You want me to do what?

I’ve come to an understanding that interns do the scut work. I guess deep down I always knew that as an intern I would be doing all of the tasks others did not want to do, but I’ve taken on that mentality and have been performing my remedial tasks to the best of my ability. However, last week I discovered where I would draw the line. I found my personal jumping off point and I jumped ship.

Last week the organization I’m interning at encountered a bit of an issue with their community forums. They were supposed to set up forums inviting the community to come voice their opinions on the things that hinder them from living a healthy lifestyle. These forums were not incentivized and poorly advertised. On the night of the first community forum they had a grand total of 0 people show up. This in some way can be viewed as a monumental embarrassment for my organization and one of the sub-department heads got an earful from upper management. To fix this attendance rate before the next 8 forums all employees, and by extension interns, were given manila envelopes full of flyers advertising a particular forum location. Their job was to take the flyers and distribute them at the locations near home or places you already had to go. Being the intern I was given all of the places where people did not live, and of course not being from Oklahoma every location I was given was an area where I had never been.

No big deal, I was looking for a way to get out of my cubicle anyway (even though the cube is beginning to grow on me which I find entirely too frightening). I was sent to a library in Edmond, Oklahoma, a 25-minute drive into the burbs. I walked into the library, flyers in hand, and asked them if they would mind me handing them out. They had issues with me approaching individuals in the library so I was relegated to outside. It was 105 degrees. I don’t have much in the way of a summer work wardrobe. My work clothes consist of one of my 4 pairs of pants matched with one of my 1 billion button-up shirts…and either my black shoes or my brown shoes. I don’t have t-shirts; I don’t have short-sleeves; I’m not allowed to wear shorts. Basically I was this poor melty woman chasing people down after they left the library begging them to take a flyer (I wasn’t allowed to leave until all the flyers were gone).

One man decided this was a good time to ask me my thoughts on Obamacare. Without thinking (or remembering that I was in Oklahoma) I responded I thought insuring 45 million people was a good thing. He shot back “well they’re planning on taking my Medicare, did you hear that?” Feeling backed into a corner I took a professional stance and declared I was pretty certain his Medicare was safe. Apparently my professional stance was quite unimpressive (it’s hard to look important when your orange striped shirt is dripping and your hair is stuck to your forehead) and he turned to me and said “you look like a dyed in the wool liberal, I can just tell”. At this point I was tired of him and wanted him to go away, he clearly didn’t want a flyer and I was wasting precious library patron stalking time standing here talking to a nut. I just said, “yeah I’m a liberal and I’m proud of it”. He then called me a flaming socialist communist. This guy looks like he could be my grandpa. He had on nice khaki slacks and a good old fashion red plaid shirt; his grandson was hugging his knees. Why was grandpa ripping me a new one? I was hot, pissed, and REALLY wanted him gone so I said, in a slightly louder more affirming tone, “communism and socialism are really very different you know…Medicare is pretty socialist when you think about it”. He didn’t like that; he asked me what I was reading that was spewing this crap. Grandpa why? Why are you ruining the sacred image of the happy old man? I didn’t even answer his question, I said there were people here that might be interested in what my organization was trying to do and he was bothering me. He finally left me alone. I thought about crying but figured people would mistake tears for sweat and it wouldn’t get me anywhere.

Chores

You can’t teach an old cat new tricks, or really any trick
Cats are pretty much worthless little creatures. They do nothing but order you around. Down here in Oklahoma City my mother has an enclosed backyard so she thought it would be nice if the cats could go outside and play, free of predators and cars. We decided that we would put a cat door inside the storm door so we could keep in the cool air but still allow them hypothetical freedom. The door cat door went in two weeks ago and the cats absolutely refused to use it. In fact they suddenly developed a fear of the outdoors because it involves the cat door. One cat got so angry about the door that she peed on a rug…great animals huh? To solve this issue my mother and I decided we needed to “teach” the cats how to use the door. I am under the impression that cats do not need to be taught anything and simply delight in you making a fool of yourself attempting to show them how to do something. If they really wanted to do it they would. Anyway we started just by showing them the door mechanism. This process involved me sitting next to the door and pushing on it so they could see it opened and closed. Pretty simple, not impressive, they didn’t care. My mother then decided we should show the cats that things can go in and out of the door…so I crawled through the door. That freaked them out and made me feel mildly ridiculous (although I have been known to climb through animal doors when I forget my key, be forewarned). Lastly we just grabbed the cats and started shoving them through. My mom sat on one side and I sat on the other and we just handed them off to each other. The cats got no joy out of this and my forearms look like I’ve started cutting. Last week I got home from work and opened the door to let the cat out, as has become the tradition since the very expensive cat door was a useless investment. Thirty minutes later I got up to let her back in only to discover her in the living room lying on the fireplace. She used the door! I did a dance and everything. However the cat refuses to show me she knows how to use the door, she wants me to think she won’t use it so that I will continue to let her out (she hates the door hitting her nose). Cats are smart; humans are dumb; I’m returning to St. Louis with one less cat. Who’s the winner now?

The Motion Sensor
My mother went on a short weekend trip to Ohio and left me a list of things to do while she was gone. Since I am staying here free of charge I can at least do some manual labor to earn my keep. The first thing on the list was “fix motion sensor light”. My mother’s house here in Oklahoma was previously owned by some super paranoid individuals. There are can spot lights that run across the front of the house and two different sets of motion detectors in the back. If there is even the smallest breeze rustling the tiniest branch our backyard lights up as if Cher just walked on stage. One of the sensors was “out” and my mother figured as long as it’s there we ought to have it working. I went to Home Depot and bought the very strange light-bulbs for the light and set out to replace them. One would consider screwing in a light-bulb one of the simplest of home improvement tasks no? I am well trained in the art of replacing a bulb so I grabbed the ladder and set it up under the sensor. There is no way to turn “off” a motion light or so I’ve come to believe. I slipped in the first bulb and fell off the ladder. No, I’m not that clumsy. Motion sensor lights are bright and incredibly hot; I had popped in the new bulb with my face 2 inches from the light and basically blinded myself when it flipped on. I spent the next 20 minutes changing the other two bulbs with sunglasses and oven mitts (please no “female” jokes). It’s done…don’t make fun if I got it done.

Only in Oklahoma…and maybe Arkansas
Last week the health institution I work at went out to lunch to celebrate the completion of a grant. Where do people who work in public health go for lunch? Panera? Subway? Whole Foods? No, try Roosters. Roosters is down in Bricktown, a thriving section of downtown Oklahoma City where the minor league ball field is and various other nightclubs and bars. Roosters, as I come to understand, sells fried chicken…only fried chicken. Oh wait, I lied, it sells fried pickles and fried okra too. Now I’m not a health freak, far from it, but I think if I’m wearing my department ID (intern ID for the department prom…I’m really glad nobody seems to care how outdated it is) I should set a good example. How can we expect others to be willing to live healthy lifestyles if the most recognizable health institution in the area goes out to eat at the local fried chicken joint? I don’t judge, I’m terrible too but we need to learn. I guess I just need to try and get my “coworkers” to walk the talk. If an individual is trying to tell me to join a diabetes program or participate in a wellness program and they are clearly overweight/unhealthy what kind of impact is that program going to have? You wouldn’t take financial advice from your plumber would you?

Oklahoma City Pride 2010

I've only been to the PRIDE parade in St. Louis once. It was three years ago and a good friend basically dragged me there. I did have a good time though and it blew my self imposed sheltered existence wide open. I'd never seen so much color, so much skin, so much flamboyance in one place. I was reeling, I think my friend had to constantly ask if I was alright. Flash forward a year, 12 months to get more comfortable...to become me. I actually missed the parade to pick up a good friend at the airport, a trip I deemed more important and more relevant at the time. It turned out to be a poor decision and I found myself longing to be in the crowd where a person's ultimate goal is to get a set of rainbow beads, where drag queens take off their own beautiful beads so you can get the one color you're missing...where no matter the sex, gender, stye of dress, age, or race everyone goes out of their way to make sure a stranger is having a good time. It's ironic that religious groups picket Pride; Pride is the only event I have ever been to where I've felt surrounded by love. I missed all of that. I had to wait 12 more months to experience it again.

One of my projects here in Oklahoma was to help plan and participate in the OKC Pride event. I went from my first Pride in St. Louis where I essentially jumped around a bit and went home exhausted to actually being IN the parade. The organization I'm working at put together a float (read pickup truck) and I was expected to march in the parade and run through the crowd passing out materials with our organization's information on it. We had tattoos, mood cups, rainbow bracelets (like the livestrong ones), and t-shirts. People go crazy for free shit. I soon found myself surrounded by all walks of life. In one particular instance I was surrounded by a group of gay boys in their underwear desperate for mood cups, I of course obliged. Later as I was handing out bracelets an individual (I assume male) grasped me from behind and asked "sugar I would just love one of those bracelets". Haha, he called me sugar. My own grandmother would never call me sugar...I gave him 5.

At Pride I was never once called young man and aside from a few people who were a little too grabby for the merchandise, everyone was wonderful. I especially loved the little kids screaming "Happy Pride" to everyone as they walked by and the team of gay guys in their front yard passing out water they purchased to every person walking in the heat. The adrenaline was pumping so hard I didn't even realize I had run the 3 mile course in flip flops. My feet were killing me the next morning, I also discovered a rather large bruise on my left bicep that I couldn't for the life of me remember how it got there.

But anyway, happy pride everybody! Future posts will entail the very exciting process of teaching the cat to use the cat door, changing the lightbulb in our motion detectors, and the grant appreciation lunch I went to today.