Thursday, September 1, 2011

buenos días chica bonita.

To not include that I ate at Tacos San Pedro on the Southside and at Stables in Guthrie would be remiss and an inaccurate depiction of my summer.
Stables was totally summer as we went there straight from the swimming pool, dripping wet on the country road drive out to a burger land complete with perfect onion rings.

I also, maybe somewhat perversely, thought my iPhone pic would be a good segue into an analysis of two people I've decided represent my conscience - personal Jimminy Crickets if you will, both cooks at The Wedge, both originally from Mexico.

(I actually have no idea how to correctly spell it, but it's pronounced sigh-yule).
Pudgy and smiling with puffer fish cheeks - imagine a little Mexican teddy bear.
Complete sweetheart - as in, sweet heart.
Works mornings at Jimmy's Egg and nights at The Wedge (and "nights" at The Wedge for cooks begin at 3 and go until 10 or later, so I can't imagine what "mornings" at Jimmy's Egg mean) every single day of the week.
I can hear him saying, "Buenos días chica bonita" in my head any time I need to smile. What a way to be greeted on a daily basis.

Speaks perfect English - the kind that makes you ashamed to admit you took mandatory Spanish classes in middle school and high school.
The type of person that has unrealized potential so obviously beyond his current occupation.
And I will never forget him telling a couple of us that his girlfriend was pregnant and he was going to be a father. It was more a confession than an announcement, and I couldn't get the image out of my head of those dads in old movies and television shows who have to sit out in the waiting room: smoking, pacing the floor, trying desperately to read a newspaper. And then the nurse walks in with a pale blue "It's a Boy!" cigar or something - resulting in a look on their face as if they've just fully realized the responsibility of being a man: part wonder, part relief, and part daunting fear. From that moment on, he pretty much began working every possible shift.

So if things are hard and I feel like whining, I'm trying to think of my personal pillars of integrity: Saul and Jesus. What would they do in my over-educated white girl shoes? Work hard. Kick ass and take names - while wishing you a good day, of course.

(p.s. I totally don't mean to make this political, but anyone who can justify not supporting the DREAM Act obviously never worked in a restaurant).

(p.p.s. My Dad used to tell me and my sisters to "Kick ass and take names" every day before school - which used to embarrass me beyond belief. I now realize it was a really cool way to start us off on our day. There's nothing like a good semi-curse word on the way to second grade).