Chelsea Margaret

What is it that compels people to share random facts about themselves to complete strangers, unprompted?

This is a thought that comes to mind every single day I go to work. You’d think some of these people believe that, included with their drink, is a low-budget form of therapy. Who knows. Aside from some of the crazy things I’ve been told and overheard, usually, it’s not even seven in the morning.

I read somewhere that a huge portion of profits from prostitution is from something of a morning shift. Men go to a prostitute before work, making up for something they’re lacking before they start their day. That was so bizarre to me, but then again, with the tales I’ve heard, I’m beginning to believe it.

Not to compare Baristas to prostitutes, because although our services do include our physically being there, and our personalities, we just don’t make the kind of money the ladies on the corner do.

And now for something completely different.

My friend Amy and I have this running tradition of using our lunch time break to the very fulllest. Most especially when it involves just leaving an art history class, or, my favorite, skipping an art history class to partake in the bar specials offered that day. It never seems like a bad idea when you’re sitting in the back row of the auditiorium, have learned the material before, it’s dark, and the t.a. is encouraging you ( probably wanting to live vicariously through you, I believe).

So, off we went to the coug! My personal favorite location for stellar bar fries. The place is a total dive- greeks have been writing drunken messages and tags on the walls since the 1960’s, so when you walk in, you’re surrounded by “Jenni was here”, and “Open to close 2000″, and my personal favorite ” Have you ever been drunk at seven in the morning? I have!! Go cougs”.Let’s hear it for college- the perfect cover up to alcoholism! Woo! Go cougs!

Anyways.

Two art majors admist a bunch of greeks, we are perched on a more secluded table to enjoy our bar food and escape the ” dude I was so drunk last night…” stories. Funny how those can never be told on somewhat decent levels.

As is the case with most artists, when you group two or more together, art issues come up in full force. Add alcohol, and you have a full on discussion with valid arguement points and stories, arm waving and the like.

Amy told me about this article she recently came across in Clay magazine. It was a narrative of a woman potter, who realized that when someone asked her her profession, she would say,”oh, I’m just a potter”. Just a potter?! Luckily, with time, she realizes that it’s simple phrases like that that keep the reputation of budding artists below the cubical monkeys. Amy admits she does it too.  I’m just an art major. People take jabs at art majors all the time, and yes, it can be an easy major for those of us who have the natural capabilities. It would be a nightmare to anyone more inclined to the sciences, but no one ever admits that it would be hard for them to do what we do. And you don’t see art majors taking down other people’s passions.

But, I’m proud to say that I take great satisfaction in doing what I love. And lucky, or unlucky for me, I get pretty sassy ( for lack of a more flattering word for it), when someone tries to make me feel stupid.

For example.

Today, at work, randomly, a customer looks at me while I’m making their drink and says,

“you must be an artist” In a matter-of-fact tone, like they’ll get some kind of gold star for picking out the oddball of the group.

I try to be nice, try. I playfully say, : “Why yes I am! How could you tell?”

Well your hair, it’s very…….artsy. Again, not a friend making tone, and a stare that earned them decaf shots.

So, after one nice card, I throw out my caution and go in for the kill.

“You must work in a cubical, don’t you?”

“Umm, yes, I do”

“I could tell. You look like you work in an office.”

That’s right, get the hell out of my store and I hope you enjoy your decaf shots you jerk! ( That was a thought, not a spoken phrase. I do like getting paid, so I must keep my rebuttals to a minimum. I did shoot laser beams from my eyes though)

It shut them up. And I really hope that they think again before trying to make an artist feel inferior. Because if they try it again with me, they’d better hope I’m still wearing a green apron.

So there.