I got a job working at a bakery on Saturdays (with the forthcoming possibility of more afternoons during the week) in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. I serve coffee, make lots and lots of sandwiches, and have spent every minute so far trying not to get fired, as I feel as though the woman that hired me likes me, but her husband is interested in having me prove my worth as a human being as he stares at me constantly while I work.
The best and strangest thing about this man, however, is his obsession with country music. These people have lived in Brooklyn for at least 20 years, and yet I feel when I'm working as though I haven't really left the midwest at all. To his credit, his love of country extends way beyond Country and Western (thank God) and into Johnny Cash and even Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins (I was near choking when I found that album in his stacks of CDs. . .good thing he wasn't there to scrutinize me at that moment).
And when it's not country, that means the pseudo-father figure isn't working, and it's instead my new corn-rowed friend who introduced me around the neighborhood after my first day of work, and that means there is extremely loud hip-hop on the stereo.
And the bagels are awesome.
Also:
I finally have keys to my apartment.
I finally made it to my apartment after having been unable to go home, for one reason or another, since yesterday at 1:30PM.
I finally bought an umbrella, after trudging through the rain for 10 blocks on my way to the train after work. It's really ugly, and that's okay.
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