Korea, cigarettes, and whale fins.

by Anne






I'm going to start this post with the conclusion, just so there's no confusion on it: I am absolutely a non-fan of confrontation. Yes, I like being able to yell my head off and voice my opinions, provided that there are minimal repercussions (i.e. I won't see them again, or they'll yell back, but that'll be the end of it... etc.), but, when that is not an option, I entirely shy away from it. Just the thought of confronting such a situation gets my heart rate up. 


Especially when I realize that my shirt is see-through.

Earlier this evening, I tried my hand shopping at a bigger store than the one I went to when I still lived at my old apartment (I just moved). The mission was a success - I got both my pantry and fridge stocked - but it took three times longer than usual, and I still didn't end up with the fancy trash bags I'm supposed to use. I may just haul my trash back to KNU and let them handle it... or take my garbage out in the middle of the night. But, the point of this paragraph is not to debate the morality of ignoring cultural norms when the culture makes it impossible to find the supplies to participate in said norms. The point of this paragraph is to express how exhausted I was when I finally made it home after my errands. It was quite a day - TESOL, then a trip to City Hall to turn in my Change of Address, then an attempt at finding a new bus route to school using the 1 Bus (which is a great deal closer to my apartment than the faithful 14) - no dice, btw - , then the E-Mart trip, putting me home around 8:30. I took care of the rabbit, started some chores, and finally sat down to dinner at (prepare to be horrified) 11:30. Somewhere in the middle of this, I changed into a pair of pajama shorts and an undershirt that my friend who used to live here left me.


It was around the time that I peeked out my front door to investigate the sounds of English coming from the hallway that I realized my shirt was very much see-through. Great. Glad I chose to wear a cute bra today. So, I talked to what turned out to be some other friends of mine for a bit, and then went back to bustling about the apartment, promptly forgetting the encounter.

That is, I forgot it until I had to run upstairs to Kris' apartment to fix something with our shared internet. He's not there right now, so I knew that wouldn't be an issue. What I wasn't expecting was to find Kris' neighbor, sulking in the stairwell, smoking his cigarette.

So, I came flying up the stairs, two at a time, until I saw him. I stopped, teetering on the edge of the top step. He stopped, one arm folded across his chest, the cigarette perched against his lip, as if he had been about to take a long drag. We made eye contact, and, in that second, I thought about the amount of time Kris has spent trying to catch this guy in the act of smoking in the hallway (right underneath the no smoking sign, mind you). I thought of Kris' determination to drive him out, bleaching the hallway, convinced that the smell would be too intense for him to stay. I thought of the mad dashes outside in the middle of conversations at just a wiff of smoke. I thought of all these things, then broke eye contact and ran away, slamming Kris' door behind me. It would have put some of Carrie Bradshaw's antics to shame.

And, true to form, I left Kris a note, explaining what had happened and apologizing for my lack of filling his shoes.

Confrontational situations: 2
Confrontations: 0


I don't know whether to label this as a win or a fail. So, I'm also not going to confront that, and label this one a wail... or a fin... or a whale fin. Yeah, that's it. A whale fin.

coffee, windex, and VeggieTales.

by Jesse

In order to earn my degree in music technology, I had to complete an internship. I wanted an internship in sound editing for film, so I applied to every studio in Nashville that had ever been involved with (or heard of) these things called Movies. 

Trillions of applications, phone calls, and interviews later, I ended up landing an internship at a studio that does the sounds and dialogue for VeggieTales.

VeggieTales!

So awesome, right?

Wrong. 

As it turns out, an internship at this studio was actually a cruel code for:

• filling my gas tank every other day (the internship was a 30 minute drive)
• working 8-9 hours after a full day of classes
• cleaning a hardwood floor with WINDEX??? on my hands and knees
• never even getting the opportunity to observe a real session in progress

Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed.

During my third week at this godforsaken place, my supervisor asked me to set out snacks and coffee for clients who would be doing an ADR (fancy name for VoiceOver) session that afternoon.

My subservient little intern self obeyed, and I dutifully got to work in the kitchen.

I'd just finished brewing the coffee when I heard a voice ask for some.

I hesitated for a moment: I knew this voice.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, that same voice said, "Remember kids: God made you special, and He loves you very much."

Bob the Tomato.

Holy cow.

I quickly turned around, expecting [of course] to see a very small red man.

Instead, I found myself face to face with a man who looked like he'd been dressed by a schizophrenic tourist: his dark brown hair was all slicked back and he was wearing cowboy boots and a Hawaiian shirt.

Even for someone who would be entertaining small children, this outfit didn't make sense.

I'd no sooner given Hawaiian-shirt-cowboy-boot-Bob his coffee when another man entered the room. He was a skinny older guy who kind of looked like Steve Jobs (RIP). He told Hawaiian-shirt-cowboy-boot-Bob that the producers were ready to start. 

And wouldn't you know it, as soon as the SJ lookalike opened his mouth, it was evident that he was the voice of Larry the Cucumber!

The narrators of my childhood morals were standing right in front of me.

[and were likely curious about this deaf/mute charity case of an intern.]

My eyes were bulging out of their sockets, my brain morphed into a bowl of cottage cheese, and my jaw had taken up residence on the floor.

I was so starstruck by their presence that all I had the wherewithal to do was smile and nod until they left the kitchen.

It took a while, but I eventually returned to normal: my eyes returned to their normal size, my brain turned back into a cluster of neurons, and my jaw overcame its temporary weakness to gravity.

I then busied myself with making their coffee and putting those nice jackets on the cups to protect their famous hands.

[maybe as a thank-you they'd offer to give me their autograph?]

I delivered their coffee with a creepy delirious grin on my face (think Salad Fingers), and was promptly dismissed by my supervisor.

Shocked and slightly embarrassed, I regained my composure and returned to my desk.

They eventually finished their session, and I was rendered speechless by their presence once again.

I walked them to the door, and they were nice and polite and wished me "a good afternoon".

And then 4 days later, I reached my 110 hour requirement for my internship credit and dropped that mutha like a hot potato.

BOOM.