"No way."
The words struck me like a sack of 50 lb. potatoes. That was the end. I had no chance with her. She thought I was a freak.
Luckily, though she claims to have turned me down the first time around, I have no memory of that event. So about a week later, I asked her again and this time the fates had swung in my favor. She said yes. Actually, someone had walked up to her at that moment asking if we had any napkins, so she told him yes. However, I mistook the yes to be directed at me, and upon realizing her mistake, there was no way of it. She was stuck on a date with me.
Friday came quickly and I spent the day making preparations. In the morning after class I went to the grocery store to pick up ingredients. Unfortunately I had no car so I borrowed one from a friend in the ward. Their tank was almost empty so I decided to fill up the car after buying pizza ingredients. The remainder of the afternoon was spent making dough and pizza sauce so it would be ready later. Just as I was preparing my special sauce, I pulled a perfect Nora's Christmas Gift and dumped an entire container of salt into the pan without realizing it. It was a great taste experience. I could only hope she wouldn't notice.
Time was running and there was still a lot I needed to get ready. Luckily the same friend who had loaned me her car had a table cloth and some nice plates and cups. I entrusted her and my roommate to set things up while I went off to work, for the date would immediately follow and I had no time. It was off to work, and then it was time for the date. We walked home through night. It was magical. I was nervous about what kind of joke they would set the room up as.
It was perfectly set up. There was a nice white tablecloth and some snazzy dishes along with a vase of fake roses. We put together a pizza and stuck it in the oven. When it was done there was a nice aestheticly pleasing bubble covering half the pizza and a lovely two inch crust. I turned on some classy music and we had our first kiss.
No wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. We ate the insanely salty pizza and a miracle took place that night. She didn't notice the salt! At this point I still wasn't sure she even considered it a date, so just to be sure I invited her to Friday Night Live, a BYU event taking place that night. She agreed and we returned to the Wilk to watch some capoeira and play ping-pong. I then obtained my roommate's car to take her home and even got a half-hearted hug out of it all. She didn't really thank me for the date or anything, but I thought it turned out nicely.
The biggest event was that I asked her out for the next week and she said yes. It was a good sign.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Part 2: Making the Move
Naturally, like any guy would do after that first day of work, I went home and told my roommates what a cute girl I was working with. Naturally, they wanted to see pictures. Like any guy would do, I turned to Facebook. Like any girl would do, she made her profile private so I couldn't show off any pictures beyond this completely obscure photo:
Now, that picture would never do, so after a week or two of hesitation, I decided to be bold and added her as a friend on Facebook. I wasn't daring though, so I made sure to change my picture so it wasn't my freaky zombie one. It was that move that started it all: she added me as a friend on Facebook!
It turns out she took full advantage of that by syphoning pictures of me onto her hard drive. Meanwhile, I was showing off pictures of her to my roommates until they finally asked the simple question: Why don't you ask her out?
What? At this point I was getting rather frustrated with what one might call a dating frenzy. What was the point? I was just some nerdy computer science major. Besides, the other day at work, I saw her talking animatedly with this one guy named Allen. I stood no chance.
Nevertheless, date ideas constantly flooded my mind. I had to try them on someone, and she was definitely the best pick in all of BYU. It also eventually dawned on me that the guy she had talked with was actually her brother. Why not make the move?
So one day we were walking down the spiral staircase to the locker room dungeon of the Cougareat and I finally asked what I had wanted to for several weeks: "Um, you wanna make some pizza at my place this Friday after work?"
The life-changing question had been posed.
This Is Your Story
Over the next few weeks during the few moments we actually find time, we'll be telling our story for those who may not have heard it already. And so without further ado, here it is from the beginning...
It all began in September of 2007. I, being the poor college student I was, who also happened to want a car, decided I should get a job. I thought of seeking a computer job and Roger had told me of a programming spot at the MTC, so I sent in my resumé. Weeks went by with no response, so I decided to go for a more stereotypical college job. One thing I didn't even consider was custodial work. Oh no, no more early mornings for me (even if I did get free cookies). Thus, after several glances at the job board in the Wilk, I spotted a job opening for the dishroom at the MTC.
Washing dishes, woohoo! That sounded like the dream job for me, and it was only for 9 hours a week in the late afternoon, so I could easily fit it into my schedule. My friend and I made haste to the MTC for an interview/orientation. We were basically hired on the spot. The man started explaining our duties, and at that point I had a choice to make.
Missionaries usually like to eat, even on Sundays, so once every three weeks we would be required to work on Sunday. Certainly it was for a noble cause, but Sunday work still didn't seem all to appealing to me. I then thought of the 25 minute walk it had been to even get there, and the idea of walking that distance back and forth day in and day out was even less appealing, especially as I envisioned the winter months.
Well, my friend was very decisive about not working Sundays and walked out then and there. The man turned towards me with sad eyes. "How about you?"
Oh no! He was guilt-tripping me! I've always been a sucker for that! But still, I held firm. If my friend wasn't even going to work there, it would be awfully boring. I too walked out despite the moans of a thousand missionaries crying out at the thought of dirty dishes on Sunday.
Incidently, I almost never saw that friend again. Their role in my life was complete.
It was back to the job board, scanning up and down the posts to find something without very many hours that wasn't early morning, late evening, early afternoon, late morning, late night, or even early night for that matter. Finally, I spotted a tiny post of about 3 lines hidden amongst the others:
Cougareat
Host MWF 4-7 PM
I'd only been to the Cougareat once or twice before, but I didn't remember ever seeing someone greeting people, helping them find a seat and taking tips. Isn't that what a host does? Oh well, it sounded like it met my employment requirements, so I called in for an interview.
Meanwhile, let's shift focus across the country to the Summer of 2007. A girl is sitting at her computer. She gets an email from the Cougareat asking if she's coming back in the fall. Instantly memories of trash compactors, garbage cans, broken salt containers and ninjas come to her head. Of course I'm not! she thinks and starts to reply. There was a lot of static electricity in the air that day, and before she can type, "I'm never setting foot in the likes of that place again," the 'I' key shocks her so hard she goes flying backwards into the wall. Shaken up, she tries again and types, "I'm outta this place." Right before hitting send, however, a massive electrical power outtage knocks out her computer. An hour later the power finally comes back on, and by this point the girl has accepted her fate. In tears, she tells the Cougareat that yes, she is coming back.
We now return to our main story. After class the following Monday, I hurried over to the office behind Jamba Juice and met with Janet and Barbara for my interview. They asked several probing questions: How motivated was I at working under little supervision? Why did I want to work at the Cougareat? Do you even know what a host is? How many murders had I committed in the last six months? I aced the interview. Certainly I was the one qualified for the job. They looked at each other and Barbara asked, "What do you think?" They quietly discussed things for a few moment and then she turned back to me, announcing, "Well, I don't think anyone else has applied for this position, so I guess we'll offer it to you."
Yay! I had a job! Work would begin on Wednesday. Let's say Wednesday, September 19, 2007, just to have a day. I actually don't remember when it was. I was supposed to call the crew supervisor Tasha so she could come and train me. We planned to meet in front of Sugar & Spice at four o'clock on Wednesday for the training. The day arrived and I stood there in my new garbs, apron, hat, blue Cougareat shirt and all. There was no one named Tasha around there. I stood around for a few more minutes until I spotted a girl pushing a cart full of napkins and utensils out the door. Since she was dressed like me, I assumed she was my co-worker and approached her, stepping in front of the cart.
"What do you want?" she gave me an annoyed glare.
"Hi, I'm new here," I told her.
"No duh," she rolled her eyes.
"I'm looking for Tasha. If she doesn't show up soon, can I just follow you around?"
The girl rolled her eyes again and let out a long sigh. "I suppose so." She proceeded to shove me out of the way with her cart and I returned to my post in front of Sugar & Spice.
Not too long afterwards, a girl in civilian clothing walked up asking if I was Chris. I told her I was and she revealed that she was Tasha, and that she was an undercover crew supervisor. She warned me how hard and demanding being a host was and proceeded to go over the basic duties: Filling napkins and utensils, collecting dirty trays and stocking new ones, wiping off dirty tables, taking down crowd control ropes and changing trashes. She told me to follow my coworker until I got the hang of it, wished me good luck, and vanished back into the shadows. Completely overwhelmed, I wandered around the kitchen until finally finding the exit into the eating area. I soon spotted the girl I had talked to earlier and followed her around for the remainder of the day. She showed me where to take trash, where to get napkins, and made me clean the store's signs, mop the entire dining area floor, dust the light fixtures and stick my head in the fry grease to make sure it was still fresh. I later learned some of those were not host duties.
Finally 7 o'clock arrived and my first shift at work was over. I decided I'd better learn my coworker's name and looked at her nametag: Amanda.
It all began in September of 2007. I, being the poor college student I was, who also happened to want a car, decided I should get a job. I thought of seeking a computer job and Roger had told me of a programming spot at the MTC, so I sent in my resumé. Weeks went by with no response, so I decided to go for a more stereotypical college job. One thing I didn't even consider was custodial work. Oh no, no more early mornings for me (even if I did get free cookies). Thus, after several glances at the job board in the Wilk, I spotted a job opening for the dishroom at the MTC.
Washing dishes, woohoo! That sounded like the dream job for me, and it was only for 9 hours a week in the late afternoon, so I could easily fit it into my schedule. My friend and I made haste to the MTC for an interview/orientation. We were basically hired on the spot. The man started explaining our duties, and at that point I had a choice to make.
Missionaries usually like to eat, even on Sundays, so once every three weeks we would be required to work on Sunday. Certainly it was for a noble cause, but Sunday work still didn't seem all to appealing to me. I then thought of the 25 minute walk it had been to even get there, and the idea of walking that distance back and forth day in and day out was even less appealing, especially as I envisioned the winter months.
Well, my friend was very decisive about not working Sundays and walked out then and there. The man turned towards me with sad eyes. "How about you?"
Oh no! He was guilt-tripping me! I've always been a sucker for that! But still, I held firm. If my friend wasn't even going to work there, it would be awfully boring. I too walked out despite the moans of a thousand missionaries crying out at the thought of dirty dishes on Sunday.
Incidently, I almost never saw that friend again. Their role in my life was complete.
It was back to the job board, scanning up and down the posts to find something without very many hours that wasn't early morning, late evening, early afternoon, late morning, late night, or even early night for that matter. Finally, I spotted a tiny post of about 3 lines hidden amongst the others:
Cougareat
Host MWF 4-7 PM
I'd only been to the Cougareat once or twice before, but I didn't remember ever seeing someone greeting people, helping them find a seat and taking tips. Isn't that what a host does? Oh well, it sounded like it met my employment requirements, so I called in for an interview.
Meanwhile, let's shift focus across the country to the Summer of 2007. A girl is sitting at her computer. She gets an email from the Cougareat asking if she's coming back in the fall. Instantly memories of trash compactors, garbage cans, broken salt containers and ninjas come to her head. Of course I'm not! she thinks and starts to reply. There was a lot of static electricity in the air that day, and before she can type, "I'm never setting foot in the likes of that place again," the 'I' key shocks her so hard she goes flying backwards into the wall. Shaken up, she tries again and types, "I'm outta this place." Right before hitting send, however, a massive electrical power outtage knocks out her computer. An hour later the power finally comes back on, and by this point the girl has accepted her fate. In tears, she tells the Cougareat that yes, she is coming back.
We now return to our main story. After class the following Monday, I hurried over to the office behind Jamba Juice and met with Janet and Barbara for my interview. They asked several probing questions: How motivated was I at working under little supervision? Why did I want to work at the Cougareat? Do you even know what a host is? How many murders had I committed in the last six months? I aced the interview. Certainly I was the one qualified for the job. They looked at each other and Barbara asked, "What do you think?" They quietly discussed things for a few moment and then she turned back to me, announcing, "Well, I don't think anyone else has applied for this position, so I guess we'll offer it to you."
Yay! I had a job! Work would begin on Wednesday. Let's say Wednesday, September 19, 2007, just to have a day. I actually don't remember when it was. I was supposed to call the crew supervisor Tasha so she could come and train me. We planned to meet in front of Sugar & Spice at four o'clock on Wednesday for the training. The day arrived and I stood there in my new garbs, apron, hat, blue Cougareat shirt and all. There was no one named Tasha around there. I stood around for a few more minutes until I spotted a girl pushing a cart full of napkins and utensils out the door. Since she was dressed like me, I assumed she was my co-worker and approached her, stepping in front of the cart.
"What do you want?" she gave me an annoyed glare.
"Hi, I'm new here," I told her.
"No duh," she rolled her eyes.
"I'm looking for Tasha. If she doesn't show up soon, can I just follow you around?"
The girl rolled her eyes again and let out a long sigh. "I suppose so." She proceeded to shove me out of the way with her cart and I returned to my post in front of Sugar & Spice.
Not too long afterwards, a girl in civilian clothing walked up asking if I was Chris. I told her I was and she revealed that she was Tasha, and that she was an undercover crew supervisor. She warned me how hard and demanding being a host was and proceeded to go over the basic duties: Filling napkins and utensils, collecting dirty trays and stocking new ones, wiping off dirty tables, taking down crowd control ropes and changing trashes. She told me to follow my coworker until I got the hang of it, wished me good luck, and vanished back into the shadows. Completely overwhelmed, I wandered around the kitchen until finally finding the exit into the eating area. I soon spotted the girl I had talked to earlier and followed her around for the remainder of the day. She showed me where to take trash, where to get napkins, and made me clean the store's signs, mop the entire dining area floor, dust the light fixtures and stick my head in the fry grease to make sure it was still fresh. I later learned some of those were not host duties.
Finally 7 o'clock arrived and my first shift at work was over. I decided I'd better learn my coworker's name and looked at her nametag: Amanda.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Yay! We have a blog!
Hi everybody! We have a blog now! For now all you get is some exciting numbers to the right!
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