Chop Chop!

YES. Sliced up strawberries. I had to slice pounds of strawberries yesterday for my new job!

The Fro Yo Lounge.

Okay, well it's called Yogurt Factory. But you get the point. Officially, yesterday was my first shift ever from 12pm-4pm, working with the manager, Melanie (a very nice lady!). So just before arriving my inferiority complex was kicking in and saying:

"Dude, no way you could work at yogurt factory you'll fuck things up."
"Didn't I ban you?"

Then I remembered that I banned that little voice, and it didn't peep up again. It's great to be in control considering that that little voice used to be my voice. But you know what they say--you can't carry on a conversation if you're too focused on the vibrations of your larynx! (Well, I'm sure someone has said that before...maybe in India. He'd probably be a really weird guy with a fat wife named Apolonia--and I'm sure he doesn't make much but fuck it dude--he's trying to support his family, and as long as he continues to try, let his efforts be rewarded.)

So I walked in and realized that when it came down to it--this wasn't just a "Job." I was helping this woman run her business. "Help" is a key word here, and once you grasp that concept you realize that all your efforts come as naturally as just helping a friend or around the house. So I wasn't worried.

She showed me to the back and I was able to take in the full effect:

Large butts of machines that spewed yogurt from the front to hungry customers, the washing station to wash YOUR HANDS, SOAP FOR THOSE HANDS, a sink to wash dishes, rinse, and a soaking disinfectant for all the dishes. And then...The REFRIGERATOR!

"This is the refrigerator, we keep all our treasures within these stainless steel Goblin-Proof walls."

(Well she didn't word it that way exactly, but she might as well of because--)

She opened the gates and I was taken aback at the awesome amounts of fresh fruit. The aroma took me. I was in yogurt paradise. There were fridges of yogurt mix, stock piles of all the toppings from Snicker chunks to marshmallows to sprinkle covered snowcaps to caramel cups.

It wasn't before long when she asked me in a polite voice:

"How do you feel about chopping fruit?"
"...pretty good."

And there I was! Chopping pineapples and strawberries, just messing with random and different ways on how to cut them. (Yes it sounds lame. Yes it sounds awesome.) I was being paid to slice deliciousness.

Then came the register and all that interesting stuff where I concentrated on the procedure and trying to appear as happy as possible to all the customers. It was a little stressful at first but after 2 hours it was like walking.

It was over before I knew it. Which reminds me of something I talked about with father the other day.

"Dad, would you still live life if it were the most torturous most miserable life ever?"
"Compare something with nothing."
"Okay."
"I'll take the something."

As our conversation continued he told me:

"It doesn't matter if time passes slowly or quickly for you during the period. It could be the worst time ever, and you could feel as if it's never going to end; but it will all have seemed to have passed too quickly in when it's over."

I've remembered it crystal clearly and recall it when I find that hours are grueling, or when I just feel like shit. It will all seem too quick when its over.