I once found myself for five years in the position of having to politely serve a dude from my past at the cafe where I worked in my 50s, and he seemed to think he was high and mighty to my low and humiliated except I wasn’t. (He recognized me but I didn’t recognize him, btw). I loved that job. For one thing it was quite the inoculation against becoming, or dating (sometimes the same thing) a douchebag like him! And for another, I didn’t know many people my age who’d have even asked for that job, much less loved and thrived in it. I was proud to get that job and all the other ones I took and still take while corporations give me that glazed over look the boys gave you in high school! (Most boys/men looked frightened whenever I looked at them, their eyes saying, “no, don’t choose me!” I get it already!)
I had no idea! I wasn’t in that league I guess! (The league of mean girl codes I mean! I was mercifully unpopular amongst both sexes, mostly invisible.)
I once had a classmate from elementary school and junior high as my waiter -- weirdly, it was at one of the most exciting dinners of my life, because the person who asked me to dinner at an Upper East Side restaruant I'd never go to in real life was the editor at the publishing house and he was telling me he was going to publish my first short story collection and was showing me his plan for the book.
I recognized the waiter, he didn't recognize me, and I was so happy to see him that I kept asking him about his life. He had been a cute kid and remained cute, and I was pretty sure that even though I was having a book published and worked as a part-time college teacher, he made a lot more money than I did. (Sadly, years later I found out that he had died young of AIDS as so many gay men of my generation did.)
I think most writers, artists, performers and other people who struggle with creative careers treat servers well because they know that was their past and could be their future.
I love working with food in a professional context. I love being thought to know what I know. I learned by watching and jumping in. Same as I've learned most things.
Another great piece by Laurie Stone. Keep them coming!
(I always come late to these discussions, but this time I've got the excuse of Covid. It's a very mild case, but to all oldsters who think, as I did, that it is over and your five vaccines saved you, I learned otherwise.)
I know Woodmere Academy because I knew people who went there and in the early 70s my friends and I used to play baseball there on weekends because one friend's brother worked there. In my first short story collection, there's a character who's a student there. It's now Lawrence Woodmere Academy. The Five Towns are a very different place today.
Sorry about the Covid. We are trying not to get it. Still the only people in the market wearing masks. Thanks for the kind words about my work. The Five Towns. I know. Really. It was a big deal to me from Long Beach. At dinner parties, I'm still the fork in the wrong place.
Ah, the old bumping-into-a-high-school-aquaintance story. Loved this one. I purposely avoid reunions. I was friends with a few gals on FB who were the mean girls in HS. Guess what? They're still mean.
It's funny how some people don't change. I wrote a screenplay almost called, Mean Moms, but changed it to PTA Wars when Jennifer Aniston was going to star in a movie called Mean Moms-- which never came to fruition.
I loved every syllable of this. The unkind boys whose eyes glaze over and the power they yield - made me think of boys I knew in high school, and, in the extreme, of Brett Kavanaugh. Here's to the freedom of being tied to zero expectations and to your great essay, Laurie Stone. Rock those leopard pants!
😂😂. In high school, our class did a visit to our county jail. One kid pointed at me and said, Michael’s going here after high school. Everyone laughed. Just after high school, at 19, the prediction came true. Thankfully I got sober at 27, in 2010.
I've always said I was more scared of waking up to find I'm still in high school than waking up in a crematorium. But my husband, a fellow classmate, has dragged me back to high school reunions over the years. Funny thing is, it's like being inoculated against a dread disease: my high school shame has (almost) vanished.
Thanks, dear Sari Botton, brilliant writer and editor, for this joyous collaboration. I love having a column on Oldster. xxL
A pleasure and an honor for me to publish you and your sparkling prose! xo
I once found myself for five years in the position of having to politely serve a dude from my past at the cafe where I worked in my 50s, and he seemed to think he was high and mighty to my low and humiliated except I wasn’t. (He recognized me but I didn’t recognize him, btw). I loved that job. For one thing it was quite the inoculation against becoming, or dating (sometimes the same thing) a douchebag like him! And for another, I didn’t know many people my age who’d have even asked for that job, much less loved and thrived in it. I was proud to get that job and all the other ones I took and still take while corporations give me that glazed over look the boys gave you in high school! (Most boys/men looked frightened whenever I looked at them, their eyes saying, “no, don’t choose me!” I get it already!)
It was only that one boy gave the glazed look. Remember I was also supposed to divorce 7 husbands, girl code for hot whore.
I had no idea! I wasn’t in that league I guess! (The league of mean girl codes I mean! I was mercifully unpopular amongst both sexes, mostly invisible.)
I once had a classmate from elementary school and junior high as my waiter -- weirdly, it was at one of the most exciting dinners of my life, because the person who asked me to dinner at an Upper East Side restaruant I'd never go to in real life was the editor at the publishing house and he was telling me he was going to publish my first short story collection and was showing me his plan for the book.
I recognized the waiter, he didn't recognize me, and I was so happy to see him that I kept asking him about his life. He had been a cute kid and remained cute, and I was pretty sure that even though I was having a book published and worked as a part-time college teacher, he made a lot more money than I did. (Sadly, years later I found out that he had died young of AIDS as so many gay men of my generation did.)
I think most writers, artists, performers and other people who struggle with creative careers treat servers well because they know that was their past and could be their future.
I love working with food in a professional context. I love being thought to know what I know. I learned by watching and jumping in. Same as I've learned most things.
Another great piece by Laurie Stone. Keep them coming!
(I always come late to these discussions, but this time I've got the excuse of Covid. It's a very mild case, but to all oldsters who think, as I did, that it is over and your five vaccines saved you, I learned otherwise.)
I know Woodmere Academy because I knew people who went there and in the early 70s my friends and I used to play baseball there on weekends because one friend's brother worked there. In my first short story collection, there's a character who's a student there. It's now Lawrence Woodmere Academy. The Five Towns are a very different place today.
Sorry about the Covid. We are trying not to get it. Still the only people in the market wearing masks. Thanks for the kind words about my work. The Five Towns. I know. Really. It was a big deal to me from Long Beach. At dinner parties, I'm still the fork in the wrong place.
Oh, no. Sorry you got Covid, Richard. Yes, the Five Towns are very different these days.
The only place I've visited in Woodmere in recent years is the nursing home!
Ah, the old bumping-into-a-high-school-aquaintance story. Loved this one. I purposely avoid reunions. I was friends with a few gals on FB who were the mean girls in HS. Guess what? They're still mean.
I've had similar experiences! I mention one in my book, in a chapter called Mean Girls.
It's funny how some people don't change. I wrote a screenplay almost called, Mean Moms, but changed it to PTA Wars when Jennifer Aniston was going to star in a movie called Mean Moms-- which never came to fruition.
I actually like reunions. To me this piece is about the always surprising ways I am interpreted—that I discover, as in the yearbook summary.
My sister loves her reunions too. I'm always afraid I'd be triggered. HS was not a good time for me-- in school and at home.
I loved every syllable of this. The unkind boys whose eyes glaze over and the power they yield - made me think of boys I knew in high school, and, in the extreme, of Brett Kavanaugh. Here's to the freedom of being tied to zero expectations and to your great essay, Laurie Stone. Rock those leopard pants!
Huge thanks, Debra . . . I still have lots of animal prints. xxL
Wow, this...
I have been sold short the way many others are sold short as we look out the window of ourselves and say, "Wait, what? You don’t know who I am.”
😂😂. In high school, our class did a visit to our county jail. One kid pointed at me and said, Michael’s going here after high school. Everyone laughed. Just after high school, at 19, the prediction came true. Thankfully I got sober at 27, in 2010.
Michael Mohr
‘Sincere American Writing’
https://michaelmohr.substack.com/
Lovely essay!
I've always said I was more scared of waking up to find I'm still in high school than waking up in a crematorium. But my husband, a fellow classmate, has dragged me back to high school reunions over the years. Funny thing is, it's like being inoculated against a dread disease: my high school shame has (almost) vanished.
I enjoyed this very much.
Thanks Jeff!
Sold short only to one day be my favorite writer.
Thanks! I'm still sold short. Partly because I am short. And now the age thing makes things confusing to interpret. It's definitely a thing.
Love this!
“ I have been sold short, and oh the freedom of being tied to zero expectations for you.” You are so right. Do I know you? HA! Perfect, TY
Thanks for taking the time to comment! Much appreciated.