Serving in Florida By: Barbara Ehrenreich

Serving in Florida

Barbara Ehrenreich

FLORIDA! my home! I was so excited when this assignment was assigned because I have become so homesick and just seeing Florida’s name brought a smile to my face and thoughts of home flushing in. I can all to well relate to working in Florida at a dead end job that literally sucks the life out of you. But unlike Barbara in the story working wasn't a means to and end for me but more of a means to a new beginning. I had to work to assist my parents in paying for my college tuition. Reading Serving in Florida made me feel re-affirmed in my decision to begin college right after graduating high school rather than taking a year off to work.

My first job was working at Abercrombie Kids. My days consisted of five hour shifts standing at the head of the store and repeating “ Hey what’s going on? Welcome to Abercrombie!” over and over again. I was bombarded with clothing to be hung a certain way every 5 minutes while the manager watched my folding to make sure I was following the directions for that particular shirt/pant fold. I repeatedly had to clean out the dressing rooms, which held more than just clothes by the time people were through  trying on clothes. The amount of spit up food, dirty underwear, and garbage I had to dispose of from those dressing rooms haunts me to this day. Like Barbara in the story we had different variations of customers. There was the classic over protective parents who refused to allow their children to go into the changing rooms without them,  even though there is a strict no more than one person in the dressing room policy. I was constantly spoken down too and made to feel insipid for my place of employment. I was exhausted constantly from the ridiculous amounts of folding and hanging and getting screamed at by angry parents because there kids couldn't fit into a size eight and they refused to believe there child was not a size eight. LIKE IT REALLY MATTERES! 

Serving in Florida is a smack in the face. Barabaras story forces you to realize the hardships in store for those who don’t study commit themselves to attaining a college degree. I could not imagine working at Abercrombie Kids more than the summer I needed to. I have never held a job as a waitress but based on what I’ve read it sounds very demanding and demeaning being forced to retrieve anything the customer requests. I am so happy I made the decision to begin at a University rather than take that year to work because who knows what would have happened or obstacles I would have come across hindering me from furthering my education. 

Looking for Work By: Gary Soto

I grew up a Puerto Rican in Miami Florida; where there are the prominent white families who have an excess of everything. I can relate to the young Soto in the story when he wishes for that “ perfect TV family” because when I was younger I didn't appreciate the uniqueness of my family, I detested it and wanted it to be like the white families around us. Being Puerto Rican meant having huge family barbecues and celebrations for the smallest achievements. As a young child I thought this so insipid but as I’ve grown older I’ve come to realize that it wasn't about the achievement but about the family. We used any excuse to come together and appreciate one another. Soto as a child doesn't appreciate his family he simply wants them to be like the Beaver family. One thing that struck me as odd in the text was when Soto is describing a family dinner on the show “ Leave it to Beaver” and comparing it to a dinner at his. He describes the one in the show and it sounds unrelieved and humdrum where as his family is so exciting and warm. Like me, Soto does not appreciate the vibrant family he has been so blessed to have.

Reading this story made me realize how little I appreciated my unique upbringing as a Puerto Rican growing up in a mostly white neighborhood. Looking for Work brought back memories of how I would beg to go eat at my friends houses and constantly compare my family to theirs. I remember the look on my mothers face and how when I was younger I thought she was just annoyed at my childishness;  as I see her face clearly in my mind now I realize she was hurt. She could see that I so desperately wanted a normal family dinner with just the immediate family and how I sometimes wanted meatloaf rather than rice, beans, empanadas and any other delicious cultural food I took advantage of. I can only think of the cliche’ “the grass is always greener on the other side” when I read this story because as humans we are never satisfied with what we have, we always want what someone else has. I can promise you that my white friends were envious of the delicious food my Nana was constantly shoving down our throats or the comical Spanish songs we would sing together as a family after dinner. Soto has reminded me to be appreciative of the way I was brought up. Never again will I ask for meatloaf at the dinner table, or request that we speak English. I appreciate the beautiful family I have . AMO A MI FAMILIA! 

Matt's Conflict

Matt is very passionate about playing the guitar and because he is so in love with what he does it comes off in his writing. He immediately had me interested within the first sentence, I wanted to know what wild turn his life had taken down the road of life. Matt adds a decent amount of details throughout the paper that may seam insipid to some but helped me to realize what was going and and become not just an audience member but a band member. This is a fascinating topic for a personal conflict narrative and although this paper does have redeemable qualities it has not yet reached its full potential. I understand Matt's conflict but I am unsure of how his position on that conflict changed over time or the factors that influenced his perspective. Matt does a great job of letting us in to the pain he felt and labeling the club promoter as the antagonist, but a personal conflict essay needs more than just a good guy and a bad guy.

In Matt's final draft he changed my favorite part of the paper; the opening sentence. Rather than just assuming the feeling Matt was having on stage, he is describing it to us, with a more detailed explanation of his feelings.  He explains how music isn't just the love of his life, but how after that first show it had become his life.  In the first essay I was a bit confused about the reason for the ticket sales but my questions are answered within the third paragraph, and explained how it is hated by all bands, but welcomed by the clubs. In the first essay the number twenty five had no meaning to me but because Matt is explaining how difficult it is to sell twenty five tickets I feel more clued in to his struggles, and the strict policy regarding these ticket sales. Because all these details have been added the role of the bass player makes much more sense and the situation is explained in a way that makes much more sense. Because of the details Matt is adding I feel as if I am in this dimly lit  club. In this draft of the essay we are getting to know who Paul is; rather than just assuming him as the antagonist. Matt's writing in his final draft is much more mature, his understanding of the conflict grew throughout his writing which helped the reader to better understand him and empathize with him. 

When I write my personal narrative I would like it to have some of the qualities Matt's paper did. I don't want the reader to feel as if they are not simply and audience member, I want them to feel as if they are part of the show. I want to describe my feelings to the point that they aren't just mine anymore. I have so much passion for writing, just like Matt did for music and I want it to show in my writing just as his love for music did in his. I would like to go more in depth than Matt's paper did both in feeling and context. In his first paper it was a story of a good guy and a bad guy but in his later draft we see that there is much more below the surface but he doesn't dig quite deep enough. When I write my paper I do not want to leave any questions in the readers mind, my readers will feel as if the experience I write about is both theirs and mine. 

Malcolm X; Hair (1965)

Ill never forget the day I was sent home from school because of the vermin feasting on my head. I was in fifth grade and we were in the middle of science class when the principal of the small private school I attended barged into the classroom like a bat out of hell, screaming about the mandatory lice check. I had no idea what this crazy woman was talking about; I remember thinking “ what is a lice?”. Slowly she made  her way around the classroom untying all the braids and hairbands of the girls around me. I didn't understand what was going on. Why was my principal shuffling awkwardly around the room checking  my friends hair? I still had no clue what was happening when she told Chelsea, the girl sitting at the desk to my right, to go wait at the door. Poor Chelsea looked as if she was just told unicorns didn’t exist, with a single tear running down her cheek. The next thing I know my braid is being untied and my long black hair is falling into my face. I hear the sigh from Ms. Gannon and am told to go wait at the door. 

Reading this selection from the Autobiography I was instantly transported back to the busy supermarket Walking through the aisles at the nearby mart, watching my mother frantically toss items into the cart, not worrying about the pain I knew was coming. As we got home my mother put an apron over me and began combing out my hair. As she was adding the Lice “concoction” to my hair I could feel the heat beginning to surge in my skull and my skin threatening to tear apart.  My mother looked at the clock and said wait ten minutes, but I didn’t think I could wait another ten seconds. I ran to the sink and shoved my head under. The hot water felt like it was “raking my skin off”. After my mother, like Shorty, delicately combed my hair with the fine toothed lice comb we had just purchased. The pain was slowly diminishing.

My lice incident can relate to Malcolm's conk treatment in feeling but in the end I had to have the treatment done to rid myself of pests and to be allowed back into school while he realized he was playing a role in self- degradation. I was enduring pain to rid myself of disease while he was  inflicting pain on himself and bringing himself disease. He was violating his “God- created body to try to look “pretty” by white standards.” I can relate to the burning pain he felt and I can also relate to the feeling of inferiority and the notion of changing yourself to please the stereotypical image of beauty. Reading this selection from the autobiography has made me both remember an interesting time in my life and think about how I change myself to please others. 

Hating Goldie by Phyllis Rose

Hating Goldie

Phyllis Rose 

For my tenth birthday I wanted more than anything a sparkly pair of ruby slippers. At this point in my life I had become obsessed with the Wizard of Oz and in order for my life’s dream to be fulfilled there had to be ruby slippers adorning my feet. I had been counting down days for weeks, but finally the day had arrived; October 3rd. Today I am ten years old and I am about to be the happiest kid on the globe with my glittering ruby slippers. I unwrap the canary yellow wrapping paper, slide my hands along the crease of the shoe box; excitement building, speeding up my little heart. I open the shoe box and my rapid my little heart falls into my stomach as I stare at the monotonous brown shoes I have just received for my birthday, as far from a ruby slipper I could possibly imagine.

When I was reading Hating Goldie I could relate to the protagonist when for her birthday she received a canary rather than a trip to Texas. Although I was a bit older when my ruby slipper dream was crushed, I can relate to the despair she felt when her sixth birthdays wish was not granted. I hated those revolting brown shoes, as much as she hated the canary. The smell and appearance of the the brown Italian leather offended my senses, as the song of the canary offended hers. 

Reading this story took me back eight years, and as I read about the protagonist and her frustration at her parents for not letting her suffer I was reminded of my tenth birthday and how upset I was at my parents for making me suffer. Like the protagonist in this story I was privileged and didn’t appreciate the things my parents did for me. My mom thought she was doing what was best for me by getting me the practical brown shoes, just as the mom is the story thought she was doing her best as a mother by withholding reality and not exposing her daughter to death. We all criticize our parents unnecessarily; whether it be for them not allowing us to suffer, or their terrible taste in footwear, but in the end we need to appreciate the life we have been given. Reading Hating Goldie made me appreciate the privileged life I have lived, and after reading I called my mom and gave her the long overdue thank you for the practical brown shoes I received for my tenth birthday.