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Daydreaming Fancy cars; elegant, yet somewhat extravagant dresses; and the coat tails were as long as the Golden Gate Bridge. There were more sparkles and sequins than you could ever imagine. The heels women wore were as high as skyscrapers. Each pair were different, I had never seen the same shoe twice. I guess they never got caught in black and white Converse because everyone has those. The men were dressed in nice tuxedos or suits depending on the occasion with bow ties usually. The way each guest walked in reminded me of a red carpet entrance, you know the kinds you see on television. This pretty much summed up the place where I worked. I walked down the city streets each day on my way to work. They were long and treacherous in the winter. The extra tight black leggings rubbed against my lifeless legs. I could feel the weight of my bag digging into my right shoulder. My worries wore on as I walked the 6 blocks to the restaurant. How did my hair look? Was I going to spill the drinks on anyone today? Would anyone be upset with me? My head spun with questions as I walked down mysterious alleys and sidewalks in my black pumps. I should really get some nice walking shoes. I worked the night shift. The streets were dark and cold, which made me eager to get to work. As soon as I got there, I took off my wool-lined trench coat; knitted scarf and ear muffs; then got right to work. There were giant chandeliers hanging in the foyer as you walked through the front doors. This restaurant was the type where rich men would bring their women to swoon them. I saw proposals and overgenerous gifts given to women all the time. Tiffany & Co bracelets, necklaces, watches, you name it. Some things were totally outrageous, ... ... middle of paper ... ... lazy and almost no one came in except for grungy, old semi-truck drivers. I was a bus boy, or bus girl to give myself the credit of being a girl working a boy’s job. My job was to clear each table in a hurry and keep up with the dirty dishes. If we had a busy day, I was swamped with dirty tables and dishes piling up like a sorority house. My days were infrequent; you never knew what was going to happen. Some days I work mornings and others nights. I longed to be promoted to a waitress. I had been working at this small town diner for over a year now. It was time to chase my dreams, but first, I would need to stop day dreaming and start going after what I want. Maybe my dream would come true someday. Someday I would be getting out of this town and off to the big city, somewhere to expand my knowledge and hopefully be something more than just a bus girl.
While walking downtown with her girlfriend, the author describes as, “[her] heart began to skip every other beat, pounding, pounding, pounding … [as she stood] paralyzed like a frightened, little jackrabbit.” Repetition of the word “pounding” in the text develops a fast pace, indicating the urgency and panic felt by the author; terms such as paralyzed are utilized to emphasize the urgent, panicked mood. However, sanguine moods still persist throughout the narrative. For example, in the opening paragraph the author describes how she, “watch[ed] the golden dots of morning light glide across [her] ceiling, [and she] melted into a feeling of peace specific to the freedom of early summer.” Terms such as “golden,” “glide,” “peace,” and “early summer” help the reader detect a placid mood in the text, directing the reader towards the state of contentment the author feels surrounding her relationship. Mood differentiations in the text, from the urgency of the narrator’s walk downtown to the tranquil peace of the narrator’s relationship, indicate the contrasting aspects of the LGBT+ community, both in terms of the impending fear of violence, and the love that is the
Night Waitress by Lynda Hull is a poem that describes the feelings of a waitress that works the night shift of a diner Reflection of “Night Waitress” “Night Waitress” by Lynda Hull is a poem that describes the feelings of a waitress that works the night shift of a diner. The speaker obviously belongs to a lower social class, in the way of income and her occupation. Much like the character in this poem, the speaker in “The Chimney Sweeper” by William Blake works long, hard hours as a chimneysweeper. These two characters are both related in their ways of life and their classes in our society.
It is safe to say that work comes in many different forms. Whether it be a fast food or a corporate, the people that surround an individual make a great impact on the way he or she may work. Singapore, by Mary Oliver, is about a young woman working as a custodian in an airport who although works alone, enjoys her work and the people she meets. Dorianne Laux’s What I Wouldn’t Do, introduces another young woman reviewing the jobs she has had throughout time and reflects on those that she liked and disliked. Hard Work, by Stephen Dunn, exemplifies a young boy working in a soda factory during his summer break. Searching for happiness in life and work is just what these individuals are doing.
The first museum, we entered was very small which was called “The Stockyard Museum” like a corner store size. This museum was based on historical events such as cowboys , native Americans, chisholm trails and the north/ stockyards of fort worth history. The old man we talked was very nice which I didn’t expect based on his body language, however he introduces us on what to expect and a scavenger hunt for the items in the museum; which was pretty cool because we actually to go around and take us to read everything because he was going to go over it with us afterwards. The main piece that really stood out to me was this dressed which was called "The Bad Luck Wedding Dress" that was the perfect name for this dress if you asked me. This dress was
“Riding the Bus with My Sister” by Rachel Simon is a touching, true life journey about Beth and her sister Rachel. Beth and Rachel are in there thirties at the time the book takes place. They were born eleven months apart and aside of their age difference and their personality, Beth is different from Rachel because she suffers from mental retardation. Beth has lived on her own in her subsidized apartment and enjoys riding the bus routes around Pennsylvania city. Beth asked Rachel to come stay a year with her in order to accompany her in her daily bus route routine and Rachel agreed. “Riding the Bus with My Sister” documents Rachel’s remarkable journey her and her sister spent together and her learnings from Beth. Simon presents views on how those with mental retardation should be treated and self-determination.
As I walked toward a bus full of strangers, using my sunglasses to shield the tears forming in my eyes, I couldn’t help but to be apprehensive of what was to become of the next twenty-three days of my life. As I trudged up the stairs of the bus leaving behind all that was known, I couldn’t help but wonder; What have I gotten myself into?
There was a huge amount of the finest food around, tons of alcohol was served and of course that was. not a problem at all for there was a transport system for the wasted fellows. I will be there. This was the perfect place for people to show all their finest suites, it was the place where lights and colors gleamed until daylight, when the last guests left the party. It is amazing how people arrive to the party without being invited.
It was an 8-5 job and, in between, I did what I could to have fun like go to dances or the movies.
The lavish way of life these women exhibited was outwardly apparent in the fashions of the time . Noble class women were adorned in ornate dresses, extravagant jewels, and the finest accessories. The best way to describe the look of upper class women in Victorian England is to say that she looked like a porcelain doll .
Getting out of the car and looking around, I had all of ten seconds to take it all in. Going to the funeral was the least of my worries. What the hell kind of ghetto did I just step into? I questioned to myself as we walked down the sidewalk, passing the lady currently dying on the pavement. It was then that I decided that I definitely should not be here right now. Seriously, I looked way too cute in this outfit to be walking around the hood. Wait, I thought as she walked up to the gate of the funeral home, the current scene of this random lady’s death, did she really think that I was about to ask the paramedics to move so we could step over this dying lady to get into this funeral home? Okay, she was seriously insane.
The upper class represented themselves with rich, opulent and luxurious surroundings. They had large mansions, fast cars and modern technology which they showed off at large, elaborate parties.
Ow. My head hurts. It has been lying against this wall for at least an hour now. I scratched the back of my head to move around my dark, curly hair. It was beginning to feel plastered against my scalp. It was a bit tangled from not brushing it for a day and my fingers did not run through it with ease; nevertheless, it felt good to keep the blood flowing. I was lying on a thin, light blue mat on the floor. My head was propped up against the cold wall as if it were a concrete pillow. My chin dug into my chest and I could feel the soft, warm material from my sleeveless sweater cushioning my jaw. I looked down. I could see the ends of my hair cascading over my shoulders. The red highlights matched quite nicely with my maroon sweater. My arms were folded over my belly and they appeared more pale than usual. My knees were bent, shooting upward like two cliffs. My baggy blue jeans covered the backs of my fake brown leather shoes. ("Christy, let me borrow your pants, the baggy ones with the big pockets. I can hide more stuff in those.")
Upon arrival into the jungle of vast buildings, the first thing noticed is the mobbed streets filled with taxi cabs and cars going to and fro in numerous directions, with the scent of exhaust surfing through the air. As you progress deeper into the inner city and exit your vehicle, the aroma of the many restaurants passes through your nostrils and gives you a craving for a ?NY Hot Dog? sold by the street venders on the corner calling out your name. As you continue your journey you are passed by the ongoing flow of pedestrians talking on their cell phones and drinking a Starbucks while enjoying the city. The constant commotion of conversing voices rage up and down the streets as someone calls for a fast taxi. A mixed sound of various music styles all band together to form one wild tune.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
To begin with, the mass service as a whole was pleasant. The congregation was very friendly and welcoming. I did not feel uncomfortable in the beginning because the people of the congregation were opening as I walked in. The building was normal size for a place of worship. Inside of the church there was a table set up, which is called the altar. Also in the church, I could not help but to notice the big picture of their worshiper on the wall. The ushers provided bibles before mass service begun. The women during service was dress with long dresses and a hat that covered their entire head, but not their