Love and Other Things I'm Bad At Page 4

  Must give up coffee. Must also invest in sleeker workout clothes.

  8/25

  I got a package from Grant!!! Yes! Good karma, because I tried so hard today to get settled here. I went to classes and bought my books.

  Inside Grant’s package was a Colorado State notebook and baseball cap. Plus an old T-shirt of his I’d been pestering him for. I’m putting it in my book bag and carrying it everywhere and when I miss him, I’ll take it out and smell it.

  People will look at me strangely, but I don’t care. They probably already do, because I’m not Norwegian or Swedish or whatever everyone is here. (I’m not tall, I’m not blond. What am I, anyway?) (Too philosophical a question for me right now.)

  Grant’s package gave me a burst of energy, and then I realized how much I miss him and started to cry. Why didn’t I go to CSU? What’s wrong with me? Why do I make such bad choices?

  I needed to calm myself. If I were back home, I’d drive to the buffalo overlook and check out the herd. But no such luck. No buffalo here. No car.

  But we are out in the country, and it was actually a sunny afternoon, so I got on my bike, hoped it wouldn’t rain, and rode out of town. The road I was on was curvy and pretty. Not to mention bumpy. Green trees, wildflowers everywhere. Reminded me of a picture in the CF catalog. The one they used to shamelessly lure me here.

  Anyway, there I was, riding on scenic country road, feeling really happy for once, except for constant rolling hills that all went straight up, and the fact I’m not in the best shape of my life. Then I went past this sign that said BUCK’S TAXIDERMY—i.e., e.g., turning dead animals into living statues/monuments to hunting skill. Then beneath the “Buck’s” part, like I wasn’t getting a graphic enough picture of exactly what he was talking about, the sign said FUR, FOWL, ETC.

  “Etc.”? What does that mean? People? Reptiles? Swine? Disgusting.

  When I got to the cows, they were marching single file along this path to the barn. I put down my bike and walked over to look at them. They were so orderly, they looked like soldiers. Milk soldiers. Fighting for dairy. Fighting for their lives, no doubt. Do dairy cows get to retire to green(er) pastures? Or when they’re milked out, are they turned into burgers? Poor cows. They’d be cute if they weren’t full of gallons of milk.

  I went back to my bike and realized I’d set it down in world’s largest cow chip. Spent an hour scraping off the seat with a stick. Bluck.

  8/26

  My first “real” weekend here, without relatives! Yes!

  There was a major catastrophe here this morning: everyone realized there was no home football game and no home anything games this weekend. Girls (except soccer players who were at practice) drifted aimlessly until everyone paired off into different cars to head to the outlet mall.

  Okay, not everyone. Annemarie stayed in dorm, music blaring. Mary Jo got irritated and went to science library so she could study in peace and quiet. Thyme went on hike with CF Nature Club. Kept trying to convince me to go with her, but I couldn’t.

  Last night I figured out I have to get a job in town right away. My money is running out very quickly.

  Job search really sucked. Everything’s already taken, or I’m not qualified, or I don’t want to dress up like Helga and wear horns on my head and serve German potato salad on roller skates at the Vivacious Viking.

  For some reason in this town, employers only want kids who are 14 and 15 to scoop ice cream. Even though it’s totally clear I have the muscle for it from working at T or D and could outscoop them, plus I know about smoothies and wheatgrass, which they’re going to have to make the transition to sometime. But no. Looked at me as if I were speaking foreign language.

  Plus half of the places served frozen custard, and I don’t even know what that is. Who eats frozen pudding? I thought that was like . . . British or something. Or is that flan? What is flan?

  There are the 6 or 7 identical-looking souvenir shops, where you can buy trolls, German beer steins, and any Cornwall Falls College T-shirt your heart desires. (Which would be none, so far.) In one of the stores, this man kept offering me fudge and cheese samples. In another, the women working there kept giving me dirty looks, like I was going to steal a bronzed badger or a cuckoo clock or something. No thank you. I have enough crap in my room, thanks to Mary Jo.

  I was sitting outside on the brick wall by the dorm, thinking about whether there was a plasma bank nearby, whether I could finance my higher education that way, or maybe an egg bank, after all I’m in the prime of my reproductive life, aren’t I? And aren’t you supposed to be able to get a few thousand bucks for some prime eggs? I’ve got several dozen to spare.

  I had totally given up hope when Tricia came by. She’s the bubbly one who said during our drugs ’n’ sex talk that she’d organized a rally to keep every single kid in her neighborhood off crack, and it worked, gosh darn it.

  Like they have crack in Walla Walla, Idaho, or whatever small town she said she was from. Like they even have neighborhoods.

  “Courtney! What are you doing up there?” she asked. As if no one had ever sat on a wall before. She had this giant pink Cornwall sweatshirt on and a matching hair ribbon. Her hair is the color of corn, just like Mary Jo’s, but also has many, many faux shiny highlights. If this place had sororities she’d be all over them. But that’s one of the reasons I liked this place—or thought I liked this place, anyway—no exclusive Greek societies. No “rushing,” except maybe to class when I’m late because I’m riding my bike through snowdrifts.

  Anyway, I told Tricia how I have to find a job, and she excitedly started shrieking how the place where she worked was hiring. “Um, and where’s that?” I asked, expecting her to say the Hallmark store. Which wouldn’t be so bad, actually, because I’ll be buying lots of cards this year to send to Grant.

  “Bagle Finagle!” she said. “It’s so cool, and so fun. And I know Jennifer would hire you in a second? Because she’s the manager? And she’s really cool?” Tricia says everything like a question.

  I thought about what Gerry said to me on my last day of work at T or D as he toasted me with a Coconut Fantasy Supreme. “Any employer would be lucky to have you. But don’t bowl them over with your individuality.” Whatever that meant.

  So she took me over there and I filled out an application. Everyone working there seems nice. Jennifer seems sort of like a tyrant, but who cares? I need money.

  “It would be so great if we could get the same shifts?” Tricia said after we left to walk back to the dorm together.

  “Um . . . yeah,” I said, thinking, Um, no. Not really. Not at all, actually. She would probably try to organize a rally to keep me off caffeine.

  8/27

  Very funny thing happened this morning for brunch. We were all traipsing off to the cafeteria together, en masse, that’s how we’ve been doing everything. (Is the 3rd floor hungry? Does the 3rd floor need to go to the post office? We must do everything in groups of no less than 15.)

  So we were going down the stairs and I was between Mary Jo and Thyme. Mary Jo was asking Thyme about her tattoos and how much it hurt to get a tattoo. Girl is obsessed with pain of body art—why? Is she considering getting Sophie memorialized? Where?

  “Well, MJ,” Thyme said. She paused. “Is it okay if I call you MJ?”

  “Um, well . . .” Mary Jo tried to be polite at first.

  “Well, MJ, the thing about tattoos is—”

  “Please, um, don’t . . . call me MJ,” Mary Jo said.

  “Oh? But it’s so natural. And it’s sort of more, you know, twenty-first century, when you think about it—”

  “Not really. And besides, nobody calls me that.”

  “But it could be a nickname—”

  “No,” Mary Jo said. “It couldn’t.” Then she moved ahead and started walking next to other people. Completely blowing us off!!!

  Surprising amount of backbone considering everyone has been doing everything humanly possible just to get along for the pas
t 4 days and has been clinging to each other like the way we desperately grasp trays in the cafeteria. Not me. Of course. Them.

  LATER—GREAT NEWS!

  I got the job!!! Yes!!! I’ll make $6.75 an hour plus get 2 free bagels with every shift (toppings not included, but who needs toppings?). No need to waste time at horrid cafeteria eating oyster crackers for lunch anymore.

  First I called Beth. She was hungover, but very happy for me. Then I called Grant. He was out so I left a hyper message on his answering machine. His roommate’s voice is on the machine, which bugs me, because I want to at least hear Grant saying he isn’t home. It’s so unsatisfying to call and not hear him say anything.

  Then I called Mom but she wasn’t home, so I talked to Bryan. He said he was doing okay in cross-country. I knew that was an understatement because Mom told me the newspaper did a big article on him. When you talk to him, though, he doesn’t mention it. Nothing about paces, or splits, or meets he’s won by a minute. I asked if he was hungover, too, like Beth. He said no. He said she’s been going kind of wild and was going to parties every night of the week.

  Somehow that didn’t sound too good to me. I don’t know why, I mean, I know I’ve only been gone for a week so things can’t have changed too much. Maybe I’m just jealous. So far I haven’t been to any parties. Thyme and I went to the movies last night. Afterward we went to this little café near campus and drank herbal tea. Which sounds like something Grandma would do with her friends.

  Question: What is it like for Thyme to drink thyme tea?

  Anyway, went across hall to tell Thyme about my new job. She was sort of happy at first, but then she got this glum look.

  “Have you checked into their investments?” she asked. “I think I heard they get their flour from some country that’s on an Amnesty International watch list. And aren’t they owned by some major oil corporation?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” I said. “I think they just have stores in the upper Midwest.”

  “Yeah, okay. But you should really check out their investment background.”

  “Sure, of course,” I said. But if the place is good enough for her to buy coffee from, isn’t it okay for me to work there? I mean, if you’re going to boycott a place, you have to be a little more consistent.

  “I get free bagels, so you know, if you ever want some, just come by during my shift,” I offered.

  “I can’t. Bagels plague my harmonic system,” she said.

  Okay. Whatever. You’re welcome.

  Fortunately Mary Jo knocked on the door then, looking for me. Grant was on the phone. Yes! Spent an hour talking to him. The whole time, Mary Jo was getting ready for bed, then going off to brush her teeth with her little horse-product bucket (horse toothpaste?), and then she came back, and then she was reading in bed, and then she turned out her light, etc.

  When I got off the phone, she said, “I really don’t want to make a big deal out of this. But do you think you could maybe call Grant, like, during the day sometimes?”

  What? “It’s pretty hard. It’s expensive during the day, plus he has class, and then he works, and—anyway, I didn’t call him. He called me.”

  “It’s just that my schedule this semester is going to be really hard,” Mary Jo said. “I’m sorry.”

  So then I had to feel like a real jerk. “No, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll try not to be on the phone so late.” But if Grant calls? I am not not going to talk to him.

  I wish Beth were my roommate, not Mary Jo. Beth would be fun. We’d stay up late, listen to good music, fridge would be stocked with Frappuccinos and fresh-squeezed juice; we’d probably even buy a juicer and share it. Maybe she wants to transfer. No, wait. I want to transfer.

  8/28

  My training for Bagle Finagle was tonight from 5–8. 3 long hours involving history of company, history of bagels, history of flour and cream cheese. Yawn.

  “We have fifty-six Bagle Finagles across the upper Midwest, and we’re rising like dough!” Jennifer is definitely a little on the annoying side. Okay, a lot. There were 9 other people in training, but after we took a bathroom break there were only 5 of us left. 1 was this very funny guy named Mark, a freshperson like me, who wore 3 earrings in one ear, had a bleached crewcut, and club look.

  They’re introducing some new bakery items, so Jennifer gave us each samples. There was a cinnamon roll with inch-high frosting, and something called the Muller’s Cruller, which looked like a hot dog bun that had fallen into a vat of glue.

  “Who the hell is Muller?” one guy asked.

  Mark nudged me and said, “Check this thing out. It’s like glazed to within an inch of its life.” He took a bite, then tossed the rest into the trash can. It made such a loud clang that we cracked up laughing and then got a dirty look from Jennifer. She does that a lot. Glares at people.

  I kept staring at this obnoxious sign by the cash register (right under the giant NO CHECKS sign; people are obsessed with bad checks in this town, there are signs at every cash register I’ve seen so far):

  OUR NAME MIGHT BE BAGLE FINAGLE,

  BUT DON’T FINAGLE THE BAGELS!

  There was a set of handcuffs hanging down, like they’d actually handcuff someone for stealing a bagel? Maybe they save those for the more violent crimes. Like stealing scallion-chive cream cheese.

  Speaking of cheese. What is their number-one seller? Cheese bagels. With cheddar-cheese-flavored cream cheese. Bluck.

  There are regulations regarding how to stack napkins on the counter so the logo always faces out. We had tests regarding how many ounces of cream cheese make up a slather, and how many make up a super slather. If a customer asks for extra pickles on their bagel sandwich, they get 2 more than standard. Personal phone calls can last only 30 seconds. Etc. Mark asked about smoke breaks and that started a whole debate about whether the rest of us should get breaks even though we don’t smoke, and then 1 more girl quit because she said she didn’t want to work with anyone who smoked, period.

  “Give me a break,” Mark said. “Does she think I’m going to blow secondhand smoke in her face? Well, who cares. I’m glad she’s gone, because I don’t want to work with anyone who wears a Packers T-shirt.”

  I asked Mark how he felt about wearing the goofy BF aprons. He said he’d find a way to make it work for him. “Or I’ll find a way to work it,” he said. “Period.”

  Jennifer overheard us and asked Mark what he meant by that, and then reminded us about the strict dress and hair codes.

  I thought about Gerry wanting to start a little chain of his ice cream and smoothie shops. So far he has 2 locations for Truth or Dairy. Really on a roll there.

  But maybe Gerry has the right idea. This place is a bit on the rigid side. No room for individualism or self-expression. In other words, you have to ask the same questions in the same tone of every single customer. The first one is the killer. I can’t picture these words coming out of my mouth, but I guess they will: “What kind of bagel can I finagle for you?”

  And if I can say that without dying of embarrassment, I get to run through the “Option Board”: “Sliced? Toasted? Would you like cream cheese with that? Anything to drink with that? Would you like to make this a steal deal?” Why do I sound like a Fembot? Ugh. But this won’t be so bad. From wheatgrass juice to wheat ’n’ honey bagels. Same healthy principle, but better tasting.

  When I got back to the dorm I was feeling very outgoing as a result of our “Bagle-Bonding” exercises. We each had to pretend to fall into a boiling vat of water and have our team catch us, also did the same thing pretending to fall into the oven. Seemed sort of sadistic or at the very least a rip-off of “Hansel and Gretel.” I stopped by Thyme’s room to see if she wanted to go out. She told me how she finally feng-shui-ed the room, and then she showed me a book on feng shui, so now I know what she’s talking about.

  We went to the student center. It was really dead, not surprising because it is Monday night. Ended up going into the pool hall/video game/bowling
alley area. Neither of us is very good at pool, but we met some guys who kept challenging us to another game, even though they kept winning.

  I had an okay time, but Thyme was annoyed because they kept making fun of her name. First they compared her to the Tyme machine on the wall and kept calling her “Money.” Then, when that got old, they started calling us “Parsley” and “Sage” and saying things like, “Hey, Rosemary, it’s your turn,” and humming that Simon & Garfunkel song about the spices.

  “People are so closed-minded,” she muttered on our way back to the dorm. “Haven’t they ever heard of originality? Haven’t they ever heard of being an individual? They were so paternalistic and standardized.”

  I don’t know. I thought they were actually sort of fun. Reminded me of guys from home. Like Grant. Sigh. Only 10.5 weeks until Thanksgiving.

  8/29

  Sitting in student center with Thyme. Since neither one of us really loves being in our rooms, this is like our home now. She’s using photographic memory to help me memorize everything for my first shift tomorrow at BF. We get an actual report written up with things we need to work on. I hate those kind of reports. I’ve hated “Needs Improvement” since kindergarten.

  The thing is that Thyme should be the one who goes to work at BF because she’s looked at the setup there all of once and has it down cold. She has even drawn me a map of all the bagel bins. This is something I could hate her for if she weren’t so nice about it. But nice in a condescending way, because she doesn’t understand what it’s like to have faulty, real-time memory and confuse sesame seed with poppy seed.

  Anyway, we were sitting there drinking coffee and working on this when Tricia came by. She said it was a really good idea for me to be so prepared? And that she’d mention it to Jennifer? She said that Jennifer was this incredibly wonderful manager who might insist on the rules a lot? But was only doing that for our benefit, and I shouldn’t take it personally if she yelled at me; she yelled at everyone?