Very good morning to you all. First off and most importantly, I wish to welcome to the world the newest Klein. My new niece, Hayley Gabrielle was born on this past Tuesday, and she's healthy and beautiful. Congrats again to my favorite brother and sister-in-law, and my lovely wife and I are excited to be a big part of this little girl's life.
Friends, I know that we are all well-rounded individuals here, so I expect many of you to nod in agreement with what I'm about to say. My sense of humor, outgoingness, and overall personality change quite a bit depending on my surroundings. (Ah, I can almost hear the nods from here.) For example, my immediate family would have no hesitation with putting the "wacky" tag on me. However, there are other circles in which they would never in a million years associate me with that descriptor. Again, I know I'm not unique in this respect, but I wanted to bring it up to specifically talk about twice that my different sides have been forced into colliding.
About six years ago, I was working at UC Santa Barbara for the Orientation Programs. Part of my responsibilities there was to help hire, train, and supervise a student staff of 25, two student coordinators, and two student Program Assistants. I had a great time with these young men and women, and I had no problem telling some jokes and having fun while (hopefully) remaining in a position of authority to them. However, when five of them came up to me one afternoon to tell me that they would be in Las Vegas the same weekend that I'd be there with my friends, I wasn't too happy.
Here's the thing: as I've mentioned in this space before, there was a time in my twenties in which I really made the most of my Vegas trips with my friends. By that, I mean that I was visibly (and somewhat sloppily) drunk, and I often brushed my hair out into a 'fro. I was also known to occasionally wear funky clothes and glasses, and turn to complete strangers to ask them if they could "dig it." Needless to say, I didn't let that persona out much in my work life. Even though I was of legal drinking age, I didn't want the people I supervised to see me in a compromising situation. They needed to have a certain level of respect for me, and my normal Vegas antics could make that problematic. More than that though, I didn't know how to act with both my group of close friends and my supervisees, and I didn't want to find out.
In the weeks before the trip, the students wouldn't let up. They wanted to know where I was staying, what I'd be doing, which friends would be with me, etc. I lied a little and said that we were playing a lot of it by ear. The weekend came, and I had to make a choice though, so I kept my dress normal and drinking to a minimum on Saturday afternoon in case I ended up seeing them. Sure enough, they called and left a message saying they were in the Mandalay Bay casino - exactly where I was standing with my friends. Rather than continue to fight it, I called back and met up with them.
As soon as they saw me, I could tell they were a little disappointed that I wasn't drunk. I introduced them to my friends, and kind of expected us to part ways. Instead, they said they were hungry, and my friends suggested we all get a bite to eat. "Great," I thought, "now I have to straddle my personality lines for even longer." It was a very uncomfortable meal for me. Trying to be both my normal self and my working self quite simply wasn't working. It got worse when one of the students (who was 19) came back to our table with a beer. I don't mean to sound like a goody-goody, but knowing that my boss would've been very unhappy with that situation, I spent a good ten minutes fighting my urge to just get up and leave the rest of them to finish the meal. Eventually, everyone finished their food and our two parties thankfully parted. As soon as we walked away, my friend Greg (who has known me for all of my years) turned to me and asked, "Why were you acting so strange back there?" Mere minutes later, we were in a different casino, drinking and gambling like our normal Vegas selves.
So everything ended up alright in the end, but I felt like I had to sacrifice some normal good times with my friends in order to sit awkwardly with people who normally saw me in a different light. I thought about that Vegas meeting last week because I knew I would soon be facing a similar situation. My co-worker Rob got married this past Sunday. Since his now-wife Robin's family is close with my good friend Lisa's family, I knew that she and her husband Paul would be there. And since Rob bowls with me, Greg, and my homey Rockabye, they were also invited and sitting at the same table as my lovely wife and I were. Great fun, right? Well, knowing that my entire office (including my boss) and their significant others were also in attendance, I started to feel pulled in different directions before the event even took place. There was a third component too. About a dozen of the guys who would be there were ones I'd met at Rob's bachelor party. To them, I was the quiet guy who occasionally made funny comments while staying completely straight-faced. As downright stupid as it sounds, the thought of standing with Greg, my boss, and one of the bachelor party guys conjured up a little bit of anxiety. How was I supposed to fit the image that all of them had of me? I couldn't, and I knew I would just be myself. But would that mean that two of them would later ask me why I'd been acting so strange? Maybe, but that was a chance I had to take. (I know, I'm such a fucking rebel sometimes.)
At the event itself though, things went much smoother than I expected. Sure, it was weird to pass by a guy from my office as I was dancing the Hora, but I was entitled to have fun and decided not to worry about possibly showing a different side of me to my co-workers. The only thing that scared me about my worlds colliding was when I got back to our table once, and Jamie from my office greeted me with, "Hello, Dawg." Clearly, one of my friends had clued her into our silly little game of assigning monosyllabic misspelled animal monikers to each other. But you know what? Not only did the world not end, but everyone had fun. In hindsight, my worries were unjustified, but going off the only similar experience from my past, I still think I had reason for minor concern. Most importantly: the wedding was beautiful, and both the bride and groom looked exceptionally happy throughout.
About six years ago, I was working at UC Santa Barbara for the Orientation Programs. Part of my responsibilities there was to help hire, train, and supervise a student staff of 25, two student coordinators, and two student Program Assistants. I had a great time with these young men and women, and I had no problem telling some jokes and having fun while (hopefully) remaining in a position of authority to them. However, when five of them came up to me one afternoon to tell me that they would be in Las Vegas the same weekend that I'd be there with my friends, I wasn't too happy.
Here's the thing: as I've mentioned in this space before, there was a time in my twenties in which I really made the most of my Vegas trips with my friends. By that, I mean that I was visibly (and somewhat sloppily) drunk, and I often brushed my hair out into a 'fro. I was also known to occasionally wear funky clothes and glasses, and turn to complete strangers to ask them if they could "dig it." Needless to say, I didn't let that persona out much in my work life. Even though I was of legal drinking age, I didn't want the people I supervised to see me in a compromising situation. They needed to have a certain level of respect for me, and my normal Vegas antics could make that problematic. More than that though, I didn't know how to act with both my group of close friends and my supervisees, and I didn't want to find out.
In the weeks before the trip, the students wouldn't let up. They wanted to know where I was staying, what I'd be doing, which friends would be with me, etc. I lied a little and said that we were playing a lot of it by ear. The weekend came, and I had to make a choice though, so I kept my dress normal and drinking to a minimum on Saturday afternoon in case I ended up seeing them. Sure enough, they called and left a message saying they were in the Mandalay Bay casino - exactly where I was standing with my friends. Rather than continue to fight it, I called back and met up with them.
As soon as they saw me, I could tell they were a little disappointed that I wasn't drunk. I introduced them to my friends, and kind of expected us to part ways. Instead, they said they were hungry, and my friends suggested we all get a bite to eat. "Great," I thought, "now I have to straddle my personality lines for even longer." It was a very uncomfortable meal for me. Trying to be both my normal self and my working self quite simply wasn't working. It got worse when one of the students (who was 19) came back to our table with a beer. I don't mean to sound like a goody-goody, but knowing that my boss would've been very unhappy with that situation, I spent a good ten minutes fighting my urge to just get up and leave the rest of them to finish the meal. Eventually, everyone finished their food and our two parties thankfully parted. As soon as we walked away, my friend Greg (who has known me for all of my years) turned to me and asked, "Why were you acting so strange back there?" Mere minutes later, we were in a different casino, drinking and gambling like our normal Vegas selves.
So everything ended up alright in the end, but I felt like I had to sacrifice some normal good times with my friends in order to sit awkwardly with people who normally saw me in a different light. I thought about that Vegas meeting last week because I knew I would soon be facing a similar situation. My co-worker Rob got married this past Sunday. Since his now-wife Robin's family is close with my good friend Lisa's family, I knew that she and her husband Paul would be there. And since Rob bowls with me, Greg, and my homey Rockabye, they were also invited and sitting at the same table as my lovely wife and I were. Great fun, right? Well, knowing that my entire office (including my boss) and their significant others were also in attendance, I started to feel pulled in different directions before the event even took place. There was a third component too. About a dozen of the guys who would be there were ones I'd met at Rob's bachelor party. To them, I was the quiet guy who occasionally made funny comments while staying completely straight-faced. As downright stupid as it sounds, the thought of standing with Greg, my boss, and one of the bachelor party guys conjured up a little bit of anxiety. How was I supposed to fit the image that all of them had of me? I couldn't, and I knew I would just be myself. But would that mean that two of them would later ask me why I'd been acting so strange? Maybe, but that was a chance I had to take. (I know, I'm such a fucking rebel sometimes.)
At the event itself though, things went much smoother than I expected. Sure, it was weird to pass by a guy from my office as I was dancing the Hora, but I was entitled to have fun and decided not to worry about possibly showing a different side of me to my co-workers. The only thing that scared me about my worlds colliding was when I got back to our table once, and Jamie from my office greeted me with, "Hello, Dawg." Clearly, one of my friends had clued her into our silly little game of assigning monosyllabic misspelled animal monikers to each other. But you know what? Not only did the world not end, but everyone had fun. In hindsight, my worries were unjustified, but going off the only similar experience from my past, I still think I had reason for minor concern. Most importantly: the wedding was beautiful, and both the bride and groom looked exceptionally happy throughout.
Wow, those two items took up more space than I'd imagined. And I have a pretty active imagination too. Well, there's one more thing I'd like to briefly discuss before doing that thing I do with them automobiles. Riddle me this, gentle readers: Why is "mofo" a shortened version of "motherfucker"? I have two issues with this. The first is cosmetic, in that "fo" doesn't appear in the second part of the compound word. I'd be willing to maybe let that one slide. The second bothers me more: Neither word's first syllable sounds like its shortened counterpart. It's not "moe-ther foe-ker," after all. I realize that "muhfuh" isn't as catchy as "mofo," but where's the attention to detail? I may as well be nicknamed "Poklo" if we don't need to pay attention to actual letters or sounds. Actually that's kinda catchy.
And now, the section that rates a 10 on the inevitability scale: Car Watch!
First off, my homey Rockabye saw a license plate that read, "LEPHTIE." I totally approve of that. As a southpaw myself, I acknowledge that we're a minority in this righty-dominated world. Modifying the spelling makes sense to me, like they're saying, "We're not normal and don't abide by the regular, society-imposed structures put before us. We know that the words 'sinister' and 'gauche' come from 'left-handed,' and you all snicker behind our backs as we get spiral notebook imprints on our arms and pencil smudges on the sides of our hands. You mock us as we try winding our watches or opening cans with your discriminatory tools. But we shall fight on, and we shall persevere!" Or maybe "LEFTY" was taken.
Rockabye also saw a bumper sticker that both confused and concerned me: "Eat the Environmentalists." I have to assume that this person is speaking figuratively, because normal functioning members of society don't advocate cannibalism. It would be a more pointed statement if it were, "Eat the vegetarians," especially if the car owner has felt looked-down-upon by our herbivoriffic friends. That at least leans toward irony, since a person staunchly against eating meat would be the meat that someone else would be eating. But why eat the people who want to preserve the planet? I can't answer that, but if you have any thoughts on in, please comment away.
Lastly, I saw a plate that I have to report here, even though it's a bit childish of me to do so. It proclaimed, "HUGE KAK." I'm 100% serious. If there's been a Massachusetts plate on it to drive the point home with a Boston accent, I may have laughed to death. How did that one slip by the censors? I'm not alone in hearing a penile euphemism in there, right? I'm impressed that the owner even attempted to get that as a plate, and more so that he was successful. It's like when my dad saw, "DIG BIC," but much more blatant to me. Bravo, sir, bravo.
Hmm, I just looked over this post again, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to save it to show my niece once she's able to read. Maybe the first paragraph would be fine, but I ended up talking about "motherfucker," cannibalism, and large male sex organs. Not exactly the definition of good, clean family fun. My bad. Well friends, in the upcoming week, we have my old boss Kim's b-day, my friend Devon's b-day, and most importantly, my lovely wife's birthday on Thursday. That will begin the three-week-and-a-day period in which she's a year old than me (which is full of "older woman" and "cradle robbing" usage). Have a wonderful weekend and week, friends. As always, please email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything that all that you feel like sharing.
3 comments:
What Peter failed to mention is that us O-staffers got a small taste of his Vegas persona at our end-of-summer bash where he wore a track suit, sweat band, and, if memory serves, a gold medallion that read "Master P".
Your memory serves correctly, BKS. However, that was more of a character that I was playing rather than the true Vegas version of Peter. Still, you did get to see the fro, the "cool" glasses, and some kick-ass head bobbing.
So the guy with the "Dig Bic" isn't just into lighters?
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