workaday

At work today, I approached Sally Pseudonym's cubicle to ask her a question. She has a charcoal sketch pinned to the outside wall of her cubicle--we are an art school, after all--and in leaning down to talk to her, I inadvertently pressed my palm against the sketch.

"Aaarrghhh...ahhhh...." I said, slapping my hands together to get the dust off. I looked at her and explained the clapping: "I put my hand on the drawing."

"Oh," she said, "I thought maybe you were, you know, hearing the beat."

Sally shouldn't act so non-neurotic. She's the first-born in her family (hence our office manager, ordering folks around with abandon), and she used to call her parents "Ma" and "Pa" due to the Little House on the Prairie books. Also, she used to play a game called 40-year-old waitress that involved rubbing her feet and smoking fake cigarettes; she was nine.

Anyway, the nude sketch above is not the drawing that I sullied. It is one of my favorite pieces, though, from a class we're holding in South Los Angeles for youth age 14-24. The students are all Latino or African-American, almost all local public school kids from Crenshaw High School or Washington Prep, and I'm proud of the class. I'm proud of what we're trying to achieve in southern California.

Posted below is a piece from a high school illustration class. These kids are good. I may post more, just to satisfy my pride in them. Our students are quick, witty, and rather modest, considering their abilities.

My co-workers are also very funny, if not a little too focused for my slacker INFP self. Especially Jeremiah, who once told me this story:

"So I go up to this guy [at an Armenian fast-food joint] and give him a twenty. He looks at it, trying to figure out the denomination, you know, so I say to him, 'It's a twenty.' He goes [Armenian accent], 'No waaay! You must be kiddin' me! It's a twenty! Hey, Shant, you ever seen one o'these before? It's a twenty!' So I tell him, 'Oh, yeah, I got a whole wallet full of 'em. You want me to sign it?' and he says, 'Oh yeah, sign it for me!'. I ask him for a pen and he gives it to me and I scribble on it, then give it to him, y'know--'There ya go. Keep it, I got a bunch of 'em.' He's like, 'Thanks so much!' and gives me my change. Asshole."

"You're crazy, Jeremiah," I told him.

"Fuck him and his wise-ass remarks. I'll sign the goddam twenty for him every day of the week. Twice on Sundays."

That's my office right there--quick, helpful, sarcastic, won't give an inch. I'm doing my best to fit in.