“…no, really. I’m not.”

Ah, but the complexities of ignorance do prevail.

So we hired a kid. Nothing unusual there. Her first job, parental control, seventeen and in the 9th grade-you recognize the drill. I am convinced that troubled and deviant kids are God’s way of speaking to my inner ear. “Dee. Hear me now. Who, exactly, were YOU at 16?’ I always assign these kids a 50/50 chance. Fifty percent of them are the perfect blank canvas, fifty percent spin out into oblivion. This girl, was in neither category…

I suppose a few alarm bells rang out in me when both parents dropped her off on the first day of her first job. Yes, I DID give her my standard army issue speech about hiring HER and not her parents. Too many weird and bizarre experiences with parents in my history have forced me to incorporate this line into my hiring dialogue.

Despite my internal notifications, Ie; paying way too much attention to her hair with her right hand and leaning on the counter while listening to our instruction, I left for the night.

Flag, flag, flag.

Flag alerts compel me to phone the store later that night. “Hey, Benji. How’s the new girl doing?”

“Um…well, Dee, I don’t think she’s for us.”

“Really, Ben? Why?”

 So my new assistant who, by the way, just turned 19 last month, proceeds to clue me in.

“I thanked a group of people for coming in, (an important part of our customer service repertoire is thanking folks whether they purchase something or not) and I told [so and so] that we have to exit greet people as part of our job.”

“Ok, Ben. Then what happened?”

“Well, she said that she wasn’t gonna talk to those people. I asked her why because I thought they might have been rude to her or something. She said; ” I don’t like black people. They smell and have greasy hair and they don’t take care of themselves.”

Obviously, I was flabbergasted. How does a 17 year old child living in THIS EFFING CENTURY insouciantly make a statement like that?

I have encountered many people during my 20+ years here in the South that have blown my mind. My first mgr at KCI said he hated gay people. His wife used racial epithets often. I was crushed. But those episodes of idiocy occured 14 years ago. I get that racism is alive and well in this country, especially in the South, but is it spoken out loud with such impunity? Seriously? I thought (wrongly) that cowardly haters kept their mouths shut.

I phoned her parents. (Rule #3-never talk to the parents. But in this case I made an exception). I explained to the Mom why her daughter was starting and ending a job on the same day. She was confused. “But Miss Dee, we’re not racial.”

You’re not WHAT? You’re not racial? Geez, lady. You’re not literate, either.

I had to, I just HAD TO speak with the daughter. “You came in to the store with your best friend the other day to finalize your paperwork. Her grandparents drove y’all up here. Your best friend is black. Please tell me how you think she’d feel knowing what you said tonight.”

“I don’t know, Dee. I guess she would be hurt. But I’m NOT racial.”

There you have it. Those folks are not racial. You heard it here.

It blows my mind to hear this shit STILL. It’s twenty-0-nine people! WTF?

If there is a silver lining in all of this, it’s Benji. He’s only two years older than the; “I’m not racial,” person and he has values and guts that speak to him through injustice. I’m proud of him for feeling uncomfortable. I’m proud of him for growing up in a county (yes, county) that has more than its share of ignorant philosophies and accepting that we all live on this planet together-no better, no worse. He understands equality.

Our company does too. We do not discriminate. Our clever HR folks even snuck the ‘sexual orientation’ clause into our policy. God knows, I’ve heard plenty of gay-hating lingo over the years. Good to know that we work for a company that stands up, and rightly so.

As for so-and-so, the ex-employee… I hope she can one day realize that we are ALL racial, but racists are a dying breed. There is no ‘cool-factor’ involved with blatant ignorance. Not now, not ever.

Been awhile since I’ve written, eh?

Things (What, exactly, are things?) have been going so very well and I haven’t wanted to jinx them with some melancholy post that usually shows up in my blog.

Work is good. New staff for the new year has carried in their pockets renewed hope.

Family is great. Sis and nieces came for a visit over Christmas, Helen has placed another sibling in the doghouse and I’ve made a connection with my brand new sister in law.

Friends are wonderful. Meeting up with old pals next week, reconnecting with long lost school mates via Facebook and keeping myself aligned with the equilibrium of the necessary rules of such relationships.

Girls are…Girls are…well, girls still haven’t figured much into my daily schemes.

But all in all, I’ll not trade any of my plusses for the inevitable minus.

Girls will simply have to wait their turn…

Here’s me and Lu. In the nosebleed section of our semi-season-ticketed seats. The very first quarter, before Hines got Ward-er.

 We spent the SunDAY cooking. Foraging through recipes.  Slurping and drooling over clear miso broths, brussells sprouts braised with a small little cross. Roasted veg and thinly sliced shallots. Lu picked out a fancy-shmancy, pear salad. I didn’t get to go cook on this night. I was busy it seems with making things right. I wasn’t successful as I head off to bed…but fuck it, I say, there’s still room for bread. Off on the highway, I’ll leave in the morning, don’t tell me y’all, I didn’t give you no warning…Peace out to you, I hope there’s no bull.. . Lu said my lasagna left y’all full.

See you on Sunday, when I figure it out. Meantime, I’ll drive and ponder and pout…

But the good news is this… La Caretta, is bliss. Bistec empanizado, plantain fritos y mojo. Pastalitos con guava y queso etc…yum. David’s Cafe on East Collin’s Ave. The South Beach hotties I can wake up and just…have.

 It’ll be all good, ‘cuz it’s what I do. See y’all there in spirit or two…

So I was just driving home. It was a long trip, this one. Destin is a few hundred miles of vague, en route memories. Blew out a tire. Again. Such are the normalcies in the road life of Dee. Thank the stars for the three A’s. Towed me into “enemy territory”. Enemy, because the Seminoles are housed therein. Not that I regularly give a shit about the rivalries between the two Florida Universities; it’s taken me at least a decade to know which one is where. (UF is in Gainseville and Fl State is in Tallahassee) But I  feel that I must house an alliance with the one school that the majority of people that I know, go. Or, want to go. So… U of F it is  (Orange and blue, to me and you).

But that isn’t what this story’s about…

It’s about the song that popped in my head along interstate 75.

Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall. You know it?

I have no clue as to why this repetitious fodder would pop into my grey matter at that particular moment, other than the fact that driving anywhere in the state of Flat-ida causes the brain to conjour up mundane, ritualistic tunes. (“Ding-Dong the witch is dead, which old witch? The wicked witch…”)

I pondered…

…wondered why;

a) Folks would keep their beer on a wall. Don’t most people store/refrigerate their libations in a climate controlled area? Like a fridge? Duh?!

b) Ninety-nine? Why not round it up to one hundred?

And finally:

c) What makes a bottle;  “happen to fall?” An earthquake?

Shouldn’t we be running for our lives rather than counting down to the next freakin’ bottle?

Nevertheless, I only got to 97 bottles before I exited at that blessed rest stop in Marrianna, Fl.

After all that singing about beer..well, you know the rest.

I directly directed the automatic flush.

No more bottles of beer on the wall…I’m stuck on Gilligan’s friggin’ Island now!

Wow. If only God woulda let me have a kid…

But he let me mentor some amazing young folks instead.

I get lost for words at times like this (no really, I do).

There was a random boy applicant one day back in 2006…

He came in for an interview on September the something….  He fidgeted and looked down at imaginary things. He complained about shopping carts and missed expectations. He managed to get through despite self deprecation. I doubted a bit, though I felt something stir…I hired him then and the days since are a blur…

I’ve been in the;  “biznezz”,  for a few 24 hours now. But geez. No single employee has EVER asked; “The question.”

Until Benji.

I love this kid. I’ve written it before. But now, well…God, I love this kid. How can I explain?

He asked me the question. You know-the one. The one that I, Dee Fortin, asked Mr. CEO back in 2001. Las Vegas, it was. My very first encounter with all things corporate-ish.

I was terribly green back then. Nervous to meet our CEO. Did I belong? Did I have any skills at all to succeed in a world I couldn’t even comprehend? I could only muster two questions; “What do I need to learn?”  And…”Do you have any advice for me?”

Mr. CEO replied;  “Participate. Ask questions. Give answers.”
I don’t remember if I even heeded that advice. All I know is that
I tried to tow the line and listen to the folks who were smarter than me (it paid many dividends years later, not simply monetary ones, either).

Allow me to tell you that in my tenure here at the “company”, not one employee has been so forthright, so genuine as this kid. No person has been so much like me. No one as curious and as eager to figure the shit out, recognizes opportunity and grabs all he can…

He gets it. He gets me; my vision for our shop. He gets the “we” of this company.

Alas…here’s the news: He’s gonna leave. As well it should be, I reluctantly admit.

College doth steal our dependent finest. He’ll add and subtract and plus and minus. 

He’s wants to be a Gator. We joke and jest, make fun of the “haters.” 

Benji’s a great kid, I wish you could know. You probably will, stick around for the show…(he may be your attorney, your counsel when heeded. He might be your doctor, when life-saving is needed. He might just be #28’s agent, directing the Jag’s and all of their wages. Whatever he chooses, it will impact this space. It will take away shadows and lighten the place.)

He told me this the other day, in a grown-up, direct and factual way. He said; “You know Dee, I was just another aimless teenager until I started working here. I have learned so much in my two years, I have a plan for my life now. I go to college on time and I come to work and I do the right thing…”

I look up to him now, in more ways than one. (I must be shrinking back down to the earth, no way he could be growing so tall, so fast).

I listen to him now, not just hear him, (smarter than me already? No friggin’ way!)

“What can I improve upon, Dee?”

Your improvement is obvious, this is a fact.

You are all the ways and means that I lacked.

P.S. Whitney, my demon child, graduated and is going to college in the fall. What a ride this life gives us, eh?

These are significant dates, folks.

The first, my niece goes to senior prom. The second, Benji graduates. The third, Whitney does the same (she did it!). And last, but hell no -not least- I’m outta here. Vacationing. Boy, do I ever need it, too.

I’ve been out again. On the road again. Squared away the Vero again. I’m home momentarily just to do the laundry. Rather unsuccesfully at that. Leaving for Savannah first, then Hilton Head and finally, Darien.

I’m going to be missing Eh-net’s annual grand soiree for Memorial Day. Bummer. I really wanted to see everyone and the new baby Gabs provided. Well, I know I won’t be eating anything half as good as their feast, I’ll have to settle for whatever roadside neon catches my eye.

Gotta get done, gotta get back. These are some important times, folks. Times I don’t wanna miss. The clock hands show no mercy now. But geez, I can’t wait ’til they hurry the Hell up with this shit, even though time’s a flyin’ already.

Except in the case of the first three dates. No kids should ever grow up.

Kids should ALWAYS stay little until their Carter’s wear out. Remember that old commercial?

Back in a flash, y’all. Peace out.

 And so does Benji, the kid who gave his all to win our gadget of the month contest.

Hence, the golden tickets to the game. Nosebleed section or not, we did park ourselves comfortably along the 50 yard line.

I do believe he was excited to see our fine Jaguars put the smackdown on the Carolina Panthers. He even participated in our ritualistic, “Move the chains,”  first down fodder…

Despite the fact that a fight broke out in the sausage line and I had to be detained for most of the first quarter to give a statement. Geesh. Why can’t overweight, no-shirt wearing, painted men just get along? Who knows. But free tickets are my lovely parting gift. I suppose my nine dollar Italian sausage will be lost forever.

 Beer should be banned. So should overweight, no-shirt wearing, painted men.

I had a great day, all in all.

And I’m so proud that I got to take Benji along.

Those folks who asked if Benji was my son, had no idea how happy I was on the inside. If only I could’ve had a son…he’d be just like Benji.

And that, my friends, makes every Jag game a winning one…

It takes me years sometimes to get over and beyond the hurdles of hurt that I suffer. Suffer oftentimes, by my own actions, or lack thereof.
With Saxony, it took three. With Annie, my hurting comes and goes. Depending on the situation or with whom I’m reminiscing. On a professional level, I can chuckle and joke and remember fondly all the days she made us laugh, made me proud. On a personal level though, my wing was not large enough for me to take her under. And this is still ouchy.
We met during my ugly-days, as I like to call them. Wasn’t long before I was shuffled off to Navarre. She, very much my staunch defender. Annie and my sis drove there and back as my escorts of devotion. After Navarre, things were altered. I was altered. The capacity in which we needed to be in each other’s lives hadn’t quite fell into place.
Until…she lost her job. And found one with us. Now listen when I tell you that I really loved Saxony. But it was quite different with Annie. Annie had a spark. Lit up the fires under everyone’s asses, too! She could walk into a room and BAM! Kick it up a notch. Don’t mean to plagiarize you-know-who, but you get the point. She also possessed a kid-like persona that made you just want to make sure she was allright. Take care of her. Protect and nurture. I need those kinds of people in my life. They make up for my lack of child-rearing opportunities. There was/is always someone present like that for me, despite the fact that I never want any of them to leave me completely.
But Annie’s absence still leaves a mark. A scar. We all miss her. Miss her laughter, her good moods, her quickedness in catching on. But I miss her the most, I think. I wanted so much for her to replace me. To follow in the natural order of things on the corporate ladder. But again, I was foiled. I cannot speak for her.
And now I realize that I never could. But the, “What might have been’s,” still echo like a booming cacauphony in my ears. We never know how life turns out. Until it turns out. I won’t ever forget her, though. Whether or not we cast an eye upon one another again in this lifetime.
I can’t forget Annie.
And somehow I know that she can’t forget us either.

The letters.
I went to a treatment facility in Navarre, Fl. Full of fear, remorse and pity. I didn’t know what would become of me. I’d lost my long time pal known as sobriety, and surely the “Company” would leave me also. Couldn’t blame them, really. I’d wasted the gift. I received two letters then. Yes, actual letters. The kind that our children and grandchildren know little of. The kind of letter that takes ink. A desk and chair. Thought and concern. One, from my boss, JVB. A card that expressed heart-felt concern. Handwritten. Sentimental, even. The second, a shock. Our “Company” H.R. lady, Charlotte. A piece of paper, inked with cursive. A story, of sorts. Informing me that life is about getting back up on the horse, not staying down. Not signed formally. Or on the “Company” letterhead, but personally. I broke down, lost it. The kindness was overwhelming me. I wanted to be punished. To be abandoned. It’s what I deserved. But that didn’t happen. Not at all.
They cradled me then, the “Company.” It was during that time that life came back. That saving Dee was important again. I endured that time. Got out, got back into the swing of life. But my guilt permeated every waking moment that I spent doing “Company” things. Like a teeter-totter, were my emotions. Things wouldn’t go how I thought they should, and I’d accredit my relapse for it. After all, I screwed up, I deserved some injustice, right?
Until the day that I stood back up. Yes, people. I stood up again. Held my head level with the faces of those whom I’d felt lower than, less than. They made that possible. They provided the playing field. The “Company.” My saving graces. I hear funny, ironic type things often now. Recruiters that say, “Well, you have been with this company for a decade or so, it may show a reluctance to move forward, to change.” Or, “You’re not making x amount? well you should compare that with other companies who are paying more.”
I listen. Sometimes, I even hear them. But eventually, I laugh.
Because the real meaning of this story is about substance. Fiber. You can sing your songs about this dollar or that amount of time, but it doesn’t matter. My “Company” took my beatings. Was my voice when I couldn’t speak.

I knew for sure I was going to be fired at one point. Just prior to returning from my short-term disabilty. The VP of operations came down from Ohio. This is it, I thought. Game over. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. I couldn’t whip out my get outta jail free card…

Lunch at Sonny’s bbq. He looked at me. Right in the eyes. He said; “Dee, you have been loyal to us for 10 years now. It’s time for us to be loyal to you.”

I guess I’m grateful that God doesn’t afford me the vision to see around corners. I’d have cheated myself every time…

The facts, as they appear to me most often, are these;

1) Piss on the recruiters who say longevity equals fear.
Longevity, my friends, equals far more than the recruiters could comprehend. It equals faith. And hope. And heart and soul.
2) Fall down once.
See where it takes you. See what humility means to you.
3) Don’t be ashamed of mistakes.
You just never know what or where you’ll find yourself without them.
4) Let people love you.
At least until you can love yourself. Without the love of others, I’d not be writing this stuff down.
5) Be loyal.
Give every ounce of every fiber that you can muster. It counts. Really, it does.
6) Teach someone else what you have learned, be a mentor.
Spread your information around. Even the bad stuff. It makes a difference.

The “Company” is still there. And so am I.
I need them, folks. Need them, want them.
But today I can tell you this:
They seem to need me, want me, too.
Thank God.
My “attitude” is so different now. I’ve received promotions for it, not fired because of it.
A gift.
I’ve grown up in this place, and continue ad infinitum…
All the while they stood by me, waited and watched and witnessed.
My “Company.” 13 years ago…

Ok. So where was I?
Oh yes, the personal side of life. The one where you get blindsided by the beauty of another.
Wham! There it is. In your face. Breathless. That’s the day that my sobriety began to eyeball its way south. Little did I know…
I’m a strong woman you know. Was then, too. Or so I thought. It had been eons since romance had tempted me with its rose-colored vases filled with red-colored roses. I fell for it. Fell hard and fast. Fell head over heels and back again. Or did I? Was I simply lured by the the idea of something new, something exciting? No matter. I gave up then, my routine. My meetings, my friends, my course, my on-trackedneness. My world as you knew it. The things that mattered began to seem oh so immaterial to me. Except, of course, the “Company.”
In A.A. they teach us that the order of recovery happens as follows;

1) You put down the bottle.
2) You believe that your mind is out to get you.
3) You begin to have faith that a Power greater than you can restore…

During relapse it happens backwards.

1) You lose contact with the Power.
2) You think: “Hey, maybe I’m not an alcoholic.”
3) You pick up that first drink.

And so I did, dear readers. Pick up. I hadn’t had a drink since I was 23. I wanted passionately to be that glamorous-type you see in the magazines. Pinky out, Cosmopolitan lifted to my lips. Ha ha. I was NEVER an elegant drinker.
I fell to the stereotypical illusuion. They say that alcoholism is a progressive disease. I never believed them. Until I realized that MY disease had been doing push-ups in the parking lot the whole time I was sitting through those hour-long meetings. Getting fit. Getting ready. Waiting…
Then came yet another promotion with the “Company.”
I shall never forget that day…It’s branded into me. Branded into those that love me, too.
My alcoholism prevented me from doing what the “Company” expected of me. Panick, I did. It was in S. Florida that my disease knocked me for one Hell of a loop.
Treatment. The crutch for those not strong enough to see…The mockery I’d made for so damn long.
You’d think by this point that I’d just give up. A 28 day treatment stay for such a vain girl? However could I bear it? However could I face the “Company” and all its history with me? Shame was a word imbedded into my heart. And to this day, it’s hard to re-live.

Until…a letter…a letter from my immediate supervisor and the H.R. lady, Charlotte…

…Stay tuned, if you wish.
More will surely follow.