For the past 5 months or so, I have been delivering for a food delivery company. My son started first, thrilled with the idea that he could just work when he wanted to. When he began, the company was just starting to infiltrate the St. Louis market. They offered an incentive if he got a friend to sign on, and make 200 "dashes" in 50 days, he would earn an extra $1000. I'm that friend. I figured if there was any chance we would see repayment for the car "he" bought, it was that $1000. He lasted just a couple weeks at the job (He never seemed to have cash for gas), but I completed the appropriate number of runs, got $1000 towards his car, and have continued to dash. (If any of you are interested in Door Dash, I can send you a link...the incentive is no longer as high, but hey, I could use the bonus!)
Every day I dash, I have at least one adventure. There was the time I had a dash from a restaurant by the ballpark. Just as the game was letting out. And there was a 'street fair' in a park. right by the ball park. Roads turning left (towards the restaurant) were closed. And the traffic wasn't moving because of the number of people who had just watched the Cardinals beat the Cubs. 45 minutes later I finally got to the restaurant. By then, they had "thrown the food away" (as well as about 12 other orders) because it was long since cold.
The very next day I had to go to a restaurant in BallPark Village. As the crowds were arriving for another game. Of course there was no parking anywhere. I made the (perhaps unwise) decision to park in a bus drop off zone, thinking I was only running into the place for a couple minutes to pick up the food. But nope, it hadn't been ordered yet. So I had to place the order and then wait for it to be ready. when I returned to my car about 20 minutes later and hopped in, there was a loud "thump" on the hood...and a police officer standing right there telling me not to move...he had already called for the dogs to sniff my car suspecting it might be a bomb. Yikes! I apologized and promised never to do that again.
Would you believe my very next shift I had to dash down by the ball park again...this time to drop off food...at the ballpark? Who orders food to be delivered to a baseball field an hour before the game (just as all the thousands of fans are arriving)? Grrrrr. It was someone who worked in the gift shop at the stadium. Not wanting to irritate the police, and suspecting there might be a possibility that the same officer from the day before would be working, I parked about a mile away, and hoofed it to BallPark Village.
Fun, right?!
But it is fun. I mostly enjoy myself. When I started I couldn't imagine who would be willing to pay an extra $10 just to have food delivered to their door. I'm way too cheap for that. But it's really all kinds of people. Lots of people, in the city anyway, don't have cars in St. Louis. They rely on the bus to get to work. They walk to local little shops for groceries. And now they can have restaurant food (or Wendy's) delivered to their door. And even with the delivery fee, it's probably cheaper than buying a car.
I've delivered to a new mom, who also had a toddler in the house. I delivered to a blind man. He can't exactly just drive to a restaurant. I've made deliveries to people in wheelchairs. People working shifts at the hospital. And to lots of college students. (who think they can just tell me the name of the residence hall and I'll be able to find them....come on people, I don't go there...I don't know where Jones hall is, or where the clock tower is). I delivered to a mom one Saturday (late morning), who said, "Thanks for letting me be lazy today." It was a thank you I appreciated.
I deliver food from fast food places like Jack in the Box and Wendy's, but also from small mom and pop establishments. I had a conversation with the owner of a Chinese restaurant once while we were waiting for the food to be finished. She was so thankful for a company like ours, because she didn't have to have someone on staff to make what might be just a couple deliveries a night, or a week. I've discovered restaurants I didn't know existed...and lots of ones I want to try. And a couple that are pretty skanky and I really don't want to go back inside again.
I know the city now. Pretty funny that someone who is "directionally dyslexic" has a job that's all about directions. But I'm pretty good at knowing where things are now. And my parallel parking skills are top notch.
A year or two ago I would have described some of these places as "scary neighborhoods," but I no longer think that is true. Some neighborhoods are just a little more tired (or a lot more tired) than others, in need of some TLC. (Please note, I don't do deliveries after dark...some places may still be a little scary at night)
And I've discovered that people can take pride in their homes no matter where they are. One Saturday afternoon I was making a delivery to one of those "tired" streets. This one more tired than most. Most of the houses had boarded up windows, and the lawns were overgrown. then I spotted the house that I knew must belong to my customer: Her front steps were painted a bright orange, and all up the walk, on both sides of the stairs, were some of the most beautiful flowers I've seen. I complimented her on the beautiful yard, and she beamed. And she said, "That's what I've been doing all day...I'm too tired to cook." What a great delivery! I left with a smile in my heart, too.
I've become a lot less judge-y of people. Who am I to question why someone ordered just 2 orders of cheesy fries and a molten lava cake. To each his (or her) own! But are you really so desperate for a Strawberry Lemonade from Wendy's that you're willing to pay an extra $10.00 to have one delivered (and that's the only thing you ordered)? Really?
Okay, still working on that judge-y thing.
And, don't forget to tip your driver!
Saturday, August 25, 2018
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
Hard
I'm not gonna lie. The last few years have been hard. Heart-achingly, faith-shakingly, my-God-my-God-why-are-you-forsaking-me hard. But we did it.
Let me back up. When my daughter was 3 or 4 she took a dance class. At the Christmas recital we watched in darkened auditorium while she took center stage and danced like no one was watching, holding high a shiny star while dancing to "Do You Her What I Hear?" In the spring she realized she was not alone in the room. When she saw that people were watching her, she didn't move a step. Not one step. People could see her.
Our school in suburban Houston was not racially mixed. (There was, I believe, one other black girl in class with her the whole 6 years she was there). I noticed. She didn't. All she noticed was that everyone else had long, straight, blond hair and she didn't. She didn't like her hair and wanted to fit in with her friends. Recently, my daughter told me, "I didn't know I was black until we moved to Arizona." As she was becoming a "tween" her skin color suddenly became a feature. However, except finding a place to straighten her hair, it didn't seem to matter.
Four years ago we moved to Missouri, and she was suddenly entering her teens and seeking her identity, as teens do. And color matters, as much to those around her as to her. And South St. Louis county is not a very colorful place. When she entered high school in Jefferson County, she enrolled in a school system that was 97% white. That leaves just 3% for all minorities. And the girl who didn't want to be seen on stage at age 4 suddenly, at least in her own mind, was the center of everyone's attention. She stuck out. She was seen.
She made the varsity volleyball team as a freshman. And now (at least in her own eyes) she was even more visible. One of only 2 freshmen on the team, and the only black girl. While I think she should have been honored that they saw her talent and skill, to her it seemed visible was miserable.
Add to that the fact that in middle school we "discovered" that she had ADHD. Learning in the traditional way was/is difficult for her. When she had the opportunity to go to a separate room for extra help and to take tests, she wanted no part of it, since kids were bound to notice that she was leaving or returning. They'd notice her.
So, back to High School. She was having difficulty in academics, and she felt like she didn't fit in (Imagine 50 or so children of color, any color, in a school of 1700). She began to try to disappear. She hated school. I dislike using the word "hate" because it's such a strong emotion...but I really can think of no better word.
Her sophomore year was a mess. She wasn't doing well academically, and had only a handful of friends at school. Attendance was slipping and the situation was becoming dire. Frequently she asked to go to another school, but since other schools in our county shared the same racial make-up, I knew that wouldn't help. My husband and I began to discuss moving to the city. We could downsize a bit as the kids were about to get their own wings (Our son was about to graduate and could leave any time), and we could find a school where she fit in. We put the house on the market.
When school was about to start and we were still looking to buy and to sell, we began to panic. She refused to go back to her high school until we moved. Panic turned in to prayer and we found a great charter school that would fudge the residency requirement until we moved. They saw our desires for her to succeed. Every morning we drove the 30 minutes into the city. But by now her aversion to school was firmly entrenched. She couldn't play sports (not eligible), and didn't have friends. We saw this school as a great opportunity, but she did not. She wanted to go to the public school, but that wasn't possible until we were residents.
Finally, in mid-October, 8 weeks into the academic year, we moved. As soon as we moved she wanted to go public, so again we transferred schools. But in a case of the grass being greener, this school wasn't what she wanted either. My daily attempts at getting her up for school frequently met with failure. She was miserable and so was I. And she was so far behind academically I didn't see how we could ever climb out of the deep hole she had dug.
By January, the beginning of the second semester, the situation was critical. My daughter was on her way to becoming a statistic, a high school drop-out. As a former high school teacher who loved going to school, I was crushed.
I can't go into detail (why not, you ask, you've already written an epic novel)...but at the end of January we met Joan Love. (I love her name.) Joan was able to pull a few strings and get Bri into "Innovation Concepts Academy." Affiliated with STL public schools, ICA is for kids who don't succeed in a traditional classroom. My daughter wasn't technically eligible, since she needed to be 17 by April 1. Her Birthday is April 25. Again strings were pulled and rules were overlooked. Thanks to her admissions counselor, Ms. Hall, who said, "let's just get her in and we'll see what we can do." And so she began.
ICA was half days and all work was done on computers and one on one with a tutor. Students studied individual subjects not with the goal of getting enough "credits" to graduate high school, but to master the basics in reading, writing, math, science and social studies. By the end of the year students would graduate if they passed tests in these 5 areas, administered at a local college. (The same tests are given to Missouri's home-schooled students to see if they've mastered these areas.)
Has my girl read all the classics in American and British Lit that I loved to teach? Can she do Calculus? Is she proficient in Geometry? Has she fully studied World War I or WW II? Does she know about the Crimean War (do you?) Has she written a research paper? No to all of the above. And although your child's education may be broader and deeper, my girl still has a high school diploma. It was hard-fought, and it was won! She earned it (We earned it!)
She can go on to college if she wants to. I don't think she wants to, but the opportunity is there. And not all success in life requires a college degree. But my girl has told me, "Mom, I'm gonna do something with my life!" And I believe her.
Let me back up. When my daughter was 3 or 4 she took a dance class. At the Christmas recital we watched in darkened auditorium while she took center stage and danced like no one was watching, holding high a shiny star while dancing to "Do You Her What I Hear?" In the spring she realized she was not alone in the room. When she saw that people were watching her, she didn't move a step. Not one step. People could see her.
Our school in suburban Houston was not racially mixed. (There was, I believe, one other black girl in class with her the whole 6 years she was there). I noticed. She didn't. All she noticed was that everyone else had long, straight, blond hair and she didn't. She didn't like her hair and wanted to fit in with her friends. Recently, my daughter told me, "I didn't know I was black until we moved to Arizona." As she was becoming a "tween" her skin color suddenly became a feature. However, except finding a place to straighten her hair, it didn't seem to matter.
Four years ago we moved to Missouri, and she was suddenly entering her teens and seeking her identity, as teens do. And color matters, as much to those around her as to her. And South St. Louis county is not a very colorful place. When she entered high school in Jefferson County, she enrolled in a school system that was 97% white. That leaves just 3% for all minorities. And the girl who didn't want to be seen on stage at age 4 suddenly, at least in her own mind, was the center of everyone's attention. She stuck out. She was seen.
She made the varsity volleyball team as a freshman. And now (at least in her own eyes) she was even more visible. One of only 2 freshmen on the team, and the only black girl. While I think she should have been honored that they saw her talent and skill, to her it seemed visible was miserable.
Add to that the fact that in middle school we "discovered" that she had ADHD. Learning in the traditional way was/is difficult for her. When she had the opportunity to go to a separate room for extra help and to take tests, she wanted no part of it, since kids were bound to notice that she was leaving or returning. They'd notice her.
So, back to High School. She was having difficulty in academics, and she felt like she didn't fit in (Imagine 50 or so children of color, any color, in a school of 1700). She began to try to disappear. She hated school. I dislike using the word "hate" because it's such a strong emotion...but I really can think of no better word.
Her sophomore year was a mess. She wasn't doing well academically, and had only a handful of friends at school. Attendance was slipping and the situation was becoming dire. Frequently she asked to go to another school, but since other schools in our county shared the same racial make-up, I knew that wouldn't help. My husband and I began to discuss moving to the city. We could downsize a bit as the kids were about to get their own wings (Our son was about to graduate and could leave any time), and we could find a school where she fit in. We put the house on the market.
When school was about to start and we were still looking to buy and to sell, we began to panic. She refused to go back to her high school until we moved. Panic turned in to prayer and we found a great charter school that would fudge the residency requirement until we moved. They saw our desires for her to succeed. Every morning we drove the 30 minutes into the city. But by now her aversion to school was firmly entrenched. She couldn't play sports (not eligible), and didn't have friends. We saw this school as a great opportunity, but she did not. She wanted to go to the public school, but that wasn't possible until we were residents.
Finally, in mid-October, 8 weeks into the academic year, we moved. As soon as we moved she wanted to go public, so again we transferred schools. But in a case of the grass being greener, this school wasn't what she wanted either. My daily attempts at getting her up for school frequently met with failure. She was miserable and so was I. And she was so far behind academically I didn't see how we could ever climb out of the deep hole she had dug.
By January, the beginning of the second semester, the situation was critical. My daughter was on her way to becoming a statistic, a high school drop-out. As a former high school teacher who loved going to school, I was crushed.
I can't go into detail (why not, you ask, you've already written an epic novel)...but at the end of January we met Joan Love. (I love her name.) Joan was able to pull a few strings and get Bri into "Innovation Concepts Academy." Affiliated with STL public schools, ICA is for kids who don't succeed in a traditional classroom. My daughter wasn't technically eligible, since she needed to be 17 by April 1. Her Birthday is April 25. Again strings were pulled and rules were overlooked. Thanks to her admissions counselor, Ms. Hall, who said, "let's just get her in and we'll see what we can do." And so she began.
ICA was half days and all work was done on computers and one on one with a tutor. Students studied individual subjects not with the goal of getting enough "credits" to graduate high school, but to master the basics in reading, writing, math, science and social studies. By the end of the year students would graduate if they passed tests in these 5 areas, administered at a local college. (The same tests are given to Missouri's home-schooled students to see if they've mastered these areas.)
Has my girl read all the classics in American and British Lit that I loved to teach? Can she do Calculus? Is she proficient in Geometry? Has she fully studied World War I or WW II? Does she know about the Crimean War (do you?) Has she written a research paper? No to all of the above. And although your child's education may be broader and deeper, my girl still has a high school diploma. It was hard-fought, and it was won! She earned it (We earned it!)
She can go on to college if she wants to. I don't think she wants to, but the opportunity is there. And not all success in life requires a college degree. But my girl has told me, "Mom, I'm gonna do something with my life!" And I believe her.
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