It would be dishonest to suggest that the most major contributor to my feelings of optimism were anything other than myself, and my choice to just bring a better attitude to life. However, there are some other factors at work. Some of which were and are instrumental in my ability to bring my A game positive attitude day in and day out. The chief factor among them is my boss, Rachelle.
|Rachelle-second from the right|
I can't realistically recall and explain the antics that we engage in at work in any way that would do justice to the fun that ensues. I can say, however, that she is not above laughing with me when I reference Gargamel from the Smurfs when selling a potential costumer on the phone. Nor is she above rating my paper airplanes' when I beat the boredom by folding a piece of paper and tossing it across the office. And it warms my heart to see she and the other mothers with whom I work dote on their children. It reminds me so much of my mom and the way she talked about me to others. Rachelle always has a ready ear, too, when I get nostalgic and reminisce on my parents and their antics.
Rachelle is not alone either. When it comes to work, nearly everyone there has a unique contribution to the tapestry. There's Helen, the laser hair removal woman who leases space in the office and is also my piano student. She is another striking beauty with the physique of a nineteen year old girl and playfulness of a child, yet with the sharp wit and intellect of a radio talk show host. She too brings her A game most of the time.
And Rudie, who I affectionately call the Image gnome, not because of his height, but rather because he is always there, like a lawn ornament. He could be the most engaging person I've known, well, apart from Jason Randall, the Las Vegas magician who had legitimate mind control. Rudie could sell snow skis to a quadriplegic that lives in the desert. He was a client of my father's back in the day and always has a good story as well as some new insight. He is a very smart man and quite curious about the world around him. We love Rudie, but he'd better give me a pay raise sometime soon if he doesn't want to be skiing from his wheel chair. Naw, I'm kidding. But seriously Rudie, it's about time for an increase in pay.
Let us not forget Dirty Dan with the dancing hands on sometimes women but he prefers a man. Dan is my counter part technician. He hooks the men up to the machine when I'm not around and is also a Masseuse. He's not really dirty, but he told me his nickname in the 70's was dancing Dan. And you know what? It doesn't surprise me for a second. Basically, when you look at Dan and think about him in the seventies, you know for a fact that he did boat loads of Coke. And that he danced the night away is a certainty. I could go into detail, but that basically sums it up. I'm not saying he still does drugs, even though by the sound of things, his eagerness to talk would indicate that he starts every day with a little bump. I'm sure it's just a quirk of character.
Not to drag it out here, but the other manager is a woman named Nike who looks like either Cecil Fielder or Mr. T. Take your pick. Oh, and apparently her store (the next one to open) will have Zebra patterns on the couches in the lobby. I think I saw this before on Soul Plane. No biggie, just a little cultural sensitivity. And we just hired three more girls to help out with some of the duties at the new store. All of whom are fun and pretty effing raw. Rachel is an ex-marine who just gets it done. Deandra is a sweetheart/angel with a ready laugh and a penchant for men with questionable character. Sandra has a foul mouth and a bad attitude. It's kinda strange, but I think I like it. All the girls are very beautiful and full of character. And they help the day go by in the blink of an eye.
So, don't for a second consider yourselves caught up. Most of the stuff that's noteworthy is stuff that I can't even blog for fear of reprisals or consequences. And the stuff that is blogable...I just didn't get into it. But that's what I've been doing with my day. And when I look back on the abortion that was the Fresno experiment, I think only good riddance. I deodorized the arm pit of California by simply extricating myself. Smell ya later Grizzlies. And hello Roseville. Good morning, Image Health.