Small World

As I sit in my bedroom, I'm surrounded by numerous photos. Photos of people whom I haven't talked to in years, photos of happy moments with my family, photos of friends whom, although I don't talk to, I will never forget and photos of memories I want to always remember.

There's a photo of a friend (that I haven't talked to in years) and me at an ASU football game. Another photo of a family trip to Mexico when I was 27 (we looked like we didn't have a care in the world). One photo of me in a maid of honor dress, standing next to a bride, whom, if I'm lucky, I get to see once a year. I can't forget the picture of me and my sister before a John Mayer concert, one of our last real sister bonding moments. There's the photo of me and Kim at my first prom chaperoning experience (who would've known that we would become such good friends?). 

But, as I look around, I notice that there are moments in my life that I have no pictures of. Moments that weren't horrible, but moments that I have forgotten over time. One such moment is from my first "real" job. The summer after my first year at NAU I worked for a temp agency. My first assignment: Norwest Bank. Operations center. Balancing ATM machines. I knew NOTHING about balancing ATM machines, but I caught on quickly and was soon hired as a permanent employee of the bank. 

After about a year, Norwest merged with Wells Fargo and my ATM balancing went to teller balancing. I shared a cubicle with Brenda. Brenda and I became good work friends. We talked about our walks with Christ (she continually invited me to her church), my non-existent love life, our future plans in life, her family, my family, etc. Brenda and I shared a lot of time together. But soon our time was over and I moved on and left all my Norwest friends behind. 

As time passed, I forgot about those people - about the talks I had with many of them, the events we all celebrated together, recipes we shared, frustrations we had, weekly meetings, too many chiefs and not enough indians, etc. 

I forgot about them until one day. I was at the gym, sweating my butt off in an aerobics class. As the instructor counted, she suddenly stopped what she was doing, looked in the mirror at me and exclaimed "Melanie? Melanie Allen!?" I looked at her with a perplexed look on my face, "It's me, Brenda Tannor!" she continued. This wasn't possible. All those bank people had just fizzled away, but standing before me was evidence of the past that I had forgotten. After class Brenda and I caught up. 

As I drove home, I was reminded of all the people that have come in and out of my life. All these people have left some sort of impression on my life whether or not I have a picture to remember them by.

Would you like fries with that?

Have you ever made that list of things you have to do at least once? Well, I had never imagined that working at McDonalds would make that list. In high school, whenever I talked about wanting a job, my mom tried pushing me to work at a fast food restaurant or the grocery store, but as a teenager I felt that that was beneath me, so my response, every time, without hesitation, was no. So, when I was asked to work at McDonald's, as a fundraiser, I actually hesitated this time. Before I pushed "reply" on the e-mail asking for volunteers, I had to weigh the options. As you've guessed the answer, this time, was YES. 

Eleven teachers, myself making 12, agreed to work at McDonalds for three hours. Upon arriving at the restaurant we were met by four mangers wearing white shirts and ascots and a variety of McDonalds employees. The next thing we knew, one manager was stationing us in various "zones": register, drive thru, fry maker, McFlurry extraordinaire, cleaning patrol and cookie seller. We were supposed to be given a 30 minute training session, but instead we received a 30 second training session. As soon as we "learned" our new job, we were off and running. 

Kim was master fry maker...poor thing, every time I turned around to check on her, she was wiping sweat off her brow. 

Heather tried her hand at the register, but was quickly overwhelmed, so she took on the task of McFlurry maker with Luanne. 

I was on register...it was later that I found out that the assistant manager was ready to give me a job (I had to decline). 

After three hours we were finally done and the managers treated us to a meal. We sat around three tables chowing down on fries, sipping on soda and reminiscing about the afternoon. To be honest...I have a newfound admiration for fast-food workers, but still have no desire to become one myself. 

One more item to check off on my non-existent list: "Would you like fries with that?"

The Painting

On one of our last visits to Indiana to see our grandma, my sister asked if she could have a painting that hung above our grandma's couch of a girl playing the piano. My grandma graciously agreed, but I was angry...I liked that painting too and why should my sister have it just because she was the oldest. When our grandmother passed away, one of the first things my sister claimed was the painting and when we moved into our condo it was one of the first things that went up on the wall. 

For almost seven years this painting has adorned the wall of my (and at one time my sister's) condo. I never thought anything about it even though the painting kind of creeped me out. For a while I searched for something to hang in its place. But I could never find anything, so I left the painting where it was. Over the years I've moved the couch a few inches here and a few inches there and have moved the painting as needed.

My friend's sister was visiting for a few days over spring break; and we decided to begin our break with a spring training game. Everyone was going to meet at my house to carpool out to the game. My friend and her sister were the first to arrive. Upon setting foot into my house, my friend's sister looks at the painting above my couch and tells me that a single woman should NEVER have a painting of another single female in her house. It's bad relationship karma. I immediately freaked out, blaming it on my sister, after all, it was HER painting. No wonder why no relationships have existed for me since moving into this place. 

I tried to shake off her "advice" and left the painting where it was, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Finally, I gave in, took the painting down and shoved it in a closet. And now I wonder...what does this blank wall mean? Is it a clean slate...a new beginning...a relationship waiting to begin...or just another blank wall that I have to figure out how to decorate? I'm thinking it means the latter...so thank you Erika for freaking me out and now forcing me to re-decorate my living room wall!