An Interview

My Literary Journalism class this semester was sneaky and registered under the title of Narrative Nonfiction. When I signed up for this class, I imagined we would be analyzing the narrative voice in essays or novels (Yes, I willingly signed up to do this), not interviewing people.

Most of the assignments so far have been non-threatening. Observe a scene (no interviewing involved here!), and interview a relative, which can still be pretty nerve wracking. But now we have been assigned a profile. This is when you interview someone you don’t know (or don’t know well) and write about their life.

This does not appeal to me…at all. I’m generally a quiet person. I don’t like talking to people I don’t know and I especially don’t like asking for favors. People always tell me the worst thing that could happen is that I’d be told no. But I don’t like being told no. I don’t like being rejected when it’s so hard to put myself out there in the first place.

I’ve been worrying about who to interview for weeks and finally decided to contact Scott, a friend from work and see if he would let me interview him.

I work on campus with the maintenance crew two weeks out of the summer. It’s called “The Turn” and we flip rooms and get them ready for new students. There are 14 buildings with 264 suits that each have four bedrooms. Those two weeks are so intense that we become a sort of strange family. But outside of those two weeks, I don’t really know Scott terribly well.

I like all the maintenance guys I work with but especially Scott. Probably because he teases me the most. Scott is a laid back, funny, kinda weird guy  for the most part. But every now and again when he was frustrated it was easy to assume that he just hated everyone.

I still had Scott’s number from The Turn but I was afraid he would say no. Maybe I was stepping over the boundary of our summer friendship by asking this favor. I didn’t want next year to be awkward if we worked together again. I opened my messages and typed out my request and just sat there.

I stared at the send button for five minutes. I made myself sick thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. Lightheaded and nauseous, I pressed send and laid on the ground in despair. My best friend Jessica who was sitting on her bed said I was being melodramatic and because she’s an asshole, she took this wildly unflattering picture (Hope you enjoy).

12787118_10208750420428960_1266208318_o

 

Read the second part of this story in the next post

Advertisements

Something New: Tofu

Two of my dearest friends studied abroad last semester, Etta in Finland and Ara in Korea. As sort of a reunion and because none of us had dates within the city, we decided to have a girl’s night on Valentine’s Day.

I met them at the Korean King a few blocks from my apartment. I had only been there once before, when we said our goodbyes in early August. I was exhausted from working that day and so chose a dish that sounded the most familiar to me. The most American. But today, Etta and I let Ara order for us. She could read some of the Korean on the menus and recognized most of the dishes.

We were seated close to the front, and I realized we were the only customers who were not of Asian descent. And boy were we getting looks. Not bad necessarily maybe just really interested.

When our waters were dropped off at the table Ara ordered samgyeopsal (Please don’t ask me how to pronounce this. I tried and failed miserably). Samgyeopsal is pork belly strips that you grill yourself at the table. It came with a bunch of little side dishes that are collectively called banchan and a soup. Ara choose kimchi jjigoe (kimchi soup), because Etta and I didn’t know the difference between the soups. This is what our dinner looked like.

20160214_183717

Ara did the grilling, so we had our own stream of smoke that went up to the ceiling and mingled with the smoke from the other tables. We used the lettuce to make wraps out of the samgyeopsal and banchan as toppings. I saw one of the couples look surprised that we knew how to eat it correctly and I was pleased with myself for all of two seconds.

“You don’t eat it like a taco! You put the whole thing in your mouth,” Ara said when she caught us trying to nibble the corners down to manageable bites. I didn’t look back over at the couple, but I could imagine they probably found our mistake funny. After a few tense moments of choking, Etta and I finally managed to eat wraps the way they are supposed to be eaten and our meal progressed with the tap, tap, tapping of chopsticks.

“Hey Ara, what are those white things in the soup?” I asked, as I served us all a bowl. Its Korean tradition that the youngest person servers everyone else, (they’re supposed to grill the meat too but we were afraid I might start a fire) and I am technically younger than both of them.

“Umm, tofu,” she said.

I stopped and stared down at the white block floating around in my soup. I have never had tofu before, but there was a reason. The white tufts of sponge like “food” have always turned my stomach a little. Ara said I had to try it, so I fished one out with my spoon and set it on my plate. Everything else we had eaten was delicious but this little monster did not look appetizing at all.

20160214_185452-1

The more I stared at it, the more I expected it to move. After a few encouraging words from my friends I squished the blob between my chopsticks and plopped it into my mouth. Thankfully the blob didn’t have any flavor.

I don’t think I could have handled a bad taste along with the horrible sensation of having something instantaneously disintegrate on my tongue. As it was I gulped down as much water as I could to get the texture out of my mouth.

This wasn’t the worst thing I have ever eaten but it definitely wasn’t my favorite. I’ve been told there are different levels of firmness when it comes to tofu. This one must have been the really weak kind. I might try it again, just to see if the others are any better but this kind of Korean food will not be getting many orders from me.

Do you have any surprising experiences trying new food? Tell me about them in the comments, or challenge me to try something new.

White Board Problems

mathematics-989121_1920

This semester, I’m taking Physics 2 and it’s chalked full of those people who get A’s in classes like organic chemistry and cellular biology. You know, the ones who sit outside the classroom before class and talk about how easy the exam you almost just failed was. I’m not saying they do it to taunt me but sometimes it feels that way.

During class the professor allows people to come up to the board and solve equations to get extra credit for our exams. But sometimes when a student starts writing the wrong answer a few of those A’s all start correcting them at once. I don’t like feeling dumb and I especially don’t like it when I think other people think I am dumb. So, I’ve never gone up to the board.

In class today I watched the back of the professor’s combed white hair as he wrote a problem out of the board. I had the answer written in my notes and tapped it softly with my pencil when he turned to face the class. His glasses sat lightly on his nose and I could see his socks through the holes in his sandals. How could a man who looked so nonthreatening be so intimidating?

“Who would like to come up to the board and earn five points extra credit?” he asked in his thick Russian accent.

Because I didn’t want my first blog to be about how I failed  I raised my hand. But not the jumping out of your seat, “Pick me! Pick me!” wave. No, no. I raised it just enough to where you might think I was about to rest my face against it or casually brush hair out of my face. If he didn’t call on me than technically I wouldn’t be failing, right?

“Uhhh,” he scanned the hopeful faces of the A’s while I sent up a litany of “Not me, not me, not me, please not me.”

“That young lady over there,” he pointed right at me.

I didn’t breathe as I walked down the aisle trying not to trip over backpacks on my way to the front. I don’t think I really realized I had left my seat until I was standing in front of him trying to take the marker with my shaking hand.

“I think you are sufficiently tall enough to work up there,” he said pointing to a spot high up on the board.  At 5’4 ½” I had to assume that was a compliment.

I filled out the equation, my chest constricting as I thought of the other students watching me. I wondered if they were comparing themselves to me. I don’t want them to. I don’t want to come up short even if it is only in my head.

I turned to face him when I finished, I couldn’t look at the other students faces as he asked the class if I was right.

Puke. I didn’t do it but I was tempted.

“She is correct,” he turned and smiled at me, “nicely done.”

I returned it with a half-hearted smile and practically ran back to my seat. My face beat red and palms sweaty. I kept my head ducked at my paper but couldn’t read any of the words for a solid minute.

Once I was able to calm down I became absurdly proud of myself. I smiled and couldn’t help but think “Five points to Gryffindor” (Yes, I am in Gryffindor. Be jealous).  It didn’t matter that what I had just accomplished almost everyone in the room had done multiple times. It was a big step for me and I am proud of it, especially since there wasn’t any fainting or vomit.

Tell me about a fear of yours, or challenge me to something new in the comments or shoot me an email.