A few months ago, I breathlessly announced that I'd landed a job after over a year of looking. I'd also mentioned that it wasn't a great one, but I didn't add that I went into it with few hopes for anything other than a paycheck.
What a relief and pleasant surprise it was, then, to find a positive and supportive work environment. I'm leaving this job soon for a full-time position, with benefits. When I got the offer, it should have been a no-brainer, but this job was so hard to walk away from.
Why? Like every good environment, it starts from the top. My boss started with the organization doing part-time phone sales, just like my co-workers and I. So he knew what it was like to do our job. He knew the challenges we faced, he knew how hard it could be to call someone away from their dinner and push through their resistance to get the sale. So, he respected what we did. He also provided endless constructive criticism to help us do better. Key word, constructive. He never made anyone feel bad about themselves. He never made anyone so insecure that they didn't want to pick up the phone. He never made us afraid to ask questions or bring ideas to him.
He also hired quality people. It could have been a petty, sniping, competitive environment. But, everyone was very nice. Everyone wanted to see one another succeed. No one played stupid head games, or sucked up at anyone else's expense. When a new person came on board, there wasn't any "FNG" syndrome: they tried to get to know you and make you feel welcome.
Even the work itself wasn't bad. If you're ever faced with taking a phone job, don't be too scared. I was working for a cultural organization and theoretically calling a decent sort of person, but I encountered very few utter jerks. I would estimate my calls resulted in about 70% answering machines, 25% nice people, and 5% jerks. I enjoyed my 25%. I enjoyed chatting with the old ladies who came out with their friends. I enjoyed talking to the couple my age who were trying a subscription for the first time. I liked the old guy who decided to stretch himself and come out to some classical music, even though he'd never done so before. I liked helping the man who was a bit strapped for cash but loved our organization find a way to stay involved.
I'll miss all of it. I even thought about trying to stay, and my supervisor assured me that the door's open if I ever want to come back. I may do so. I'm excited about this new job, but still sad for what I'm leaving behind. You know that you have a hell of a good boss when he advises you to take the better opportunity!
So, I start my new job on Wednesday. I'll be writing full-time!
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Breaking News: I have a job!!!!
OK, it's not a fabulous one. It's part time, phone sales, at night. But still, I'm ecstatic. So, let the shout-outs commence, in no particular order:
To my landlord: I was scared to death to tell you that both my boyfriend and I had lost our jobs. You responded by saying that it was tough for everyone right now and to pay when we could. You know, my credit card people, the utility provider and the bank who financed my car could give a shit about me. So it was nice having one less thing to worry about. Also, for the washer last week, which put an end to about six months worth of stupid washer drama.
To my friends at the Amherst Museum and in ECHF: You hear horror stories about people losing their jobs and all of their professional acquaintances, too. They decide that it's professional suicide to be associated with you. They side with your ex-employer over you, or they just look at you and see their own worst fears and avoid you. You guys did the opposite. You pushed me to get more involved. You kept me informed about job leads. You encouraged me to write for our newsletter, get involved with the annual meeting, and head up the White Glove Brigade. You gave me something meaningful to do. Sometimes, I really had to scrape up the $15 for dinner at the meeting, but it was always, always worth it. You guys are awesome and deserve everything you had and more. I can never thank any of you enough.
To the Girl Scouts of Western New York: Chairing this committee has been harrowing at times, but it, too, got me out of the house and gave me something meaningful to do. When I went to the IMLS conference, I felt a heckuva lot more confident approaching people than I would have if I'd had to tell them I was completely out of the field. I'm looking forward to continuing to try to make an impact.
To all of my WoW friends on Trollbane-US, especially those in the guild Dragoneers and formerly of the guild LastRites: I'll never know much about most of your real lives. I don't even know most of your real first names, but know you by names like Zyggynz, Illuminae, and Medesse. You guys probably don't know, either, that I've been looking for a job for what feels like forever and getting very discouraged at times. It was a comfort to always know that the game, and my friends in the game, were there for me. Sometimes, it was virtually the only form of entertainment I could afford. And sometimes, getting that holiday event achievement or rounding out my tier gear was the only thing I managed to accomplish all week. It always feels good to "hang out" with you guys in the game.
To David Clem, Niki Thomas, Tess Frazier and Kathy Leacock: You guys offered to help me get jobs in your companies/organizations. The fact that all of them wound up not working out, getting put on hold, etc. doesn't diminish the fact that all year, you were the only ones that gave me concrete leads. I'll always appreciate it, and I'll always look for a way to pay you back.
To my aunt: You randomly called me this winter and asked me out to lunch at a time when I felt like the entire world wanted nothing to do with me. It was a great lunch, and really cheered me up. Now that I have a source of income, I'm going to take you to lunch!!!
To the rest of my extended family: Seeing you guys last month for the first time in years really energized me. You know, when you're unemployed, most people hound the shit out of you. Everyone not in your situation seems to have all the answers. You guys weren't like that at all. You let me know that you loved me and wished me the best without any of the implied put-downs. And in the weeks after that wedding, I applied to like twenty jobs, including the one I just got, and you were at least part of the reason.
To my parents: Where to start. For all of the emotional support, all of the financial support, all of the encouragement. For paying for me to come visit you in Florida this winter and not mentioning a word about looking for a job the entire time. For getting me out of the house, for always cheering me up, I can never thank you enough.
To my boyfriend: You were so understanding and encouraging this whole time, even when you were feeling frustrated and discouraged with your own situation. It's been a rocky year. Looking forward to it being better -- together.
Finally, to you, the readers of this blog: Thanks for coming! I hope you've enjoyed reading what I have to say and hanging out in my own little corner of the internet. I know that every day, I have my own "blog rounds". So, if I'm part of yours, thank you for the time you spend with me, on however regular a basis you drop in. It kept me going, too.
To my landlord: I was scared to death to tell you that both my boyfriend and I had lost our jobs. You responded by saying that it was tough for everyone right now and to pay when we could. You know, my credit card people, the utility provider and the bank who financed my car could give a shit about me. So it was nice having one less thing to worry about. Also, for the washer last week, which put an end to about six months worth of stupid washer drama.
To my friends at the Amherst Museum and in ECHF: You hear horror stories about people losing their jobs and all of their professional acquaintances, too. They decide that it's professional suicide to be associated with you. They side with your ex-employer over you, or they just look at you and see their own worst fears and avoid you. You guys did the opposite. You pushed me to get more involved. You kept me informed about job leads. You encouraged me to write for our newsletter, get involved with the annual meeting, and head up the White Glove Brigade. You gave me something meaningful to do. Sometimes, I really had to scrape up the $15 for dinner at the meeting, but it was always, always worth it. You guys are awesome and deserve everything you had and more. I can never thank any of you enough.
To the Girl Scouts of Western New York: Chairing this committee has been harrowing at times, but it, too, got me out of the house and gave me something meaningful to do. When I went to the IMLS conference, I felt a heckuva lot more confident approaching people than I would have if I'd had to tell them I was completely out of the field. I'm looking forward to continuing to try to make an impact.
To all of my WoW friends on Trollbane-US, especially those in the guild Dragoneers and formerly of the guild LastRites: I'll never know much about most of your real lives. I don't even know most of your real first names, but know you by names like Zyggynz, Illuminae, and Medesse. You guys probably don't know, either, that I've been looking for a job for what feels like forever and getting very discouraged at times. It was a comfort to always know that the game, and my friends in the game, were there for me. Sometimes, it was virtually the only form of entertainment I could afford. And sometimes, getting that holiday event achievement or rounding out my tier gear was the only thing I managed to accomplish all week. It always feels good to "hang out" with you guys in the game.
To David Clem, Niki Thomas, Tess Frazier and Kathy Leacock: You guys offered to help me get jobs in your companies/organizations. The fact that all of them wound up not working out, getting put on hold, etc. doesn't diminish the fact that all year, you were the only ones that gave me concrete leads. I'll always appreciate it, and I'll always look for a way to pay you back.
To my aunt: You randomly called me this winter and asked me out to lunch at a time when I felt like the entire world wanted nothing to do with me. It was a great lunch, and really cheered me up. Now that I have a source of income, I'm going to take you to lunch!!!
To the rest of my extended family: Seeing you guys last month for the first time in years really energized me. You know, when you're unemployed, most people hound the shit out of you. Everyone not in your situation seems to have all the answers. You guys weren't like that at all. You let me know that you loved me and wished me the best without any of the implied put-downs. And in the weeks after that wedding, I applied to like twenty jobs, including the one I just got, and you were at least part of the reason.
To my parents: Where to start. For all of the emotional support, all of the financial support, all of the encouragement. For paying for me to come visit you in Florida this winter and not mentioning a word about looking for a job the entire time. For getting me out of the house, for always cheering me up, I can never thank you enough.
To my boyfriend: You were so understanding and encouraging this whole time, even when you were feeling frustrated and discouraged with your own situation. It's been a rocky year. Looking forward to it being better -- together.
Finally, to you, the readers of this blog: Thanks for coming! I hope you've enjoyed reading what I have to say and hanging out in my own little corner of the internet. I know that every day, I have my own "blog rounds". So, if I'm part of yours, thank you for the time you spend with me, on however regular a basis you drop in. It kept me going, too.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Victimized
Being a curator is generally not considered a dangerous occupation. Sure, I heard some grim stories in graduate school about textiles experts who spent their careers working in unventilated rooms with things that had used arsenic and lead in the dyeing process, and the bizarre brain cancers that cut their lives short. But by and large, the worst hazards a curator faces in the course of her work are overwork, exhaustion and that terrible coffee the volunteers insist on brewing in the breakroom. Imagine my surprise to find myself a crime victim not once, but twice this week. The first time was bad enough, when robbers entered our office overnight and stole our digital camera and all of our money. The second time felt more personal, as they took my computer.
The museum is located in a fairly sleepy little town, so not surprisingly, this has received a lot of media attention. People keep asking me if insurance will cover it, but that's not the point. I said that I feel unsafe at work, and although two board members have reassured me that it's probably just teenagers who wouldn't mean me any harm, that's not the point either. Being a victim of a robbery like that makes you feel violated in some intangible way. They touched the photo of my sister and I dressed up for Halloween when I was a kid. They dumped out one of the boxes a friend made for me by hand, looking to see if I had any money in it. In my desk drawer was a leatherbound planner my boyfriend gave me for my birthday, which they didn't get, but still. I took all of my personal stuff home with me. I don't want the robbers touching it if they come back.
I can't help but wonder, who would do something like this to a museum? Of all the places to attack. Not that it's OK to hit a for-profit business or a private home, but the museum exists solely to do good things for the community, without ever demanding anything in return. It's supposed to be an egalitarian place, where everyone from the well-to-do to the welfare recipients can come and enjoy an afternoon with their families. It preserves the history of us all, including the robbers. Seriously, what a shitty thing to do. I felt very discouraged, but I think the community is going to step up and help, which makes me feel much better. But not safe, still.
The museum is located in a fairly sleepy little town, so not surprisingly, this has received a lot of media attention. People keep asking me if insurance will cover it, but that's not the point. I said that I feel unsafe at work, and although two board members have reassured me that it's probably just teenagers who wouldn't mean me any harm, that's not the point either. Being a victim of a robbery like that makes you feel violated in some intangible way. They touched the photo of my sister and I dressed up for Halloween when I was a kid. They dumped out one of the boxes a friend made for me by hand, looking to see if I had any money in it. In my desk drawer was a leatherbound planner my boyfriend gave me for my birthday, which they didn't get, but still. I took all of my personal stuff home with me. I don't want the robbers touching it if they come back.
I can't help but wonder, who would do something like this to a museum? Of all the places to attack. Not that it's OK to hit a for-profit business or a private home, but the museum exists solely to do good things for the community, without ever demanding anything in return. It's supposed to be an egalitarian place, where everyone from the well-to-do to the welfare recipients can come and enjoy an afternoon with their families. It preserves the history of us all, including the robbers. Seriously, what a shitty thing to do. I felt very discouraged, but I think the community is going to step up and help, which makes me feel much better. But not safe, still.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
The Summer of Good Books
The year was 2005. I'd just finished graduate school, and took an internship in Western Massachusetts to fil the gap between college and gainful, full-time employment. A few days before I left, I learned (much to my displeasure) that I'd have to share the intern housing with another woman, and that we had no cable TV or internet. The horrors of it all! Without any real way to back out, I headed out into the wilderness.
I had the time of my life. My roommate turned out to be a lovely Australian woman named Sophie, the housing and grounds were absolutely beautiful (my NaBloPoMo photo was taken on the grounds that summer), and my internship was fabulous. But best of all were the books. Sophie is one of the very few bookfriends I've had in my life. I can think of maybe two other people I've met IRL that enjoyed reading and talking about books as much as I do. And I'm counting my ENTIRE life, since elementary school. The library in Stockbridge was surprisingly wonderful, well-stocked, with late hours that allowed us to go after work. Friday nights would find us down there, taking advantage of the internet and stocking up for the weekends. On a saturday, I would be frantic: the library closed at 2 and didn't reopen until Monday. The thought of having no book for that day and a half was horrifying, worse than having no food.
At nights, Sophie and I would have the run of the 50-some acre estate. Sometimes we would take our books and our tea up to the temple in the Chinese garden, or lie in the grass under the oak tree that overlooked the whole valley, where the family who built the estate picnicked over 100 years ago and decided they HAD to have their summer home there. Sophie had another weekend job with the agency at a property nearby, and one Saturday I went up there with her to see the place, keep her company between tours, and read my book in the grass near the house. Another time, for my 29th birthday, I took my book to Edith Wharton's summer home and treated myself to a dessert from the cafe (Sophie was working that day). But mostly we'd just stay on our own second-floor screened-in porch, listening to the crickets and the bluegrass on NPR, swatting away the mosquitos, and enjoying the summer nights.
I read a lot that summer: the first three Traveling Pants books, Life of Pi, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,Al Capone Does My Shirts,The House of Mirth (a direct result of my visit to The Mount, and in fact, what I read when I was there), Into the Wild, Assasination Vacation,Clockwork,Blue Latitudes,Jack the Ripper:Case Closed,Cloudsplitter,Seventeen Against the Dealer,In Cold Blood,Lost in a Good Book,The Inner Circle (a novel about Kinsey) and several others that I have no memory of but just see here on the list I was keeping that summer. We did a lot, too: I took a trip to the North Shore by myself, we went on hikes, visited all of the historic sites in the area, became well-acquainted with the Red Lion Inn and the Great Barrington Brew Pub, fell in love with the SoCo Creamery (I can still taste their Brownie Batter ice cream!!!!), swam in Stockbridge Bowl, and attended a concert at Tanglewood.
Sadly, all good things must come to an end. I got a job in Central New York. Sophie stayed until the end of the summer and spent the next year in London. She went back to Stockbridge the summer after that, and I visited her several times. She took a job in the West for a brief time before returning home to Australia. I haven't heard from her in a while, and miss her a lot. It's funny: in the movies, the main character's Last Free Summer usually involves lots of drinking, sex and wild escapades. Mine involved lots of friendship, books and nature, but it was the best.
I had the time of my life. My roommate turned out to be a lovely Australian woman named Sophie, the housing and grounds were absolutely beautiful (my NaBloPoMo photo was taken on the grounds that summer), and my internship was fabulous. But best of all were the books. Sophie is one of the very few bookfriends I've had in my life. I can think of maybe two other people I've met IRL that enjoyed reading and talking about books as much as I do. And I'm counting my ENTIRE life, since elementary school. The library in Stockbridge was surprisingly wonderful, well-stocked, with late hours that allowed us to go after work. Friday nights would find us down there, taking advantage of the internet and stocking up for the weekends. On a saturday, I would be frantic: the library closed at 2 and didn't reopen until Monday. The thought of having no book for that day and a half was horrifying, worse than having no food.
At nights, Sophie and I would have the run of the 50-some acre estate. Sometimes we would take our books and our tea up to the temple in the Chinese garden, or lie in the grass under the oak tree that overlooked the whole valley, where the family who built the estate picnicked over 100 years ago and decided they HAD to have their summer home there. Sophie had another weekend job with the agency at a property nearby, and one Saturday I went up there with her to see the place, keep her company between tours, and read my book in the grass near the house. Another time, for my 29th birthday, I took my book to Edith Wharton's summer home and treated myself to a dessert from the cafe (Sophie was working that day). But mostly we'd just stay on our own second-floor screened-in porch, listening to the crickets and the bluegrass on NPR, swatting away the mosquitos, and enjoying the summer nights.
I read a lot that summer: the first three Traveling Pants books, Life of Pi, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,Al Capone Does My Shirts,The House of Mirth (a direct result of my visit to The Mount, and in fact, what I read when I was there), Into the Wild, Assasination Vacation,Clockwork,Blue Latitudes,Jack the Ripper:Case Closed,Cloudsplitter,Seventeen Against the Dealer,In Cold Blood,Lost in a Good Book,The Inner Circle (a novel about Kinsey) and several others that I have no memory of but just see here on the list I was keeping that summer. We did a lot, too: I took a trip to the North Shore by myself, we went on hikes, visited all of the historic sites in the area, became well-acquainted with the Red Lion Inn and the Great Barrington Brew Pub, fell in love with the SoCo Creamery (I can still taste their Brownie Batter ice cream!!!!), swam in Stockbridge Bowl, and attended a concert at Tanglewood.
Sadly, all good things must come to an end. I got a job in Central New York. Sophie stayed until the end of the summer and spent the next year in London. She went back to Stockbridge the summer after that, and I visited her several times. She took a job in the West for a brief time before returning home to Australia. I haven't heard from her in a while, and miss her a lot. It's funny: in the movies, the main character's Last Free Summer usually involves lots of drinking, sex and wild escapades. Mine involved lots of friendship, books and nature, but it was the best.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
What the Hell? Or, Things I never imagined I'd be blogging about
Picture it: 5:30 AM. My guy and I are both sound asleep in our bed. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, we both snap awake. The house is filled with a burning, scorching smell. Holy shit! Did we forget to blow out the candle before bed? Did we fail to turn off the oven? The motion detector light snaps on behind the house. Don't ask what inspired us to do this, given that the stray cats around here set it off about ten times a night, but we both hop up and look out the window. There's something...strange back there. Something glowing. Something dark and smoky. HOLY SHIT, THE HOUSE BEHIND US IS ON FIRE!
All through the early morning, we could hear the windows of the burning house cracking and the occasional gust of water hit our own house. At one point, I looked outside and realized I could see right through the gable of the house. The whole roof is basically over here now. My guy went out to move our cars because they were getting pelted with water, foam, leaves, and pieces of charred wood and asphalt shingles. It still stinks over here. I don't know if you've ever smelled a house burning, but it smells really, really bad, not nice like a campfire, but acrid like burning plastic. No one was hurt, or killed or anything. I guess the house was abandoned, and slated to be torn down anyway. Well, it's happening now!
Fortunately, I had today off from work. We spent most of it catching up on the sleep we lost, then cleaning all of the pieces of roofing, charred wood, broken glass and nails out of the driveway. Fortunately there was a garage between the burning house and our cars, house and driveway, or we'd be in real trouble. There's a vacant lot right next to us and the area up by that house is crammed with debris. I took my car to Delta Sonic and got it all cleaned off and shined up. One tire was almost completely flat, and I'm hoping we didn't back over a nail or anything when my guy moved it for me early this morning (awwww). It's still all wet back there, too.
So here's a list of things I didn't know about house fires:
1. They smell really, really bad.
2. The electric company comes while the fire is still in progress to cut the power.
3. In addition to all of the utilities you'd expect to show up pre-demolition, like gas, water and electric, the phone company comes as well.
4. Debris scatters about 50 feet.
5. The house can still look more or less the same (except for the fact that the whole roof is on the property behind it) and still need emergency demolition.
6. "Emergency demolition" doesn't necessarily mean "that day." The house is still up right now.
Mostly, I hope the city comes to clean the vacant lot next to us. Even though it's not our property, we still have to look at it every day. It's bad enough that there's the rusted-out grill out there and the fallen-dwon chain-link fence. I don't want to be staring at charred wood and pieces of shingle all winter!
All through the early morning, we could hear the windows of the burning house cracking and the occasional gust of water hit our own house. At one point, I looked outside and realized I could see right through the gable of the house. The whole roof is basically over here now. My guy went out to move our cars because they were getting pelted with water, foam, leaves, and pieces of charred wood and asphalt shingles. It still stinks over here. I don't know if you've ever smelled a house burning, but it smells really, really bad, not nice like a campfire, but acrid like burning plastic. No one was hurt, or killed or anything. I guess the house was abandoned, and slated to be torn down anyway. Well, it's happening now!
Fortunately, I had today off from work. We spent most of it catching up on the sleep we lost, then cleaning all of the pieces of roofing, charred wood, broken glass and nails out of the driveway. Fortunately there was a garage between the burning house and our cars, house and driveway, or we'd be in real trouble. There's a vacant lot right next to us and the area up by that house is crammed with debris. I took my car to Delta Sonic and got it all cleaned off and shined up. One tire was almost completely flat, and I'm hoping we didn't back over a nail or anything when my guy moved it for me early this morning (awwww). It's still all wet back there, too.
So here's a list of things I didn't know about house fires:
1. They smell really, really bad.
2. The electric company comes while the fire is still in progress to cut the power.
3. In addition to all of the utilities you'd expect to show up pre-demolition, like gas, water and electric, the phone company comes as well.
4. Debris scatters about 50 feet.
5. The house can still look more or less the same (except for the fact that the whole roof is on the property behind it) and still need emergency demolition.
6. "Emergency demolition" doesn't necessarily mean "that day." The house is still up right now.
Mostly, I hope the city comes to clean the vacant lot next to us. Even though it's not our property, we still have to look at it every day. It's bad enough that there's the rusted-out grill out there and the fallen-dwon chain-link fence. I don't want to be staring at charred wood and pieces of shingle all winter!
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Ahhh...domestic bliss
I'm pleased to report that the first 24 hours with my guy have been fantastic, in a very ordinary sort of way. It wasn't so much what we did, because we haven't done anything super-special. We had a nice dinner at a neighborhood restaurant last night, we worked on unpacking stuff, I worked today, and tonight we went grocery shopping and reconfigured the computers. He cooked dinner while I did the laundry, and then we watched a movie while we ate. It's boring as hell, but it feels so good to have someone to come home to, and to not have to do all that stuff alone.
He also assembled my pretty new computer desk! I'd been in the market virtually ever since I bought my Wal-Mart POS. It didn't hold up well to the multiple moves I made with it, and it was ugly and too small to begin with. I finally got a new one for my birthday this summer. It has a tempered-glass top, a gray keyboard tray, and side shelves for my tower and printer. I wish my work desk was this nice!
I am concerned that with everything going on, I'm going to run out of steam before NaBloPoMo is even a week old. I have two books "in the pipeline" right now, and I'm reading a third. Still, if I write about one tomorrow and one Tuesday, I will have had to finish my current book by Wednesday in order to have something for that night, and even if I do, what about Thursday? My sister still hasn't called me back, so I don't know how the party went. We'll see, though. I'm going to make a real effort to find new topics and stretch myself, because isn't this what NaBloPoMo is supposed to be about?
He also assembled my pretty new computer desk! I'd been in the market virtually ever since I bought my Wal-Mart POS. It didn't hold up well to the multiple moves I made with it, and it was ugly and too small to begin with. I finally got a new one for my birthday this summer. It has a tempered-glass top, a gray keyboard tray, and side shelves for my tower and printer. I wish my work desk was this nice!
I am concerned that with everything going on, I'm going to run out of steam before NaBloPoMo is even a week old. I have two books "in the pipeline" right now, and I'm reading a third. Still, if I write about one tomorrow and one Tuesday, I will have had to finish my current book by Wednesday in order to have something for that night, and even if I do, what about Thursday? My sister still hasn't called me back, so I don't know how the party went. We'll see, though. I'm going to make a real effort to find new topics and stretch myself, because isn't this what NaBloPoMo is supposed to be about?
Friday, November 2, 2007
The Countdown is On!
In just an estimated 30 hours, I will be living with my guy! I'm so excited. We've been in a long-distance relationship for five years, and have been together for seven. I can't wait. No more phone calls at night. No more long drives after a full day of work for less than 48 hours together. We'll be a real couple and I'm just so excited that I don't even mind that he's coming with a list of relationship issues that we need to discuss in person. I'm going to post during the day tomorrow because I want to celebrate with him tomorrow night. I found a cool restaurant in my neighborhood that I think he'll like and maybe later we'll hit some of the neighborhood bars as well, or go see a movie or something. Did I mention I can't wait?!
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Resurrected from the Dead: In Memory of a Relationship
Where do relationships go when they die? Looking back on my own boyfriends, I see that I have even forgotten the broad outlines of some of those relationships, let alone the feelings that inspired them. I can remember thinking that I'd love those boys forever, that I'd lay down my life for them, that I'd never love anyone else. I can't remember why, sometimes, though.
But there is an exception lurking among my past relationships. The one that got away, that left me after a tumultuous, passionate year for another woman, a woman that (I just learned this week) he married and moved to Scotland with. When he left me, he wasn't doing well in many ways. His mother had died a few short months beforehand. He was only 19. He'd lost his job, he was very depressed, and he'd told me he'd thought about killing himself. I'd worried about him for many years. I googled his name. I tried to contact his cousin to find out what became of him. I did a deed search on his old house. I even paid $19.95 for one of those reports. I'd resigned myself long ago to never knowing the end of the story, so it was a real shock to hear it this week, just casually, from a co-worker who is the mother of his best friend. To me, it was like he was resurrected from the dead.
If a new ending to the Lord of the Rings series had been uncovered and printed in the paper, the first thing fans of the series would do after reading it would be to go back and re-read the rest of the books. And so it is with this relationship. I've been thinking, all week long, about things I haven't remembered in years.
I remembered going up to his family's camp in upstate New York, the fun of riding ATVs together (the only time I ever have), and how romantic it was to drink hot chocolate and dry out our clothes by the campfire later on.
I remembered sneaking beers out from a reception at work, and sneaking them into the drive-in and drinking them and watching the movie under a blanket in the back of his pickup truck.
I remembered hiking down by Devil's Hole with him on our first date. Romantic, and original as hell. Most guys just take you to Applebee's or something.
I remembered our very first kiss, during the fireworks at the Labor Day fair, and kissing for hours in the car in my driveway.
I remembered buying a sexy nightgown for the hotel room we got the night of our company Christmas party, and how little sleep we got that night.
I remembered getting all dressed up to have lunch at his house before work when we first started dating, even though I knew my outfit would get totaled at work (I worked with developmentally disabled people; open-toed high heels are not a good thing to wear to work).
I remembered eating dinner together on the river at the turn of the millennium, and pulling over in the middle of nowhere at midnight to kiss.
I remembered hanging out with the cousin I later tried to contact, and his friends, and how they got scammed into buying a bag of oregano on Main Street and his cousin wouldn't admit it and smoked three bowls of it by himself.
I remembered how I bought him a bonsai tree for Christmas, and then learned that he'd bought himself the exact same tree from the same place at the mall. When I went on a fishing expedition to make sure it was him who'd mentioned the bonsai and not some other friend, apparently, it reminded him of how much he wanted one and he bought it for himself!
I remembered going to Planet Hollywood in Niagara Falls with him, and how he ordered some badass manly drink with whiskey or gin or some damn thing, and he took one sip of it and couldn't finish it. I shared my fruity girly concoction with him.
I remembered all the times we walked together over the Rainbow Bridge to Canada, and how I never got tired of how terrifying and romantic the Falls were; they made every night special.
I know I made it sound perfect, and made him sound like the perfect guy. It wasn't, and he wasn't. We broke up twice before the last time, and the stress of it all made him be horrible to me sometimes. I was having trouble adjusting to life after college, and I'm sure I was horrible to him on occasion too. The way it ended, of course, was a horrible and painful shock. I think I helped him through everything, though, and that's not a small thing. I'm glad he's happy now, although part of me continues to wish that it had been me.
But despite the way it all ended, I'm glad I had it at all. If I could do it again, knowing that I couldn't change the outcome, I would.
But there is an exception lurking among my past relationships. The one that got away, that left me after a tumultuous, passionate year for another woman, a woman that (I just learned this week) he married and moved to Scotland with. When he left me, he wasn't doing well in many ways. His mother had died a few short months beforehand. He was only 19. He'd lost his job, he was very depressed, and he'd told me he'd thought about killing himself. I'd worried about him for many years. I googled his name. I tried to contact his cousin to find out what became of him. I did a deed search on his old house. I even paid $19.95 for one of those reports. I'd resigned myself long ago to never knowing the end of the story, so it was a real shock to hear it this week, just casually, from a co-worker who is the mother of his best friend. To me, it was like he was resurrected from the dead.
If a new ending to the Lord of the Rings series had been uncovered and printed in the paper, the first thing fans of the series would do after reading it would be to go back and re-read the rest of the books. And so it is with this relationship. I've been thinking, all week long, about things I haven't remembered in years.
I remembered going up to his family's camp in upstate New York, the fun of riding ATVs together (the only time I ever have), and how romantic it was to drink hot chocolate and dry out our clothes by the campfire later on.
I remembered sneaking beers out from a reception at work, and sneaking them into the drive-in and drinking them and watching the movie under a blanket in the back of his pickup truck.
I remembered hiking down by Devil's Hole with him on our first date. Romantic, and original as hell. Most guys just take you to Applebee's or something.
I remembered our very first kiss, during the fireworks at the Labor Day fair, and kissing for hours in the car in my driveway.
I remembered buying a sexy nightgown for the hotel room we got the night of our company Christmas party, and how little sleep we got that night.
I remembered getting all dressed up to have lunch at his house before work when we first started dating, even though I knew my outfit would get totaled at work (I worked with developmentally disabled people; open-toed high heels are not a good thing to wear to work).
I remembered eating dinner together on the river at the turn of the millennium, and pulling over in the middle of nowhere at midnight to kiss.
I remembered hanging out with the cousin I later tried to contact, and his friends, and how they got scammed into buying a bag of oregano on Main Street and his cousin wouldn't admit it and smoked three bowls of it by himself.
I remembered how I bought him a bonsai tree for Christmas, and then learned that he'd bought himself the exact same tree from the same place at the mall. When I went on a fishing expedition to make sure it was him who'd mentioned the bonsai and not some other friend, apparently, it reminded him of how much he wanted one and he bought it for himself!
I remembered going to Planet Hollywood in Niagara Falls with him, and how he ordered some badass manly drink with whiskey or gin or some damn thing, and he took one sip of it and couldn't finish it. I shared my fruity girly concoction with him.
I remembered all the times we walked together over the Rainbow Bridge to Canada, and how I never got tired of how terrifying and romantic the Falls were; they made every night special.
I know I made it sound perfect, and made him sound like the perfect guy. It wasn't, and he wasn't. We broke up twice before the last time, and the stress of it all made him be horrible to me sometimes. I was having trouble adjusting to life after college, and I'm sure I was horrible to him on occasion too. The way it ended, of course, was a horrible and painful shock. I think I helped him through everything, though, and that's not a small thing. I'm glad he's happy now, although part of me continues to wish that it had been me.
But despite the way it all ended, I'm glad I had it at all. If I could do it again, knowing that I couldn't change the outcome, I would.
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