Connections--the deeper kind undefined.
I wish I could write about a bird I’ve seen recently, but I’ve been inside the chocolate factory working all day, all week. I’m going home this weekend, and we have birdfeeders, so if they haven’t migrated yet, I might write about the little gold finches that, upside down, pluck the tiny seeds out of the feeders with their beaks.
I’ve decided to write something anyway, just something fun to share (as if I haven’t posted enough on here, sorry). And, it has nothing to do with my previous anonymity.
At the chocolate factory I work with old ladies that have perfect rosy circles for blush on their cheeks, and the same pinkish lipstick, if it’s not bright red to match their Christmas sweaters. And I love all of them. I call them the chocolate ladies.
I explained to one lady that I had worked on the other side of the store (twisting pretzels and scooping custard) and she replied: “Could you even see over the counter back then? You’re just a shorty.”
The main lady always has the same reply to the customers’ questions that sound like: “So are you a granddaughter?” Her responses are variations of “No, but she could be! My Jordon’s coming home from his mission soon.” (It’s a little awkward, but that’s a whole other story. Maybe it could be a twist to the Momance if I decide to share more of it later.)
But my favorite lady is Marka. I worked two days with her without knowing her name; then I finally asked my boss. Marka is from Germany; she is younger (45 maybe?) and doesn’t wear make up. She doesn’t need it. Every morning she says “Goot morn-ning, Katie, how are you?” And her accent is soft.
The first day (I didn’t even know her) when I was in her way, she teasingly slapped the back of my hair and made it flip up as if to say “Excuse me!” Other times when I’m in her way she’ll spurt out: “Retreat!” or “AttenTION!” It sounds military to me, yet hers is always a rough, soft, playful voice.
She fills the chocolate trays faster than we can sell them. Whenever she comes to the front counter where I work, she starts talking quietly, making quiet jokes. (Not like Matty, because his quiet hilarity is more intentional.) It’s like she’s just starting to learn what Americans joke about, or their idioms, and she laughs in rough spurts until I get her joke. Then, due to my laughter, she laughs harder knowing I understood, and that she was understood.
Today as I knelt on the store’s floor behind the candy counter to pack a large box of chocolates (they were on the lower shelf) she said to the cashier: “Katie is very down to earth.” Ha. Get it? She used one of our idioms as a joke. She jokes often, and her attempts amuse me.
I have a tendency to think that people with accents aren’t as smart because they can’t speak our language ‘right.’ But I know this is faulty, and I’m pushing past that first inclination. Marka is smart, and is more of a person as I get to know her. She has just started to share bits of her life with me.
There’s something about her and that has created one of those connections I can’t explain. I’ll be sad when we both stop working after Christmas. I don’t know if I can explain what I mean or feel. Beside a fun story, did I tell you enough to show that there’s a connection there? But I want to know what that connection is that comes when you get to know people. What is that connection that makes it hard to say goodbye, even though you’ve known them for only one semester (like WC assistants)? That connection that is an feeling which produces an inner binding with you and someone just because both have something in common. Eventually it builds. It creates a linking that…….Something. Specific. Blank. I keep searching for a definition. What is it? I can’t describe it. The best I can do is what I posted on an earlier post of Brittany’s. “The glue that holds you together is some incomprehensible, spiritual adhesive.” But there I meant good friends, and note the incomprehensible part. Does anyone understand?