a lie?...