Sunday, December 5, 2010

The Four Lessons Everyone Learns in Retail


The Four Lessons Everyone Learns in Retail
            “I already gave you my money.”  I look around the counter.
            “No, ma’am, you didn’t,” I reply, trying to maintain calm.
            “Yes, I did.”
            I look to the floor of my register, though I know there is nothing there, because she has not given me her money yet.  Just as I begin to get frazzled, a little girl walks up to her with a five-dollar bill in her hand.
            “Excuse me, did you drop this? It was on the floor by your feet.”  The woman grabs the money from the little girl, and slams it on my counter.
            “Well you should have been paying better attention,” she says to me.
            Enough said.
Anybody who has had the ‘pleasure’ of working in retail knows that there is hardly ever a dull moment.  The word ‘pleasure’ is used sarcastically because of the fact that working in retail is hardly anything but.  No matter what kind of retail it is, many workers walk out feeling the same way-unappreciated and angry at society.  There are situations, however, that can also cause someone to learn and view life in a different way. Dealing with people on a regular basis can truly teach a person a thing or two about life.  Unfortunately, the world we live in tends to be pessimistic and negative, and those feelings are often reflected through customers.  People want what they want, at the exact moment they want it, and usually do not care how they treat others.  Learning to deal with this negativity in a mature and positive way can be tough, but if a worker is able to do so, then they can basically deal with any circumstance.
            Working at Five Below was anything but glamorous.  Cleaning up after people’s messes, dealing with disrespect, and trying to maintain a calm demeanor when asked ridiculously ignorant questions can really put a damper on someone’s morale.  I try to take it all in stride and not focus on the negative things that happened while working there, but rather, reflect on everything that I witnessed and the lessons I learned during my almost 3 years working there. 
            Lesson number one-the majority of the human race will always be ignorant, dense, and rude.  There is just no getting around it.  It doesn’t matter how many signs are around the store, how big the print is, what the price tag says, or what the company policy is-it is always the worker’s fault.  How dare you accuse the customer of looking on the wrong shelf, or trying to use a coupon that expired months earlier-they are always right.  No matter what position, you are going to be answering the same exhausting questions time and time again.  Complaints were constantly running rampant about the way in which the store itself was designed.  The outline of the store does not suffice for the amount of traffic it acquires.  The rows are tiny, and though the store has carts available for use, they barely fit down the aisles.  At times, in-demand products would be placed on the ends of the aisles, instead of placing it in top-stock, because it would be easily attainable by the customer.  Customers always yelled at us for this, saying that the aisles were too clogged.  The store is tight and compact, and there was nothing we could do about it, yet people still blamed us for it, as if we designed the store ourselves.
Society is always looking for a way to beat the system.  Even though Five Below is already a cheap and extremely inexpensive store, people always complain about the quality of the products, and the fact that the store does not offer refunds. Forget the fact that the product you’re buying is only $3 and made of flimsy plastic and will probably break within a week, they want their money back, and will go to any lengths to do so.  Customers always seem to think that they were shopping in Nordstrom’s and expected the products that the store sold to be top of the line.  They were always shocked when we, the workers, would tell them that the store did not offer refunds, however, they could pick out another product of the same price and do an even exchange (even though there should not have been any shock, because the store policy was clearly and boldly printed on the bottom of their receipt).
            Another lesson learned while working in retail is the fact that there is always going to be some type of inequality and unfairness felt.  While this is true in almost any job in the world, it is especially felt in the world of retail. Associates are already dumped on and treated poorly, and the position one holds really has an effect on the amount of respect they acquire.  Even in a small store like Five Below, there was always some type of politics going on.  Whether it was an argument between two associates, a disagreement between corporate and the general manager, or problems with the amount of hours on the schedule, something was always happening.  No one was ever truly and genuinely happy.  This coincides with lesson number three-the morale of a store has a tremendous effect on how well the store performs.  Simply put-if the workers aren’t happy, then no one is! Think about it-work is already considered a stressful environment.  If the associates of a store are being treated unfairly-constantly being put down by their managers and always being told everything that they are doing wrong, then no one is going to want to perform well at all. Overworking employees and showing so signs of gratefulness is also a huge factor to the dissolution of a store.  There were countless times when we would stay well past our shifts to clean, and no one would give us the gratitude we deserved.
            While it may sound like working in retail will result in nothing but horror stories, I should include the fact that it can also produce wonderful bonds and friendships.  A person’s co-workers can make all the difference in the world, and work can be much easier and less stressful when getting along with them.  I started to become very friendly with the general manager of the store.  He was just great to talk to-very intelligent, funny, and good at his job.  Through our discussions, we found that we had a lot in common, and developed a mature and professional friendship that I really enjoyed.  Little did I know, the other managers in the store did not hold the same feelings, and were planning to get him fired.  As it turns out, the assistant managers did not like the way my manager ran the store, claiming he was lazy, and was not strict enough with the associates.  They discussed it amongst themselves, and made a plan to get him in trouble with corporate.  They told the district manager that he had items still locked away in a storage unit from Christmas, and that it was technically considered stealing. When it occurred, everyone was in shock, and there was a shift in the staff.  No one wanted to do anything, because the manager that had taken over had no idea what he was doing.  He was too young for such a responsibility, and treated everyone like an idiot.  This whole ordeal taught me lesson four-always be prepared for the unexpected.  The world of retail can be cutthroat, and not everyone is a friend.
In order to really understand life and the way people are, everybody should spend at least a year in retail. We spend so much of our time having relationships with retail people-how many times a day do we go face to face with associates, with people taking our money?  Retail is such an integral part of everyone’s lives, even though it’s something most people don’t even think about. While the experience itself is not always pleasant, the lessons learned can truly be useful in other aspects of life.  Some people may not realize it, but positive reinforcement can really go a long way in the land of retail.  Let’s face it-the world is always going to be filled with pessimists and people who will do anything to make others miserable.  My years in the store have really trained me on how not to let these people get the best of me.  I have experienced my fair share of craziness in what feels like such a small amount of time.  The greatest lessons of life can be taught through retail, and if a person can overcome the initial hardship, then they are capable of handling anything life throws at them.   

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Analysis of Literal Latte

“A JOURNAL OF PROSE, POETRY, AND ART”

About Literal Latte:
  • Debuted in 1994, offering 30,000 free copies to coffeehouses and bookstores all over New York City.
  • Offers a wide range of genres, including essays, fiction, poetry, plays, and artwork.
  • Accepts submissions 365 days a year.
  • If accepted, the work is published within one year of submission.
  • Comes out with several issues a year.
  • Most issues include someone who has never been published before.  Literal Latte is very supportive of first time writers.
    • “The founders knew that good writing, in a friendly and easily available format, would be as popular as cappuccino in a cafĂ© in New York City.  In a world where it is harder than ever for new writers to get a foot in the door of the traditional publishing world, Literal Latte remains committed to finding and nurturing great talents…”
  • The first anthology is now available in both hardcover and paperback.
    • Highlights from the first 15 years of the journal’s existence.

Guidelines for Submissions:
  • Literal Latte accepts many types of creative expressions.
  • Unpublished stories or personal essays
    • Up to 6,000 words
  • Short plays or poems
    • Up to 4,000 words
  • Reviews
    • Including film and theater reviews.  Many of the works reviewed are either independent films or off-broadway material.
  • Artwork
    • Anything from literary cartoons to cover artwork
      • Photography, drawings in black and white or color, paintings.  No originals, slides or copies only
      • Sebastian Wahl Artwork

  • Styles of submissions can range from classical to experimental.
  • Simultaneous submissions are accepted.
  • Patience is needed-can take up to 3-6 months for a response.
  • NO email submissions accepted.

Analysis of Literal Latte’s publications:
  • Subject matter 
    • All of the genres are filled with passion, expression, and seem to be rather personal.
    • The focus of essays range from religion, personal growth, education.
      • Essays are very truthful and honest.
    • Includes many works of creative non-fiction, as well as fiction.
      • Some of the fiction work discusses ideas of Philosophy.
  • Voice/Tone
    • Lightweight, positive feel.
    • Laid-back, fun vibe.
    • The reviews are not too opinionated and domineering, but are very helpful and offer much insight.
    • Pretty much open to anything.
    • No distinctions-nothing too political or controversial.
    • Filled with creativity and feeling.
    • Much thought behind the works.
    • Nothing is too complicated or difficult to understand.
  • Form
    • Emphasizes creativity
      • Nothing is boring or ordinary.
      • Between the fiction, essays, poems, and artwork, there is something for every type of person to enjoy.
  • Artistry
    • The publications tend to be longer in length.
  • Currently offers 5 annual writing contests.
    • Fiction Awards
    • Short Short Contest
    • Poetry Awards
    • Essay Awards
    • Food Verse Contest
      • Prizes from $200-$1000.
      • Deadlines vary.
      • All entries received will be considered for future publication.
  • Current fee for every contest is $10.00.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Reflective Analysis Start


            I feel as though I had somewhat of a clear understanding of what creative non- fiction writing was when I first entered this class, but I now know that it entails so much more.  I had originally thought that there was not much to creative non fiction-just use the imagination.  While that is a necessary tool, one must learn how to develop ideas and assess them in order to make the reader want to actually read what is in front of them. 
In just about 3 months, I feel that my writing has changed because I have a better understanding now of the elements that go into a successful creative non-fiction piece.  Being an honest writer is crucial when writing this particular type of genre.  If the audience does not feel truth and honesty within the work, then are going to be put off and disregard the writing altogether.  A connection between the writer and the reader is also extremely important.  The audience wants to be able to empathize with what they are reading.  Months ago, I never would be able to tell the difference between an “I” and “Eye” essay. 
            Like many others, I feel that I have a stronger connection with the “I” essays.  I think that they came more naturally to me, most likely because it was coming from my own heart and mind.  Personal experiences, I feel, are much easier to express under most conditions.  I unintentionally learned more about myself through these writings, and realized just how much I have grown personally and emotionally.
            Writing has always been a great release for me, and this particular kind of writing is no different.  A great amount of pressure was released while confronting my emotions regarding certain things in my “I” essays.  Though there is still some tweaking that needs to be done, I am very proud of tackling the personal discussions within those works.  For instance, in my first “I” essay, I discussed my experience with my brother’s illness.  Without even realizing it, I confronted my emotions like I never had before, and made it known that I was angry that no one asked ME how I was doing during that time.  Normally, I would be mortified to write something like that, but because of the way I wrote it, I realized it was okay.
           I am not entirely sure who my audience is, or who I want to direct my future work towards. I am not writing for anyone in particular.  I’m not sure if this it is a bad thing, writing without an agenda, but I feel that if there is someone out there meant to discover my work, then it will happen.  

Monday, November 22, 2010

hmmm...my audience...?

I suppose I never really gave this much thought.  I have been writing for as long as I can remember, and I never really thought about who my target audience was.  I guess I don't have a particular audience in mind.  I merely write because I enjoy it, and it's a great form of release.  I don't focus on a particular genre of any kind-I write fiction, non-fiction, essays, poetry.  I suppose I should say that I write for anyone who wants to listen.

I really like the work that I found on the website Literal Latte, and plan on sending some of my work there.  I enjoy reading honest work-meaning, I can tell when it comes from the author's heart and soul, because that is exactly how I write.  If I'm not interested in a particular subject or topic, then I'm not going to put a ton of effort into it.  I only want to write when I feel it is necessary, and when I feel a true connection to something.

I'm not saying that my work is so spectacular that every person of every age, race, sex, etc. is going to want to read it.  But what I am saying, is that I don't specifically write for young girls, or older women, or teachers.  I write for you. I write for me.  I write for those who hate to write.  I write for those who love to write.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

A Place We Shouldn't Be



            The staircase is so narrow, it’s almost claustrophobic.  The eggshell white walls are bare, and look tired, as if they have not been painted in over a decade.  The generic carpet is a maroon color and frayed around the edges.  Turning the corner, I see a decent sized waiting room.  The seats, also a maroon shade, are almost completely filled, so I quickly take a seat.  The room mostly consists of young females, many accompanied by, I’m assuming, their mothers.  Though there are a variety of races, all of the faces have the same exact look of fear and uncertainty.  The mother’s faces are filled with anger and discomfort.  Directly across from me is the reception area. The small cubicle is filled with countless folders and files.  The three women, dressed in different colored scrubs, have impatient scowls, as if they want to be somewhere else.  Every few minutes, girls walk through the large metal doors, returning with cotton swabs and band aids covering their arms, and sit down to anxiously await the results of a blood test-THE blood test.
            It seems as though every one of these places is the same, or so I’ve been told.  I have only heard recollections through friends of friends who have been here before.  It is not the most pleasant place to be, but it gets the job done, without costing you your whole paycheck.  While I’m sitting here, I don’t feel better than any of these people, nor do I feel any kind of disgust.  Instead, I try to empathize with and be supportive of Emily.  She’s the reason why I’m here this morning. 
            Emily and I have not been friends for very long.  In fact, up until this point, I think I’ve only known her for about a year and a half.  We don’t have too much in common, besides the fact that we work together and like some of the same music.  Pink is our absolute favorite, and I can’t help but think that she is the reason why we initially began talking. 
            Emily, at first sight, can come off as a bit tough, and most definitely exudes an attitude of being streetwise.  She has more than ten tattoos, including the most dominant and noticeable one, a butterfly, across her upper chest.  She has a few on her wrists, and two large ones on her arms.  She also has numerous facial piercings, including one on her lower lip. Either way, it does not take away from her beauty.  She is strikingly beautiful, her light green eyes one of her most likeable features. Emily is a sweet person, but a part of me can’t help but feel kind of sorry for her.  I feel guilty for even thinking this, but it’s the truth.  Over the last few months, I have gotten to know her so well, and she has shared things with me that no one else, not even my life long friends, has ever shared. 
            She dropped out of high school in her late teens, but ended up going back a year or two later and graduating.  She became pregnant in her mid teens, but lost the baby due to the fact that she was being threatened at school.  This caused her to become so stressed, she had a miscarriage.  Emily had never told her parents, and to this day, even more than ten years later, they still have no idea. 
            A few weeks after we began working together, she revealed to me that she had a 2 and a half-year-old son.  When she spoke of him, her face magically lit up, and I found it beautiful that he had such an amazing and positive effect on her.  Through our discussions, I learned that she has a live in boyfriend, Freddie (also the father of her son), and that they have been together for about four years.  That was the extent of the discussion when it came to him. 
            Emily seemed to be a very reliable and hard worker.  She was always on time, and got every job done that was assigned to her.  She was polite, had good customer service, and got along well with the other associates.  However, about three months after she started, she began calling out once or more a week, and when she was at work, she started spending a lot of time in the bathroom.  One of the managers told me that she heard Emily vomiting.  The next time I worked with her, I asked her if she was alright.
            “Oh, I’m pregnant!” she said nonchalantly, but with a smile on her face.  “I had really bad morning sickness with my first son, so I knew something must not have been right.  I took a test, and it came out positive.”  I didn’t know whether to be scared or happy for her.  I just told her congratulations and went on with my business.
            Emily was on and off at work.  She went almost a whole month and was not on the schedule, and when she returned, she was six months pregnant and had a big belly.  It was the holiday season, so things were hectic and ridiculously busy.  I felt an urge and a need to protect her.  If I saw her trying to lift a heavy bag, I would run over to her and pick it up.  If she couldn’t reach something on the ground, I would get it.  Whichever way I could help her out, I did. 
            In February, she invited some of my co-workers and me to her baby shower.  It was at her apartment, in the two family home she shared with her parents.  I was curious to see how she lived-what kind of family she came from, how Freddie treated her.  From what I saw, her family was very friendly, and Freddie seemed like the doting and loving boyfriend and father-to-be I expected.            Emily’s second son was born in March, and within six weeks, she was back to work.  I was surprised she came back as quickly as she did, but later on she revealed to me that Freddie had lost his job and his unemployment was running out.  It was then that she opened up more to me about him.  He was not quite the man I saw at the baby shower, sitting next to her, looking like he was madly in love with her as he helped her open up gifts.  As it turned out, Freddie was twelve years older than Emily, and had a few other kids from previous relationships.  While there is not too much wrong with that, what is wrong is the fact that he was lazy and could not hold a job for very long.  Emily told me that he had been through countless jobs and could not hold on to anything for a long period of time. 
            Months went by, and we still were not at the level of being much more than friendly co-workers, until one day, when we were putting out shipment together.
            “You know, Freddie and I are having a lot of problems,” she said, not quite looking at me in the face.
            “Oh, really?  Like what?”
            “Well, he cheated on me, months ago, with one of my best friends.”  My eyes widened with shock as I looked up at her.  She then continued and went into the whole story of how Freddie had left her when their first son was barely a year old, for one of her closest friends.  Scared to be alone, they eventually reconciled, and when she revealed to him that she was pregnant with their second child, he denied it and accused her of cheating on him.  She also revealed to me that he had hit her on numerous occasions, and each time he did so, he ended up begging her for forgiveness.
            I tried to give her as much advice as I could, but never having been in that situation myself, there was not much I could say.  I just tried to be there for her as much as I could, and take her out when she needed time to herself.  It was at this point when I started to feel closer to her.
            Which brings me to the present.  As I sit here, in this depressing waiting room, I am wondering how people allow themselves to get into certain situations.  A few weeks ago, Emily tells me that she isn’t feeling well.  She is throwing up, has constant migraines, and is overwhelmingly tired.  I know right away why, but I ask her anyway.  “Are you pregnant?”
            She replies with a definite no, and tells me that there is no way she can be.  I believe her, almost, and when she tells me two weeks later that she took a test and it came out positive, I’m not surprised.  Emily is devastated, and swears up and down that she has no idea how it happened.
            Since she has no insurance, she can’t go to a regular OB-GYN to get tested for sure, so instead, she begs me to take her to Planned Parenthood, since neither she or Freddie have a car, let alone a license.  I really did not want to, but for some reason, I just could not say no. 
            Emily stands at the reception area, dressed in what looks like her brother’s hand-me-down sweatpants, and the nurses give her some forms to fill out.  She squeezes next to me, and I watch her fill out her information.  I love her hand writing.  She lets out a few quiet sighs here and there, and when she returns to her seat, I swear I can feel her trembling. 
            I continue to look around at the other girls in the room.  I see a blond haired girl, dressed in sweatpants with my town’s name and mascot written across the front.  Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun.  She cannot be more than sixteen or seventeen.  Her mother sits beside her, cracking her gum.  Her eyes are on the television in the corner, but I can tell she’s not paying attention at all.
            I try and keep Emily calm, talking to her about things that have been happening at work, but I can tell she is pre-occupied.  When her name is finally called, she looks at me, stands up, lets out a sigh, and disappears through the cold looking metal doors. 
            She returns a few minutes later, accompanied with a band- aid across her arm, and tells me that it will take a few minutes for both the urine and blood tests to come back.  Those few minutes seem like hours, and finally she is called in again.  My heart races for her, and I find myself wondering how they were going to afford this baby.
            Emily comes back with a blank stare, and tells me we can go. I get up, and follow her down the endless flight of stairs.  I know what the result is already, so I don’t even ask her.  Instead, as I put the key in the ignition, I tell her that no matter what, I’ll be by her side.  

Monday, November 15, 2010

A snippet of my second "eye" essay...still untitled!


            The staircase is so narrow, it’s almost claustrophobic.  The eggshell white walls are bare, and look tired, as if they have not been painted in over a decade.  The generic carpet is a maroon color and frayed around the edges.  Turning the corner, I see a decent sized waiting room.  The seats, also a maroon shade, are almost completely filled, so I quickly take a seat.  The room is mostly filled with young females, many accompanied by, I’m assuming, their mothers.  Though there are a variety of races, all of the faces have the same exact look of fear and uncertainty.  The mother’s faces are filled with anger and discomfort.  Directly across from me is the reception area. The small cubicle is filled with countless folders and files.  The three women, dressed in different colored scrubs, have impatient scowls, as if they want to be somewhere else.  Every few minutes, girls walk through the large metal doors, returning with cotton swabs and band aids covering their arms, and sit down to anxiously await the results of a blood test-THE blood test.
            It seems as though every one of these places is the same, or so I’ve been told.  I have only heard recollections through friends of friends who have been here before.  It is not the most pleasant place to be, but it gets the job done, without costing you your whole paycheck.  While I’m sitting here, I don’t feel better than any of these people, nor do I feel disgust.  Instead, I try to empathize and be supportive Emily.  She’s the reason why I’m here this morning. 
            Emily and I have not been friends for very long.  In fact, up until this point, I think I’ve only known her for about a year and a half.  We don’t have too much in common, besides the fact that we work together and like some of the same music.  Pink, to be exact, is our absolute favorite, and I can’t help but think that she is the reason why we initially began talking. 
            Emily, at first sight, can come off as a bit tough, and most definitely exudes an attitude of being streetwise.  She has more than ten tattoos, including the most dominant and noticeable one, a butterfly, across her upper chest.  She has a few on her wrists, and two large ones on her arms.  She also has numerous facial piercings, including one on her lower lip. Either way, it does not take away from her beauty.  She is strikingly beautiful, her light green eyes one of her most likeable features. Emily is a sweet person, but a part of me can’t help but feel kind of sorry for her.  I feel guilty for even thinking this, but it’s the truth.  Over the last few months, I have gotten to know her so well, and she has shared things with me that no one else, not even my life long friends, has ever shared. 
            She dropped out of high school in her late teens, but ended up going back a year or two later and graduating.  She became pregnant in her mid teens, but lost the baby due to the fact that she was being threatened at school.  This caused her to become so stressed, she had a miscarriage.  Emily had never told her parents, and to this day, even more than ten years later, they still have no idea. 
            A few weeks after we began working together, she revealed to me that she had a 2 and a half-year-old son.  When she spoke of him, her face magically lit up, and I found it beautiful that he had such an amazing and positive effect on her.  Through our discussions, I learned that she has a live in boyfriend, Freddie (also the father of her son), and that they have been together for about four years.  That was the extent of the discussion when it came to him.  

More feedback, maybe?

Thanks to my group for giving me some feedback on my first eye essay.  Though I was aware of the difference between an "I" and "eye" essay, I was a little hesitant to use I in this one.  I was afraid that it would make it seem more like an "I" essay.  However, I now know that it's fine to do that, because an "eye" essay is all about observation, whereas an "I" essay is more about personal growth.  I liked writing about this topic, but I didn't want to make it sound like one big rant.  My group, as well as Dr. Chandler, told me that it did NOT sound like that, which I was relieved about.  Is there anything else that could help make this essay less essay-ish, and more of story?

I have some writing for the second "eye" essay, which I will be posting later on before class.  This one was a little harder to think of, but as I begin writing it, I find the words are easier to type.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Four Lessons Everyone Learns While Working in Retail


Anybody who has had the ‘pleasure’ of working in retail knows that there is hardly ever a dull moment.  The word ‘pleasure’ is used sarcastically because of the fact that working in retail is hardly anything but.  No matter what kind of retail it is-a clothing store, a supermarket, electronics, and so on, many workers walk out of there feeling the same way-unappreciated and angry at society.  There are situations, however, that can also cause someone to learn and view life in a different way.  How can working in retail do such a thing?  Well, for one, dealing with people on a regular basis can truly teach a person a thing or two about life.  Unfortunately, the world we live in tends to be pessimistic and negative, and those feelings are often reflected through customers.  People want what they want, when they want it, and usually do not care how they treat others.  Learning to deal with this negativity in a mature and positive way can be tough, but if a worker is able to do so, then they can basically deal with any circumstance.
            Working at Five Below was anything but glamorous.  Cleaning up after people’s messes, dealing with disrespect, and trying to maintain a calm demeanor when asked ridiculously ignorant questions can really put a damper on someone’s morale.  I try to take it all in stride and not focus on the negative things that happened while working there, but rather, reflect on everything that I witnessed and the lessons I learned during my almost 3 years working there. 
            Lesson number one-the majority of the human race will always be ignorant, dense, and rude.  There is just no getting around it.  It doesn’t matter how many signs are around the store, how big the print is, what the price tag says, or what the company policy is-it is always the worker’s fault.  How dare you accuse the customer of looking on the wrong shelf, or trying to use a coupon that expired months earlier-they are always right.  No matter what position-a general manager, a key holder, or an associate-you are going to be answering the same exhausting questions time and time again.  Society is always looking for a way to beat the system.  Even though Five Below is already a cheap and extremely inexpensive store, people always complain about the quality of the products, and the fact that the store does not offer refunds. Forget the fact that the product you’re buying is only $3 and made of flimsy plastic and will probably break within a week, they want their money back, and will go to any lengths to do so.  Customers always seem to think that they were shopping in Nordstrom’s and expected the products that the store sold to be top of the line.  They were always shocked when we, the workers, would tell them that the store did not offer refunds, however, they could pick out another product of the same price and do an even exchange (even though there should not have been any shock, because the store policy was clearly and boldly printed on the bottom of their receipt).  Then came the usual demand to speak to a manager, as if they were going to tell them something different. 
            There is one story that I will always continue to tell when discussing my experience with retail, and it deals with the claim that people are too ignorant to admit when they are wrong.  The horrifically busy and strenuous holiday season was nearing its end, and I was on register.  An older woman who I was ringing up accused me of stealing her money.  How could I have done so from behind the counter?  She was just about to start screaming when a little girl picked up $5 from the floor and handed it back to the woman, who had dropped it before I even began ringing her up.  She then turned to me and said, “Well YOU should have been paying better attention.”  Enough said.
            Another lesson learned while working in retail is the fact that there is always going to be some type of inequality and unfairness felt.  While this is true in almost any job in the world, it is especially felt in the world of retail. Associates are already dumped on and treated poorly, and the position one holds really has an effect on the amount of respect they acquire.  Even in a small store like Five Below, there was always some type of politics going on.  Whether it was an argument between two associates, a disagreement between corporate and the general manager, or problems with the amount of hours on the schedule, something was always happening.  No one was ever truly and genuinely happy.  Complaints were constantly running rampant, which leads to lesson number three-the morale of a store has a tremendous effect on how well the store performs.  Simply put-if the workers aren’t happy, then no one is! Think about it-work is already considered a stressful environment.  If the associates of a store are being treated unfairly-constantly being put down by their managers and always being told everything that they are doing wrong, then no one is going to want to perform well at all. Overworking employees and showing no signs of gratefulness is also a huge factor to the dissolution of a store.  There were countless times when we would stay well past our shifts to clean, and no one would give us the gratitude we deserved.
            While it may sound like working in retail will result in nothing but horror stories, I should include the fact that it can also produce wonderful bonds and friendships.  A person’s co-workers can make all the difference in the world, and work can be much easier and less stressful when getting along with them.  I started to become very friendly with the general manager of the store.  He was just great to talk to-very intelligent, funny, and good at his job.  Through our discussions, we found that we had a lot in common, and developed a mature and professional friendship that I really enjoyed.  Little did I know, the other managers in the store did not hold the same feelings, and were planning to get him fired.  When it occurred, everyone was in shock, and there was a shift in the staff.  No one wanted to do anything, because the manager that had taken over had no idea what he was doing.  He was too young for such a responsibility, and treated everyone like an idiot.  This whole ordeal taught me lesson four-always be prepared for the unexpected.  The world of retail can be cutthroat, and not everyone is a friend.
In order to really understand life and the way people are, everybody should spend at least a year in retail. We spend so much of our time having relationships with retail people-how many times a day do we go face to face with associates, with people taking our money?  Retail is such an integral part of everyone’s lives, even though it’s something most people don’t even think about. While the experience itself is not always pleasant, the lessons learned can truly be useful in other aspects of life.  Some people may not realize it, but positive reinforcement can really go a long way in the land of retail.  Let’s face it-the world is always going to be filled with pessimists and people who will do anything to make others miserable.  My years in the store have really trained me on how not to let these people get the best of me.  I have experienced my fair share of craziness in what feels like such a small amount of time.  The greatest lessons of life can be taught through retail, and if a person can overcome the initial hardship, then they are capable of handling anything life throws at them.   

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Brainstorming continued for Eye essay...

So. I've been thinking a lot about this topic, and I think I've come up with how I'm going to go about writing this all out.  Like I said, I really want to write about working in retail.  I want to discuss 'behind the scenes'...I know that sounds very dramatic, but, for those of you who HAVE worked in retail, you know that there is always a 'behind the scenes'.

I worked at a store called Five Below.  Many of you may not have heard about it, because it is fairly new in the retail world.  When people used to ask me what kind of store it was, I always used to describe it as an 'upscale dollar store', lol.  For those who have never been in one, everything is $5 and under.  A lot of stuff is crap, but there are some pretty good deals there from time to time.  Anyway, I worked there for almost 3 years, and let me tell you-I have never encountered more drama that I did working there. There was always something going on-whether it was in management, between the associates, or fights amongst the customers-there was rarely a dull moment.

I encountered a lot working there, and I learned a lot as well.  What did I learn?  Well, I realized that no matter where a person works, there is most likely going to be some type of inequality and unfairness felt among the staff.  Even in a small store like Five Below, there is always some type of politics going on-who doesn't like who, who is sucking up to the boss, why are they being promoted, and so on.

One story that I am definitely planning on sharing is the firing of my favorite manager, and how I finally found out that his firing was planned among the other managers.  When he got fired, it was felt throughout the store, and it definitely ruined the morale of the store for a while.  That's another thing I want to share-how the attitudes of the staff effects the performance of the entire store.

I'm going to compose a number of stories to sort of 'uncover' the true side of retail that many people may not know about.  It was such a big part of my life, and it's weird to think that working in a small store can really change a person's outlook on things. Any suggestions?

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Brainstorming for "Eye" essay #1

I was not here for Monday's class, however, I feel as though I have a good idea for our first "Eye" essay...

I'm thinking that I want to write about working in retail.  Like I've stated in class before, I worked in retail for almost 3 years.  (3 years too long, if you ask me).  Within those short years, I have had so many ridiculous experiences, and have gained so many different perspectives on the human race (lol).  I want to incorporate stories that I experienced first hand, involving the customers as well as the staff.  There was a time when I was so close to my co-workers, that it made the experience of working in retail almost pleasant.  There was a downside to it, though, because when one of my managers got fired suddenly, it ripped our store apart and completely ruined our morale for a while.  

There is so much to retail that many people do not get to see, unless they have worked in retail themselves.  The dynamic of the staff has a lot to do with how well the store is run, which is something that many customers do not realize.  If a staff is not being treated properly, then the work that is required is not going to be 100%.  I would like to take my readers inside retail, and give them an idea of the issues that I saw.  I want to talk about certain memorable customers (such as the lady who threatened to urinate on the floor-another memorable story of mine).  I also want to include stories about my former co-workers, because ultimately, they have a huge impact on how well a person does at a job.  I may have a hard time from turning this into an "I" essay, but I'm really going to not focus on MY personal feelings, but rather, the experiences that were encountered around me.  

Monday, October 25, 2010

Losing Myself-Essay 2


There was a time in my life when I lost track of myself, and allowed someone else to take over for a while.  In my mind, I was frail, too exhausted to deal with the reckless decisions I tend to make.  I gave up, and began my downward spiral into oblivion and loneliness.  I knew at the time that was I was doing to myself was wrong, but I sat back in a state of arrogance and pomposity as I watched my life crumble.  It soon became a fog, and my conscience was clogged with egotistical demands and guilt-ridden lectures from him.  I thought it was the right thing to do.  I thought he could never steer me wrong, but he did. 
            It started off in a way that any typical young romance does.  He was the sweetest person I had ever met before.  So sweet, that it was almost bizarre.  All of my past experiences with boys up until that point had been very immature and juvenile.  This, however, was different.  Right from the start, he made it known how “deeply” he cared about me.  He was thoughtful, mature, and truly had my best intentions at heart, or so I thought.  I had just begun my first year of college when we met.  At first, I had no real interest in him.  Sure, he was attractive, but his egotism resonated off of him instantly.  I got the feeling that he was trying too hard to impress me with his so-called wit, and I was immediately put off. 
            He did not give up on trying to pursue me, though. He was consistent with his phone calls, text messages, pleads to allow him to take me out.  I finally gave in, against my better judgment, and to my surprise, began liking him instantly.  He treated me like a lady, opening doors for me, pulling out my chair, and paying for our dates without even questioning it.  Before I knew it, we were seeing each other everyday.  The word love was being tossed around as though it was a football. His family treated me as if I was an actual member, as if he and I had been together for years.  He did romantic things for me that I had only heard about, never experienced.  For instance, when I got a seasonal position at a store in the mall, he surprised me with a leather Ipod cover from Coach, which thrilled me.
             When I look back on everything now, I realize that I did not fall in love with him.  I realize that I was in love with the way he treated me.  The words that came out of his mouth, the promises he made to me regarding our future together, hypnotized me.  He quickly became the only thing in my only line of vision.  I saw no one else, not my family or my friends. He would talk me into going out with him instead of going to class, and stupidly, I listened.  At a time when my schoolwork should have been my job, my number one priority, it simply became an annoyance, something so unimportant, I put it on the back burner.  By the time the semester ended, I only ended up passing two classes. 
            I just did not care about anything anymore.  He kept me under his radar at all times.  At first, I believed this to be romantic, a sign that he was so in love with me, he just wanted to protect me. Before long, I grew tired of it, realizing that it was not because he wanted the best for me, but rather, he wanted me all to himself. I realize now that the more items he bought for me, the more he put me under his spell.  It was his way of controlling me.  He began using the items as a tactic, as a way of threatening me if he thought I was going to leave.
            When we initially began dating, I still had a close group of childhood friends.  My friend Jen and I had an especially close and special relationship.  He, however, “disapproved” of her, because she was friendly with an ex-boyfriend of mine.  He began almost brainwashing me into believing that Jen was playing both sides of the fence, and whatever we talked about in private, she was disclosing to this ex-boyfriend.  Before long, none of my friends wanted anything to do with me, because they disliked him so much.  I cannot remember what finally caused the demise of my friendship with Jen, but all I know is that he was in my ear the whole time telling me that I didn’t need her, because I had him.  I only needed him.
            My relationship with my mother, which had always been strong, soon started to deteriorate as well.  She didn’t like the fact that I allowed a boy to have such a blinding hold on me.  She knew my schoolwork was being affected because of all the time I was spending with him.  I was hardly ever home, and this caused great tension between us.  It kills me now to think of the fact that my mom was hurting so much.  I assumed at the time that she was just upset because she felt that she was losing control over me.  I was, at this point, 19 years old, very immature, and just wanted independence from my parents.  It turns out, my mother just simply missed me.
            I was in a state of ignorant bliss for the next few months.  I loved his family dearly; in fact, I think that’s the only reason why I stuck around for as long as I did.  His parents were divorced, but only lived a few blocks from each other.  We went back and forth between the two houses.  I got a taste of what it was like to be involved in a family of divorce.  There was no lack of drama when it came to his emotions regarding this.  He was torn between the sorrow he had towards his father, and the anger he felt towards his mom for getting re-married.  She married a man whom they all knew, and he was certain that they had carried on an affair while his parents were still married.  This is a story I heard incessantly from his father and his uncles, though I honestly doubt it actually happened.  Regardless, it was none of my concern, but the fact that his family felt so comfortable and compelled to include me in such personal discussions made me even more connected. 
As I got to know his father better, I realized that his attitude and beliefs most likely contributed greatly to the divorce.  His father was born in Italy, and came over when he was a young boy.  Though he grew up here, he still held some of the close-minded and stereotypical mindsets that are often associated with Italian men.  For instance, during a heated conversation regarding his ex wife, he stated to me, something along the lines of, “I allowed her to work, and what does she do?  Goes out and has an affair.”  This statement stuck with me, because it was then that I realized his view on women had been passed down to his son.  The fact that he believes he “allowed” her to go out and work, means that he felt that he had complete control over her, and that was slowly starting to happen to me.  His mom felt like she was being suffocated, and had to escape.
            I had not worked since Christmas, and by the time summer had started, I was extremely low on money.  I decided to return to my usual summer job as a camp counselor for my third year.  When he found out, he was very upset.  He was certain that I was going to meet someone there and leave him.  I had never seen anyone so jealous for no reason whatsoever.  It really bothered me, and it was something that was always in the back of my mind.  It started to all make sense-he felt as though just because his mother left his father, that it was going to happen to him as well.
            Summer came and went, and we enrolled in community college together.  The night before classes started, he told me not to “dress cute” for school, because there was no one there that I needed to impress.  I just brushed it off and ignored him.  The following day, when we met up, he looked at me and said, “I thought you weren’t going to look nice.  Are you trying to meet guys here or something?”  I was utterly shocked and disgusted with his ridiculous jealousy and asinine accusations.  It was then that I realized that I was losing feelings for him.
            We started arguing more often.  When my mother pleaded with me to get a part time job, he made me feel guilty about it, saying that I would never have time to see him.  “I have money for you, honey.  Anything you want, I’ll buy you.”  While this might make a girl feel lucky and secure, I felt quite the opposite. I felt trapped.
            Before I knew it, I had lost all attraction to him.  Sometimes it literally made my stomach feel uneasy to kiss him, but I did it anyway.  I had no one else in my life.  I had secluded myself, pushed all of my friends away.  If I broke up with him, then I would have no one.  I had dug a deep, dark hole for myself, and I only had me to thank for it. 
            He must have sensed the fact that I was losing interest, because he soon became more domineering than ever.  It got to the point that even if I went out with my mom, my phone would be ringing nonstop.  If I was not with him, he had to know what I was doing at all times.  It was completely mentally and emotionally exhausting.  He questioned me relentlessly about where I was going, who I was with, and so on.  I just could not deal with it any longer, and told him I needed a break. 
            “Well for how long?” he desperately asked me, tears pouring down his face.
            “I don’t know.  I need time for myself.”
            “But how long is that going to take?”  Even when we were breaking up, he wore me out.  After about 3 days of not seeing each other, he came to my house and bribed me, telling me that if we got back together, he would take me shopping to the outlet stores in New York State.  I’ll be completely honest-at this point, I just didn’t care.  I wanted to use him, and make him feel like he had to kiss the ground I walked on.  He had put me through so much, had taken so much away from me, and was completely oblivious to it all.  He didn’t know me at all.  We went shopping, and I put up with him for a few more weeks.
            During this time, I became very friendly with a group of people from one of my classes at school.  We had worked on a project together, and decided to meet up for lunch one day.  My stomach did somersaults at the thought of telling him that I was meeting up with them, because 2 of the people were male.  When I finally disclosed this to him, he gave me the exact reaction I expected him to.  He was livid at the thought that I actually wanted to go out with people other than him.  My friends could tell something was wrong with me.  When I told them that my boyfriend was not happy, they questioned why I was with him. 
            “Does it bother you that he’s like that?”
            “Yes, very much.”
            “Well, why are you with him then?” Good question.
            A week later, I went out for lunch with the girl from that same group, Adrianna.  We were discussing our relationships, and I told her how unhappy I was.  She told me that it sounded like I was no longer in love, and that I should just end it.  Right around that time, he called my phone and asked what I was doing.  I told him, and he asked if the other guys were there too.  I said no, and he said, “Good, you’re never going out with them anyway.  Bye!” and hung up.  Right then and there, I knew what I had to do.
            Being in a relationship is supposed to bring joy to one’s life.  It’s supposed to be, for the most part, a wonderful experience.  It is not supposed to feel like a job.  I cringed whenever he came over my house.  I just wanted to be alone.  I finally worked up enough guts and did it.  I broke up with him, once and for all.  It was draining, his non-stop begging for me not to do it.  He even showed up at my house the next day with roses.  He just could not accept the fact that we were done, that I did not want him anymore. That’s when it became nasty.  The hurtful words that spewed out of his mouth were like venom, but I did not let it effect me.  I knew this was the right thing to do in order to get my life back.  A huge weight was lifted off of my shoulders that day.  Though it took an emotional toll on me, this relationship taught me exactly what I want and what I don’t want in a partner.  The immature decisions, though made over 5 years ago, still haunt me to this day.  The choices I made were like a snowball effect.  This relationship not only caused so much emotional pain, it set me back 2 years in school.  No, I’m not proud for allowing someone to take over my life for a while.  But the fact that I was able to take back my life, and put my relationships with my family and friends back together is a huge accomplishment for me.  

Monday, October 18, 2010

Brainstorming for Essay 2

I have a topic in mind for essay 2, however, I've been debating whether or not I really should write about it.  It involves a past relationship I had that really took it's toll on me.  Though it was not in any way physically abusive, I feel as though he tried to control me both mentally and emotionally.  Here's what I would discuss in my essay if I do in fact choose this topic to write about...

His name was Gerard.  We started dating in the fall of 2005, right when I began my freshman year of college.  He quickly consumed me.  By consumed, I mean he took over my whole life.  I dropped all of my friends that 'he didn't approve of', didn't work because he didn't want me to.  Pretty soon, he was basically the only one I had in my life, besides my family.  Part of it is my fault, because I let it happen.  When I look back now, I think to myself, 'what the hell was wrong with me?  I had a voice-why didn't I use it?'  I guess, because, as cliche as it is, I thought I was 'in love', and that he would never steer me wrong.

He was exhausting.  The relationship eventually became more trouble than it was successful and happy.  He had to know where I was, what I was doing, 100% of the time.  Every time he felt that I was disconnecting from him, he would bribe me with going places, with gifts.  I eventually just couldn't stand it anymore, and ended the relationship.

In my essay, I would like to focus on the emotional roller coaster I was experienced through 90% of our relationship.  The first 3 months were pretty good-he was sweet and respectful.  I want to discuss the fact that I was NOT myself for over a year-that he pretty much brainwashed me.  I also would like to use it as an almost cautionary tale for girls (and guys) who think that they are in love and that their relationship is the most important thing in the world.  Because I only focused on him, I failed my first year of school, and that is why I am going to be graduating 2 years late.  Even though he and I broke up over 3 years ago, I am still dealing with the repercussions of this exhausting ordeal.

What do you guys think?  Would you want to hear this story, or is just another cliche tale that could be the plot to a Lifetime movie? ;)

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Project 1, Draft 1

The phone call disturbed me, but I tried not to let it effect me too much.  I kept thinking to myself that it probably was not anything too serious.  I even expected to arrive at the hospital, only to hear my brother complain about some diminutive problem that had occurred on the ride over in the ambulance.  Little did I know that the scenario that my family and I were about to walk in on would involve nothing of that minute magnitude.  Little did I know that a fear would be implanted inside of me and would still somewhat be there 6 years later.  A feeling that I thought I would never have to experience towards my brother was about to take over my whole entire body and mind, and it was not going to diminish over time very easily.
            Growing up, my brother Andrew, one could say, was a ‘typical’ older brother.  Being twice the size of the petite thing that I was, he used it to his full advantage to intimidate me.  He liked to pick on me, and sometimes left me feeling unsettled and aggravated.  There were times, though, that he used his role as the big brother positively, like the time Alex from up the street punched me in the stomach while we were all outside playing.  I will never forget the look on my brother’s face when he saw me clutching my stomach, tears streaming down my face.  A look of pure anger washed over not only his face, but his eyes as well, as if to say to me, “don’t worry, I got this.”  Of course I did not notice it then, but now that I think of it, on that day, my brother showed an almost burning need to protect me as he raced up the street to “take care of” Alex.
            As I got older, I suppose Andrew’s outlook towards me began to change.  He no longer viewed me as the obnoxious little sister who he could boss around.  Rather, he started looking to me as an equal, someone he could actually hang out and get along with. He had started seeing Patty, a sweet and bubbly blond girl who quickly became a part of our family.  Though shy at first, I soon adored her, and looked up to her like the sister that I never had, yet so desperately had wanted for so many years.
            Andrew and Patty were fun together.  I considered them to be adventurous, because they were always going out and doing different things.  Being 13 years old at the time, going out without my parents was only something that I had only dreamt about, which is why whenever my brother invited me to join the couple on their escapades, I was beyond ecstatic.  Before I knew it, I was joining them on their “adventures” almost on a weekly basis. 
Years went by, and the couple was still going strong.  I was all set and ready to start my senior year of high school.  The summer of 2004 was great-my best friend Jen had gotten her license in June, so we were taking full advantage of the fact that we did not have to rely on our parents for rides anymore (needless to say, we were at the mall about every other day).  I was working as a camp counselor for the second summer in a row-something I both loathed and loved at the same time.  Regardless, I had my own money in my pocket for once.  I suppose one could say that it was my summer of independence-I was 17, I had money, and a friend who had a car. I had everything.
            Halfway through the summer, things started to go sour for Andrew and Patty.  They soon broke up, and my brother’s attitude quickly changed.  His temper, which had always been pretty short, grew even shorter with us, and he began lashing out at my parents on a regular basis.  Looking back though, I cannot really remember my brother being too angry with me.  There was no instance where he lost his temper towards me. Funny to think that at one time, I was the only one he really geared his anger towards. 
            Andrew turned 23 on October 10, 2004.  He had moved out of our house only a few weeks prior to his birthday. We all felt, at first, angered by his sudden and harsh decision.  My mom had taken it the worst, of course, because she felt that her role as a mother was being tested to the extreme, and took it very personally when notified of his decision.  As the weeks went on, though, we realized that perhaps the distance could actually help to regain the strength in all of our relationships to Andrew.  Seeing and speaking to him everyday would only lead to fights and deeper rifts, so the distance was starting to help a bit.
            On Friday, November 5, I had achieved the ultimate goal of a 17 year old senior in high school-I had passed my driving test.  I was thrilled, and was even happier when Andrew made a special trip home to congratulate me and celebrate with my family.  For the next 3 days, I had not a care in the world.  I picked up my girlfriends, drove to the mall, and went out to eat.  I began thinking that the old saying was right-that senior year truly is the greatest time in a teenager’s life.  I thought too far ahead.
            The phone call was the first notification that anything was wrong, and I was on its receiving end.  I stayed home from school the following Tuesday, November 8, because I started to develop a really bad cold.  I was in my room watching TV when the house phone rang around 3 o’clock.  I picked it up, only to hear my aunt’s voice on the other end (she and my brother had worked together for about 2 years now).
            “Something happened at work.  Your brother collapsed, and he’s at the hospital.  Call your mom.”
            I was confused, and started to ask questions, but my aunt did not really know any details.  I hung up and called my mom, who then went on to call my dad, and before I knew it, we were all in the car on our way to the emergency room.
            “Everything’s fine, Ma.  He just started taking those diet pills, right?  I’m sure he just didn’t eat enough and they made him dizzy.  It’s fine.”  My mother even went as far as to chuckle a little and say, “Yeah, I’m sure when we get there he’s going to be all annoyed that we took too long to pick him up or something.” 
            We arrived at the emergency room and did not hear any of this.  Instead, we arrived only to hear my brother screaming in agony while vomiting profusely. 
            Confusion quickly took over, and nobody knew what to think.  I looked to my parents for closure, some kind of answer, but all I found was an equal amount of bewilderment written all over their faces.  It only grew worse when the emergency room doctor came in and told us that after a CT scan, blood was found on Andrew’s brain.
            “Huh? What?  What does that mean?”
            “It means that there is something seriously wrong with him, and we have a neurologist on the way.”
            The ride home that night is something I will never forget.  Endless questions filled the car, a need and a want for answers.  When is he getting the surgery?  Is he going to live through it?  Why did this happen?  I could understand my parent’s agony and helplessness, but why was I feeling it too?  Is that the role of a sister?  Is it normal for me to be feeling like this? The only thing I remember once I got home is going into my room, turning off all the lights, and crying into my pillow.
            Andrew received his emergency brain surgery a day later at Overlook Hospital in Summit.  After numerous tests and countless CT scans, it was determined that he had an Arterial Venal Malformation, or AVM.  An AVM occurs when the nerves in the back of the brain do not form properly, and create a blockage, which either starts to leak, or eventually burst.  It is a “sister” to an aneurism.  The AVM was removed and his surgery went very well.  He was placed in the ICU for about 2 weeks, and we were thrilled when we were notified the day before Thanksgiving that he was being taken out and placed into a regular room.
            Before we went to my aunt’s house for dinner on the morning of Thanksgiving, we went to visit my brother.  We trailed my mother as we walked through the hallway, my father and I, so we were not able to feel the initial shock that she felt.  All I remember hearing is my mother screaming, “Where is my son?”
            “Oh, his fever went back up, so we moved him back into the ICU,”  the nurse nonchalantly replied.
            My family and I were livid at the thought that we were not notified, as well as terrified at the fact that my brother began to regress.  We ran over to the hallway leading up to the ICU, a place we thought we would never have to see again.  The hallway seemed longer today, the walls, which were a usual shade of off white, seemed dimmed and yellowish.  I glanced over into the waiting room, only to find more families, just like us, with helpless looks stamped on their faces.  I almost felt guilty walking into my brother’s room, all dressed up with my high heels clicking, about to go indulge in a delicious Thanksgiving meal, surrounded by our family, while my brother laid there all alone, unsure of what was going on, what was happening to him.
            “Hey, how are you feeling?” I quietly asked when I walked up to the side of his bed.  I stared at his half shaved head, his battle wound which was so deep and long, I was sure it would never fully go away. 
            “Not too good.  Not too good,” was all he could say.
            Overnight, my brother’s fever went up to a staggering 104 degrees.  He fell into a coma, and was pretty much guaranteed to die.  I happened to be out with some friends when my mother called me and told me to get home as fast as I could.  When she told me of my brother’s condition, I did not immediately comprehend it.  I replied with something ignorant, something along the lines of, “Well why do I need to come home?”  She immediately began screaming at me, “Do you even care?  Do you understand what is going on?”
            The accusation of the fact that I did not care that my brother was on his death bed hit me hard.  I drove right home, but by the time I had gotten there, my parents were already on their way up to the hospital.  I will never forget the loneliness that smothered me at that very moment.  The house, dark in the dusk of early winter, suddenly did not even feel like my home.  I felt as though I did not even know this place, this chilly, uncomfortable building that was supposed to be filled with warmth, with smells of leftover pumpkin pie.  I just could not bare the thought of losing my only sibling.  As selfish, and moody, and pompous as he could be, he was my brother-the only one I’ve ever had, and the only one I was ever going to get.  Though it might sound overly dramatic, it was at this point that I dropped to my knees and just cried.  I cried for my brother.  I cried for my parents, at my mother’s agony over the thought of losing her child.  I cried for me, for being the selfish and immature 17 year old that I was. 
            Andrew’s condition plateaued for the next few weeks.  He did not get better, but he did not get worse. He had come out of his coma within a day or two, but we soon realized that he had lost all control over his body.  He was mostly paralyzed on the right hand side, and was not able to either speak or eat by himself.  His surgeon told us that he had developed Menengitis, and that the infection had caused his brain to swell immensely.  On more than one occasion, the doctors even had to open up his incision and clean out all of the bacteria that was infecting his brain.  The one comforting aspect of this whole ordeal was the nurses who took care of my brother nearly 24 hours a day.  My family and I were able to find solace in the fact that they felt so dedicated to his recovery, and fought for him, just as much his team of doctors were fighting for him. 
            By the last week of December, the swelling had significantly subsided, and the doctors felt as though my brother was well enough to be released to Kessler Rehabilitation Center.  His speech had been so badly effected that we were barely able to understand him.  Once he realized what was going on, he became frustrated and embarrassed.  Andrew had always been an outstanding intellectual, and for him not to be able to speak properly and get his points across, came as a huge blow to his ego.       
            While I tried to be as encouraging and positive as possible, I too started becoming frustrated.  I was angry because I realized that my brother may not ever fully be the same as he once was.  He could barely walk, barely talk, and was almost crossed eyed.  His vision was effected so poorly, that he had to wear an eye patch over one eye, just so he did not see double of everything.  I don’t quite know who or what I was angry with, but my guilt was immense.  Was I actually mad at my brother?  Though I knew it was not his fault that this happened to him, I couldn’t help but gear some of my inner irritation towards him.
            Andrew had made enough progress to be released to our home right before my 18th birthday at the end of January.  Though his grueling recovery in rehab to regain control of his movement took a toll on him both physically and emotionally, it slowly worked.  It was not until the spring of that year that I really noticed my anger reeling.  When I observed that he was not back to normal within 3 months, I became impatient with him.  He would stutter and lose his balance when he walked, and I would think to myself, “why can’t you just go back to normal?”  I cringe when I think of this now, because I know that he was just as angry as I was.  He did not ask for this.  I had to stop being so selfish and overlook the fact that he may never be fully back to normal.  I realized that I had to get over my anger.  I was not the one who had been lying in a hospital bed for 41 days.  I was not the one who had to learn how to walk and talk all over again.  If I truly loved my brother, I had to accept the realization that this is now who he was.
            Almost 6 years later, I find that I still have some underlying and undisclosed anger about my brother’s illness.  With time, though, I have learned to not gear this resentment directly at him.  Life does not always go according to plan.  Many things can happen to throw a person’s life completely off track. Usually, the most unfair and devastating life occurrences are completely unexpected. People get sick, they cope with it, and they heal-that is, if they’re lucky enough to.  Instead of being a martyr and asking why this happened to us, I now try to focus on the fact that my brother did in fact survive, and was able to recover almost one hundred percent.  Though Andrew and I have endured our fair share of rough times together, the rollercoaster of emotions that I felt for him during his illness is something that I will never be able to forget.  Sadness, animosity, fear, and resentment will always be dominant, but the most important emotion that a sister could ever feel towards her brother, is love.