I love the days I work with Stephanie. She’s one of our 2nd shift front desk clerks who, due to our inability to get along with any new employees, has been forced to swing the two shifts so the 1st shift doesn’t get decimated by the hordes of people checking in downtown Minneapolis. (Yeah, kinda been hella busy with conventions lately but I managed to score 10lbs of just-off-the-plane Columbian and Kenyan coffee so I’m not complaining;)
Having my day (and my mind) vastly improve just with the introduction of a different face has made me realize how much of a rut I’m actually stuck in here.
But, we all know this. Moving along- I spent most of the day fighting with MCTC, trying to get them to send me a catalogue and discussing alternative lifestyles choices with Stephanie. She’s... well, she’s practically *me*. We actually went to school together for a brief time up north- on reservation, so she’s appreciates where I’m coming from and has always managed to surprise me with her sometimes shocking insights to my behavior and personality. She’s naturally intuitive and [she says] the time she spent with the Native people opened her mind to almost a psychic degree. This is where I normally snort in disbelief- adamantly voicing being psychic implies well duh, predestination- and while that sentiment is comforting for sure, fate is something I completely, 100%, without-a-doubt (there’s no chance in *hell*) have no faith in. At this particular point in time anyways.
But don’t let me misrepresent. She will tell you herself, with absolutely no hint of irony or glibness- she is Stephanie, unique and special- one of many. I like that She’s full of city glamour yet at the same time has an old soul. More intelligent than most, driven and at times a little quirky- she’s also 27, ‘alone’, and unsure of what to do next. Our biggest argument is this: I feel I need other people to know myself, she feels you can’t know anyone *until* you know yourself. Well that and the fact she thinks I’m going through some sort of spiritual and emotion transition whereas I... don’t. Yeah, we’re pretty deep. I like conversation for conversation’s sake. So when she invited me down to the Blue Nile for the SpokenWord’s open mic night, I readily agreed.
(Their house band is great for those kinds of conversations, btw. Kind of jazzy and bohemian. Just enough to relax you but not bore you)
We get there at 10 and to Stephanie’s dismay- the list is already filled. But it’s okay as we’re drinking a little drinky and receptive to what may come our way. The first poet makes her way on stage when... I notice something. The doors had been thrown open and a breeze had starting circulating an earthy hint of patchouli and marijuana. A sneaky suspicion entered my mind… but Stephanie wouldn’t, would she? I lean back and survey the room and sure enough, every other head was dreadlocked. Oh she’s *didn’t* . Oh god, could she be one of them in disguise? I glance over at her, she’s sipping her German white wine and as I watch, using one highly manicured finger to push her Dolce&Gabbana frames back up her nose. Ok, maybe not- but still-
The hippies are out.
Well this isn’t what I expected. The first poet starts and I really wanted to get onboard. Seriously. I was standing at the bus stop, ticket in my hand- but when she started to go on about the mother goddess and cosmic wombs I just... stared, mouth slightly open. Then her 2 friends came out to add to her performance. One of them had this long horny thing reminiscent of what the guy in the Rikola commercial plays and the other- and I kid you not, starts doing an interpretive dance to the poetry. I waved to the bus driver as he drove on by- presumably to ethereal planes where womyn and nature lived in harmony.
Here’s the thing- I like hippies (as much as one can like a group of people based solely on their stereotypes) I like part-time hippies, hippies-on-the-side, hippies with day jobs. But as I was listening to this woman taking herself so seriously all I could think was- I cannot relate to a single thing you’re saying. And isn’t that really the point of poetry? Not to say I didn’t have a good time- anytime I can see someone say ‘Corporeal love juices comprised of soy and whey’ with a straight face... it’s worth a little chakra talk.
Stephanie and I stayed for a few more poets- she hot another hot date and had to leave early. We burst through the doors, laughing at how judgmental we turned out to be and she explained the difference between this time and the last time she had performed there. We agreed with relish to come back next Tuesday. Slightly sloshed, we meandered through the neighborhood each lost to pretty recollections and pleasant musings- all and all, a really nice way to end the night. I felt better than I had in a really long time. Then Stephanie turned to me out of nowhere and said in all seriousness, ‘Kell... I know what your problem is, you’re scared of success and terrified of your own potential.’
Hmph. So *that’s* it then.
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