serving out of body, searching in a mind.

I jotted most of this down in between tables at the Boathouse on Easter Sunday.

An out of body experience. I don't believe in them, or at least I didn't believe, because of the sheer impossibility that is, 'being out of my body.' To me, 'out of body' seems like a near death experience, not a surreal or visceral or whatever you want it to be experience.

The journey at a higher altitude is unique. I'm caught looking at my unkempt hair, the (hopefully not growing) bald spot on the top of my head, my table manners, my serving etiquette. I have never noticed, until yesterday, the way that sarcasm has snuck it's way into my professional demeanor, every table greeted the same, served the same. I reuse the same jokes. I try to say 'dubious' to as many tables as possible. I'm usually successful, rarely a stretch.

"what's your soup of the day?"

"today we have french onion, and it is delicious."

She looks at her husband with an unsure glance, turns to me and orders the french onion.

"No need to be dubious, ma'am, you'll really like the french onion."

A stretch?

Dubious.

This isn't a bad thing, as the tables leave happy. No complaints to the manager. Excellent tips to me (37.5% of which will later redistributed to my coworkers), and it's been a full calendar year since any old people have burned themselves on the hot water in which they steep their teas. Things go as they do, and I go as I do, to and fro. I feel like a dropped document or letter on a windy day. Blown down the street, hurtling end over end until resting, waiting, for the next gust to send me on my way.

Up the stairs. Grab the pitcher, return to table, refill beverages, up the stairs, return pitcher, return to resting place by the bar window. Stand.

I stand in silence, and I listen. I listen because, as is the case in most places I've worked, it's far more beneficial to listen to what others have to say, than to speak yourself. I know who drinks, who drinks too much, I listen, not just hear. I listen because I learn about everyone around me. I know who to trust. A glance around the corner. Plates to be cleared. Grab, carry, scrape, drop, repeat.

And so goes the rhythm of the shift, not unlike a road race, pedal stroke after pedal stroke, up and down across the land, hugging her curves, for better or for worse, unending and, as unsettling as it may be, unrelenting until the finish line.

The last table leaves, the bill is collected, and I can feel myself slowly deflating. Almost on cue, my position 5 feet above my head returns to that space 5 millimeters inside my skull. I can think. I look around. I am aware of what I've done today, what I will do, and where I will go. As I drink with my friends, listen to the jokes, and discuss poor tipping, I realize how unique this job really is. I realize how fortunate we all are to be in the position to have such a job, as auto-pilot as it may be. I can't explain why I feel this way all of the sudden. I've long been trying to coin this term (maybe it still needs time to be defined by others):

Server Euphoria : a state consciousness, post-shift, when a restaurant worker takes a quick moment to analyze, synthesize and evaluate whatever the hell it was that just happened, counts her/his tip money (good or bad), and smiles.

Implementation of Checklists for Off Task Students

So this may very well be my thesis (assuming prior research hasn't been conducted already), or at the very least, a great teaching tool that I will use. In any event, it got my out of a jam when cornered with four students with learning challenges in the most recent sub'n venture.

These kids were having difficulty wrapping their minds around a, some would say, simple "brochure" project, in which the students create a travel brochure that advertises a city, settlement, time period, or event.

A bit flustered, I decided to create a checklist for each student, laying the exact steps that must be accomplished in order to successfully complete the assignment. Keeping it short (3-4 items per list), I was able to designate each group member with a role by simply creating a checklist that would accomplish said role (i.e., the communicator should probably have a short speech prepared, the illustrator should procure paper, markers, and pictures ideas relevant to the topic, the research should...).

Of course, the students have no idea that they're being assigned roles, much less that I'm the one delegating. While it is unfortunate that more time wasn't spent actually COMPLETING this assignment, teaching in the Special Education setting requires this patience and approach that is often overlooked when making comparisons to what might be considered a "normal" (is there such a thing? nope) classroom.

Back to the checklist. Each time a student was successful, I gave that student a bright pen and had that student check off the list. Success!!! Each check was a success, and in this way, students feel as though they are making progress, no matter how large or small the gains.

It is wonderful to have the opportunity of working with experience special ed teachers in a real setting, as opposed to observing and classroom lecture. I really cherish all of it, in hindsight at the very least.

The applications to CSU Dominguez Hills are off and away! Fingers crossing...

The velodrome has started. As usual, my bike is far from being ready. Give me a few weeks and I'll be out there...haven't quite caught the track bug yet, but it might show up sometime. I think cyclocross is where it's at when the dust settles. The big draw for many people to track racing is that it's cycling perfection, especially considering that there are no cars to avoid. Well, that's what cross is, except for the hour in pain part. You can spare me the nostalgic glamorization of the fixed gear bicycle, I don't really care. If it has two wheels and you can pedal, I'll enjoy it someway or another.

Musings of a broken voiced Sub

My voice went completely hoarse on the first day of a three day run at the local middle school. Both days were mainly focused on 6th grade math and science, though I was pleasantly surprised to do some commentary on endangered species and, more importantly, why people love to shoot animals for fun.

Aside from the topics, the real kicker of this week was the voice issue. I was given the opportunity to call out of these assignments, but I love the money and I really wanted to see what it would be like to teach without being able to talk. I was limited to roughly four addresses to the class each period. After four times talking in whole group, I began to sound like a freakishly high-pitched Italian mob boss.

Wednesday was smooth, the kids found it funny (as did I), and not one student tried to take advantage of my voice issue.

Thursday played out initially in direct contrast to Wednesday. My voice was worse thanks to a rough night serving tables (yea, I still do that. sigh.) and the students caught on to the fact that I was unable to address them with a simple, "Good morning everyone."

One of the best tricks I learned from my 6th grade guide teacher was to simply, sit, wait, stare, whatever, until the kids quiet down. Granted, this ONLY works if you have either A) a credible character and rapport with the students or B) the ability to strike great fear and doubt into their young hearts. Just kidding.

But not really.

Fortunately for your humble narrator and sub, I have a great rapport with the kids. I'm known as "Mr. S!!!!" or "The COOL sub" or "Mr. Smith has the coolest sunglasses!" And yes, they're Penguins, and no, they can't be purchased anywhere.

It was at this moment that a girl walked up to the desk, leaned over, and pumped a giant dollop of hand sanitizer onto her outstretched tongue.

Now, I know you can reread that, but I'm going to copy+paste that last sentence right back in this text box. You know, for the effect.

It was at this moment that a girl walked up to the desk, leaned over, and pumped a giant dollop of hand sanitizer onto her outstretched tongue.

If I could've yelled, or screamed, or done something involving a vocal outburst, I would have exercised that ability in spades. I could only gasp, with the wide eyes of someone who just witnessed the supernatural.

"Why?" I asked her in a squeaky, crackling high pitched chirp.

"To clean my tongue. It feels....aaaaaaa it burns."

"No kidding? Well at least it's clean." And it was off to the nurse with her.

Aside from this class, and the mix-up with alcohol sanitizer, the majority of the kids were fantastic. I'm really a very lucky guy to have the opportunity to sub for kids that are so well-behaved. It makes the job easy, and it makes the paychecks even more sweet. It's only a few notches short of glorified babysitting, but I'll take the experience, and the money, any way that I can get it.