What you see isn't always what you get

So, note to self: 5 pm isn't a perfect time to try to make a video; bandwidth is low.


What you see isn't always what you get from Kimberly Warren on Vimeo.

Wait. Theres more.

At my new job, I spend a good chunk of my day working in retail. Which, if you didn't already know, means that I deserve about the same amount of respect you'd give a used Kleenex. At least thats the case in Davis.

But its not like the people don't care about anything around here. At the very least, they care a lot about looking like they care a lot. They are, after all, wearing a bracelet that shows they donated a dollar to help provide clean water to a village in Africa. But that doesn't mean they'll look me in the face.

And to be fair, not everyone around here is like that, even. Some people's condescending nature is so deeply embedded that they don't even know that they're being condescending. For example: Without fail, at some point during my work day-- usually immediately after a customer finds out I'm a college graduate, and not just some trashy bum(although let it be known that there is no trash in Davis. We all recycle)-- I get "the look". The "what did you do so wrong in your life that you ended up here?" look. Which is suppose to be sympathy, but its like going to the Zoo and pitying the monkeys. You don't actually feel bad for those monkeys, but you want people to think you do; you want the monkeys to think you do. The truth is, you love seeing the monkeys there in their cages, throwing feces. It makes you feel good about yourself. You hardly ever throw feces.


This week, I had a guy tell me that he used to be a construction worker, but now he's an undergraduate, studying English. I said, "I have my Bachelors in English. Looking at me is kind of like looking into the future. All of this could be yours." And he gave me a look like that was the worst thing I ever could have said to him.

Say what?

Even though I was only unemployed for a month, I quickly forgot how much work it is to roll out of bed at 8am and do something other than watch Will and Grace reruns all morning. At work, I'm expected to be nice, and wear pants-- at the same time, when everybody knows I'm nicest without pants.

I'm learning what a struggle it is to work in Northern California. The language barrier is daunting. And I'm not talking about the English to Spanish thing; I mean no one understands a G.D. word that comes out of my mouth. I talk too fast, and the only time I end a sentence in the form of a question is when I'm asking a question. I have to curb my use of sarcasm, since it apparently hasn't arrived to California yet and I don't want to scare people. And every time I say 'wicked' or 'awesome' someone breaks into a giggle and we loss track of the conversation. At this point I'm taken about as seriously as a chimpanzee dressed in people clothes, which, interestingly enough, on the scale of work-related-respect is just below 'incompetent unpaid intern', but still a notch above 'unmarried woman'. I knew I had a problem when my co-worker, whose third language is English, was asked to talk to a patient because she is easier to understand than I am.

So, if I haven't been posting as often as I had been, now you know why.

California Roll

California is big. The whole country is big, which was news to me, because I thought Vermont was big. I thought we had big mountains, and big trees, and wide open spaces-- but I was wrong. I have a been a goldfish my whole life. My whole world view has been built around a fake plastic castle and a bubbling clam shell. And I feel like someone has dropped me in an ocean out here in California. Except, this ocean kind of smells like weed and everyone says "Cheers" and "Rad" and wear Rayban sunglasses every waking moment (I get it. you're hip).

A few days ago I was biking to work and I almost got hit, and the guy just shouted out "No worries!". No worries? You nearly hit me. Car versus Bike. Actually-- Yeah, I have a little bit of worries about that. You bum.

Does a Rose by any other name sound this dumb?

When I think of stereotypical Californians, a few first names come to mind: Brad, Brett, Chad, Barbie, Tori-- that sort of burn-out surfer dude with the question-mark-at-the-end-of-every-sentence girlfriend. And for the record, those people do exist, and there is a high concentration of them in California. But the names that we fictitiously give these people are dated. Those names have grown up, and had children, and they named their children even dumber names. But what adds to the ridiculousness is that these people are not stupid; this town is among the highest educated in the country, and they're not doing themselves any favors being named Poppy Bella. Do you have any idea how hard it is to take a bleach blonde 30-something named Grey Destiny seriously? While she's sitting there twirling her hair, I have no idea what she's talking about because all I can hear is my own inner voice reminding me "shes a doctor. shes a doctor. shes, like, a doctor".

Ok, In conclusion, California, I'm not saying your sons can't be named Angel, I'm just saying your contributing to a bullying epidemic that already plagues this country.