She was my Kindergarten teacher.
She taught me to read.
She had us put on a circus with hair-raising performances like hula-hooping to music. I think I was a clown.
She didn't say anything when I bought chocolate milk every day instead of regular milk for lunchtime.
She started every new year maintaining that, like Christopher Robin, she was six, and would never be any older. She must've been in her seventies by the time she was my teacher.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Charming People 2: Jukebox
For my second installment in the Charming People series, I'm casting back to my first job: Taco Bell, the first two years (two years!) of college.
Jukebox had a real name, but only his coworkers knew what it was. His nametag said Jukebox and that's how all the customers knew him. He worked the late night shift, and once business had slowed to a trickle for the evening he would sing and rap for the customers in the drive-through and chat everyone up, as if he wanted nothing more than to talk to the people who happened to be at Taco Bell at 10:30 on a Tuesday night. I think perhaps there might have been nothing he wanted better than that.
Skinnier than a skeleton and not much prettier, he was everyone's favorite, from coworkers to customers to managers to even the corporate suits that would come in every once in a while. He'd never gone to college (heck, I'm not even sure he finished high school), but he knew more about current events, history and religion than anyone else I came in contact with. He was also one of the most generous people you'll ever meet; the "he'd give you the shirt off his back" sentiment is beyond cliched, but it truly describes Jukebox.
My life was enriched by knowing this skinny white guy from Minnesota who regularly sang the chorus to Get Low by Lil Jon and Eastside Boyz, loudly, while I mopped the floor every night after closing.
Jukebox had a real name, but only his coworkers knew what it was. His nametag said Jukebox and that's how all the customers knew him. He worked the late night shift, and once business had slowed to a trickle for the evening he would sing and rap for the customers in the drive-through and chat everyone up, as if he wanted nothing more than to talk to the people who happened to be at Taco Bell at 10:30 on a Tuesday night. I think perhaps there might have been nothing he wanted better than that.
Skinnier than a skeleton and not much prettier, he was everyone's favorite, from coworkers to customers to managers to even the corporate suits that would come in every once in a while. He'd never gone to college (heck, I'm not even sure he finished high school), but he knew more about current events, history and religion than anyone else I came in contact with. He was also one of the most generous people you'll ever meet; the "he'd give you the shirt off his back" sentiment is beyond cliched, but it truly describes Jukebox.
My life was enriched by knowing this skinny white guy from Minnesota who regularly sang the chorus to Get Low by Lil Jon and Eastside Boyz, loudly, while I mopped the floor every night after closing.
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