Cheers!

     Right now I would like nothing more than to walk down to the nearby trendy street and have a latte.  And when I say latte, I mean beer.  The reasons for wanting to do this are plentiful: the weather is finally gorgeous a comfortable 75 degrees, I can still make happy hour, it is only about a half mile walk which is extremely reasonable (plus I'll burn some of those beer calories), people watching is always fun, beer just tastes better by the pint, among other reasons.  However, I don't feel up to doing this adventure solo.  It is a problem that I encounter frequently.  It's not just the independence thing, which I'm pretty good with.  It's not the drinking alone thing (it is a reasonable hour and I'm not going to any extremes here, people).  It is that I don't like strangers to talk to me.  I know, I've mentioned it before and it is weird.  I'm not trying to toot my own horn, but I tend to get attention from the opposite sex. 
     I think it is mostly the redhead thing.  I mean I have got a LOT of curly red hair.  I sort of stick out in a crowd.  At Trader Joe's one employee asked me twice if I was finding everything alright, I was fine.  Then he said that I have an older-era look, um, okay.  THEN he asked if I needed help to my car.  NO!  I am absolutely not sending any signals (do my capital letters convey this?).  If this happens when I go grocery shopping what would happen in a social setting such as a bar or restaurant? 
     One of the reasons my independent adventures come up so often is because my boyfriend is attending law school.  Law school is a time-suck.  One homework assignment can last hours.  Getting ahead on homework and reading assignments lasts only one day at most.  To make matters worse, he is an incredibly hard worker and continues to challenge himself.  I am super proud of him and extremely pleased that he will be graduating in just a few months!  It will all be over soon.  In the meantime we will continue to make the occasional happy hour out on the town, while settling for the occasional happy hour at home. 
     So I settle in for a nice beer at home.  I guess it it is better this way.  I save money, for one thing.  But mostly, I can still spend time with my boyfriend.  And when I say spend time with, I mean he's busy studying while I watch hours of TV, blog, nap, and occasionally cook.  Today I made a smoothie!  Cheers to you, dear reader.
Ginger out.

Cafe Relationships

     I feel compelled to write about work a lot.  Probably because I spend most of my waking hours there, well I'm mostly awake.  Also because I get to observe people.  People are strange.

     I have said before that complete strangers feel very comfortable talking to me.  This is unfortunate because, in general, I don't like strangers.  They like to talk to me about my red hair, their personal problems, doctor appointments, Saks Fifth Avenue among things.

     On the one hand I can understand why some customers feel like we have a genuine friendly relationship.  I see some of them five or more times a week.  On the other hand, let's just define this relationship: cafe employee and coffee enthusiast.  This does not make me eligible for nicknames; the strangest one I've heard so far is, "Thanks, love muffin!"  I didn't even know Quad Grande Americano's name at this point.  Customers have also divulged impending divorces, upcoming surgeries, and the fact that they drink their beverage everyday in the shower.  This could be perceived as too much information.  Behind the counter we all laugh and swap stories and biographies about our customers.

     One of my coworkers recently informed me that I look friendlier than I am.  Gee, thanks.  My boyfriend calls me "Grandma catnip," stating that they just can't get enough of me.  I do realize that I look friendly, but I also am friendly.  In customer service this is an asset.  Working at this store I have gotten very good at knowing a lot of different customers' names and even more of their drinks.  Usually knowing the beverage comes first.  I am very good at remembering faces. 

     I recently had a secret admirer (yeah, I guess they really exist) call my store.  After answering the phone with my usual salutation (which includes my name), all he said was "Hi Rachel."  This is a normal response to hear from one of my coworkers, so I was trying to figure out who I was talking to so I rebutted with a classy, "Sorry, who is this?"  He said it was a customer that I was nice to, which really narrows it down.  Everyone knows that when I'm having a friendly episode often my niceness will show.  I calmly asked what I could do for him, expecting a large order for coffee or a question about our store hours.  Instead, he asked me out.  Anonymously.  Who does that?  I politely declined and got back to work.  

     When I told my boyfriend about this odd encounter he told me that I may have just missed my opportunity to have a sugar daddy.  Great.  My other friends laughed and thought it was odd, but a, "low-risk endeavor."  Yes low-risk, but also low-reward.  It is just weird.  I have never heard of someone phoning in a date request without even identifying themselves.  Just another day at the office. 

Books

 I am a nerd and I am proud of it.  One of my coworkers was recently making small talk and asked what books I had read recently.  As I enumerated my books about science his eyes widened with disbelief.  He was all, “To relax, you read books on the elements!?”  I explain that it is enjoyable to me, and if the material ever gets dry it just helps me to sleep!  Nerd books of late include the history of the periodic table, a seventeenth century cholera outbreak, and a neurologist’s antics studying baboons in the bush. 

Another coworker asked for recommendations on reading materials.  Here was someone I could relate to.  She also had a Bachelor of Science degree; she’ll appreciate my taste.  However, as I recited various titles and authors to her, she just stared.  I almost offered to write them down for her, then I realized, her mind and her eyes were screaming: Geek!

I enjoy the feel of a book, the feel and smell of paper in your hands.  I like unwrapping books on my birthday and Christmas.   I remember reading a bookstore advertisement explaining the wonder at receiving a book as a gift.  They explained that you know what it is going to be, but you tear at the wrappings anyway.  At this, one of my schoolmates exclaimed in wonder, "But HOW can you tell that it's a book?"  I remember staring at her in wonder.  Thoughts whizzed through my head.  Has she never received a book as a gift?  And Is she an absolute idiot?  Shortly thereafter I conferred with my mother, we were agreed her mind is a foreign land to us. I have also received journals as gifts.  Those are great for their own reasons, but I can't help but feel a small twinge of disappointment when those blank pages reveal themselves to me.  I also like shopping for books.  Whether it's a gift for a friend or a gift for myself I shop by picking them up, reading a few lines from a random selection, and most importantly judging their covers. 

They say you shouldn’t do that, but how can you not?  If people didn’t do that they would all have titles in black text on a white cover.  There wouldn’t be advertisers and graphic designers working for a living by producing book covers.  Authors probably wouldn’t take the time discovering the titles of their works.  Awards wouldn’t be listed on the front, medallions shining.  Reviews wouldn’t be printed on the front and no one would know which had been recently turned into a major motion picture.  But people do judge books by their covers. 

Extinction?

DNA

Another note on gingers.  We only make up 1-2% of the world population; but we are not dying out.  It is a mutation and we will prevail!  As I stated previously, it takes both parents carrying the “gingervitis” gene, which is recessive.  However, despite the parent’s hair color they could still carry the mutation.  In fact, this gene has been shown to even skip generations. 

 It is the strangest thing, having someone (a complete stranger) come up to you and tell you, you are a dying breed.  At first you think, oh, he’s referring to the fact that I’m a real lady, a gentlewoman.  But no, he’s heard some bogus study claiming that by the year 2060 there will be no red heads left on Earth.  Yeah, maybe we’ll get on a spacecraft and start a new civilization away from all the discrimination/ignorance.  However, even if we (as if I’ll be leading this space exploration) successfully depart our dear mother Earth, we will have to check back continually for new mutants—I mean redheads. 

It’s not as if the fact that I’m a ginger has somehow held me back in life.  I have successfully finished college.  I am in a healthy monogamous relationship.  I have had a steady job from one employer for four years.  Life should be good.  However, I sometimes feel like a freak-show at a circus, as my dear grandmother put it, “It’s like you are a national park and people are have a right to view your beauty.”  Come one, come all, see the natural splendors of your local ginger!  Hm, maybe I should start charging admission.

Not my Nana

Speaking of dear Nana, the demographic that loves me more than any other: L.O.L. (little old ladies).  I must be the granddaughter they never had.  At work, they immediately attach to me.  They are more curious than other admirers and shower me with compliments.  After this initial contact they forever remember me, sometimes dismissing my coworkers.  They discuss their last visit, ask for recommendations, tell me about their other grandchildren (by this time I’ve adopted them as surrogate grandmothers), and show genuine curiosity about my day.  Hm, maybe I should start cashing in on this via butterscotches and superfluous birthday checks. 

Curious, my asides have increasingly to do with cash.  Maybe I should start a fundraiser.  “Feed the ginger”?  No that sounds like a zoo attraction, and I’m well fed.  Can’t do an “Educate the ginger” because I have one bachelor degree already.  Any suggestions?  Note: I am not a great dancer, my sewing skills are lacking, I can make a mean bowl of popcorn, and I can walk to dog like no ones business. 

Being a ginger in the 21st century

So if you have stumbled onto the blog you either know me personally or know my mom.  If you don't know what a ginger is, it is a redhead.  The term is commonplace in the UK but became more popular after an episode of South Park featured gingers (and their disease Gingervitis, lack of soul). 

Ginger has a slightly negative connotation, especially in the UK where they are discriminated against.  However they are less than adored throughout the rest of Europe.  I had an Austrian philosophy professor who confessed that he and his wife were afraid they might conceive a ginger.  At this point I dropped the course.  Mysteriously though, he had me in his course book as already having dropped the class.  Either way he hated gingers and I was getting the heck outta there. 

For some reason people are drawn to redheads.  I don't know if we look friendly or interesting.  Perhaps they once knew a ginger and maybe I know them also.  I personally know that when I meet a fellow redhead I do feel a sort of kinship with them.  They know what it's like to go through life with sunscreen at the ready.  They know what it's like to turn bright red when embarrassed.  They know what it's like to have fair eyebrows and eyelashes.  They just know.  They get me.

However it is nothing less than awkward when someone forces their ginger relations on you.  One of my regular customers was convinced that I look just like his daughter, age 7.  Our similarities end at red hair and blue eyes.  He brought her in once and we shared a knowing glance her father was annoying.  As a child with red hair I was often faced with the dilemma of strangers.  Strangers were constantly coming up to me and telling me what lovely hair I had and asking where I got it. I would tell them, "from my parents."  They would try to ask which one, but I wouldn't have any of it.  I wasn't supposed to be talking to them to begin with (unless they had some tasty sweets). 

As I've previously stated, people are morons.  I learned in about the fifth grade what a Punnett square was.  I didn't understand the entire concept of chromosomes at that age, but I did understand that both my parents had to carry the "gingervitis" gene in order for me to have red hair.  Adults however, are still baffled by this.  And what does one say when you get complimented on something you had no control over.  "Oh yeah, I'll be sure to tell my dad that the singular sperm that happened to out swim the others carried an absolute jackpot of genetic information!"

Lastly, no I'm not Irish and I do not have a temper.  Admittedly my family tree does have a smidgen of Irish but I have far more French and Nordic stock in me.  So when people tell me that I must be Irish, ("Oh, what a novel thought, I never heard that before," I think to myself) I tell them no.  I say cool as a cucumber that I am not Irish at all. 

With the matter of the temper I am not doing well defending myself with this blog full of rage.  It is frustrating because any time someone says that I must have a temper, they are usually doing or saying something that would make a normal person mad.  I, however, have to stay doubly cool in these situations or else I start to blush which just makes me look like I'm angry.  I guess turning red is better than green... GINGER SMASH!

Ginger out.

Brand new blog

Hello world.

Here goes with my first blog post.  Or do I just call it a "blog"?  Obviously I am not blog-savvy yet.  I have not decided what I will be discussing or who I will be sharing this with but one thing that is certain is grammar.  I strive to have flawless verbal skills, almost obsessively so.  It makes me cringe when people spell things incorrectly, use a word wrong, or mix-up tense or possession in everyday language.

Lately the one that has been killing me is when people incorrectly use "so-and-so and I."  Apparently they think that "so-and-so and me" is bad grammar.  No where else is this more true than on facebook.   I'm all for labeling pictures and having quirky captions describing your family vacation or your roommate's wedding, but just have your mom proof-read it (I don't think that was a "your mom" joke, but it could be).

I've been called the grammar police

A new phenomenon I've noticed on facebook is people capitalizing words that aren't proper nouns.  WTF?  Someone will have a status update along the lines of, "I Have Such good Friends!  I love Spending Time with My Girls!!!!!"  Please note the excessive exclamation marks.  All I have to say about those is, "really?  Really?"

I know now that I've confessed this, I am going to get comments saying I have misused a word or, more likely, punctuation.  I can deal with it.  If I couldn't take it, I wouldn't dish it.

This blog is probably going to just turn into a rant about... everyone.  I work in a food service/retail job where I am assaulted on a daily basis with idiots.  The types of people that say "exetera."  Ugh.

That is all for now.

Ginger out.