As I mentioned previously on my Facebook page (keyword: Freeway Fairington's Fan Page), an employee of mine recently inspired some old-school stories in the form of new blogs by our discussion on colleges. She is 17 and in the process of applying to and being accepted at many colleges throughout the state.
While my recent blog about the Coca-Cola and marriage proposal is one of my favorite stories from my college days, this one is a close second...
If I recall correctly, it was approximately 10:45am on a Wednesday. I was at the corner of Edgewood and Courtland Streets in downtown Atlanta, waiting for the light to change to walk to my car. I was through with classes for the day and in desperate need of a nap. A man approached me (not unusual at all in this part of town) and asked me for money. I shook my head and said, "Sorry, man. I can barely even pay for parking down here. Wish I could help you out."
"I got probation today, yo," he replied. "If I don't pay up, I goin' to jail."
I shrugged. "Dude, I'm sorry, for real. Even if I did have money, it wouldn't be anywhere near enough to cover your probation fines. Good luck!"
He took off up Edgewood toward the next block and the Sweet Auburn district. I crossed, passed behind Georgia Bookstore and got in my car.
No sooner had I cranked my car and put it in reverse than I heard "BAM! BAM! BAM!" and looked out my driver's side window to see dude pounding his fist against the glass. Um, oops...guess, I should have tried harder to conjure up that elusive money tree. Thank God for the parking attendant at that lot. In a split second, he tackled my probation frenemy and started screaming at him to leave his patrons alone. "Go on, Freeway," the attendant hollered through the window, "I got this."
See, I was obviously a lucky chick that day. The parking lot where I always parked (behind Georgia Bookstore), was actually a self-pay lot. This means, you fold up your dollars and feed them into the slot that corresponds with your parking space number. The only reason there was an attendant on duty in/near the lot was because the Martin Luther King Research Library bordered the lot and had employee parking on one row of the side corner of this lot. Having parked in the lot for nearly every day for two semesters, I had gotten to know the attendant on a first-name basis and made it a point to say hello to him every time I saw him. Fortunately, this quite possibly saved my life.
I don't know what he's up to these days. I do, however, know it's wise to keep a cigarette or a few pennies on hand while walking the streets of Atlanta. Both are known to chill out those "probationers"...I mean, it's either pay their fine or get assaulted. Or just toss them a cig and let them get a buzz off the nicotine before they're hauled off to jail.
Fulton County's a bitch to bail anyone out of, btw. But, my friends, that one's for another day.
"I got five on it...",
Freeway Fairington
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Doctor's Orders!
Originally published in the December, 2011 edition of The Canton Local. Please visit www.readthelocal.com to subscribe!
Yesterday, I heard the words that no woman wants to hear from her doctor (or any man, really), "You need to lose 20 pounds. Exercise more, push away from the table, or before you know it, you'll be 300 pounds.". Ouch, way to sugar-coat it, doc!
Now, here's the good part: I was actually here to see the doctor for the very reason that I was inexplicably gaining weight. I stopped taking an antidepressant medication in August, and had been packing on the pounds ever since.
My question to him was what do I do to lose the weight? I'm already working out with a trainer several days a week and on a low calorie diet, yet I'm still gaining weight. No, there was no suggestion for a diet pill, no recommendation for any type of alternative supplement, heck, not even a prescription for something like Phentermine. He just answered by telling me I was fat. Cue in tiny violin and a tear here. All joking aside, the fact that my own doctor confirmed my fears of being overweight has me on an emergency health-kick bender.
Yesterday, I heard the words that no woman wants to hear from her doctor (or any man, really), "You need to lose 20 pounds. Exercise more, push away from the table, or before you know it, you'll be 300 pounds.". Ouch, way to sugar-coat it, doc!
Now, here's the good part: I was actually here to see the doctor for the very reason that I was inexplicably gaining weight. I stopped taking an antidepressant medication in August, and had been packing on the pounds ever since.
My question to him was what do I do to lose the weight? I'm already working out with a trainer several days a week and on a low calorie diet, yet I'm still gaining weight. No, there was no suggestion for a diet pill, no recommendation for any type of alternative supplement, heck, not even a prescription for something like Phentermine. He just answered by telling me I was fat. Cue in tiny violin and a tear here. All joking aside, the fact that my own doctor confirmed my fears of being overweight has me on an emergency health-kick bender.
When I told my trainer the doctor’s, ahem, advice (I’m
sorry, I’m still attempting to find the positive in his comment), her comment
to me was, “We can do this!” Little did
I know that her words of “encouragement” meant starving myself to death,
drinking several gallons of water a day, and working out twice a day (at
least). Really, she wants me to spend
all extra minutes of my day doing lunges and sidekicks at work. Did I mention she makes me do exercises with
weird names, like Starfish? Um, really?
Not only will I be working out 7 days a week, I'm now on a strict vegetarian diet. (Just don't tell my boyfriend I found the brownies!). Actually, on second thought, maybe I’ll just go shopping for new clothes. That sure seems easier…
Follow my blog at www.freewayfairington.blogspot.com for updates on my weight loss crusade (or just plain old commentary on my realistic venture to do so…).
In good health,
Freeway Fairington
Not only will I be working out 7 days a week, I'm now on a strict vegetarian diet. (Just don't tell my boyfriend I found the brownies!). Actually, on second thought, maybe I’ll just go shopping for new clothes. That sure seems easier…
Follow my blog at www.freewayfairington.blogspot.com for updates on my weight loss crusade (or just plain old commentary on my realistic venture to do so…).
In good health,
Freeway Fairington
Friday, November 25, 2011
A Coke and a Marriage Proposal
Several years ago (I refuse to say how many), I was a student at Georgia State University in downtown Atlanta. During my first two semesters there, I took day classes, and one semester in particular, I had a two hour break between classes. Being that I did not live anywhere remotely close to campus (or downtown even), I often spent my break eating a quick lunch and completing my homework and/or studying.
During my tenure at Georgia State, the World of Coke and Underground Atlanta still existed in the same vicinity. In fact, there was a plaza with a water fountain and benches between the two that backed up to Johnny Rockets. This is where I often took my break.
Now, on to the story...
Here I am on what is the very last day of August sitting on a bench, minding my own business and studying for a Spanish test. Mind you, it is VERY hot in Atlanta in the month of August. (Well, in all actuality, it's always hot in Atlanta, but especially so during the Summer). An African-American man in a brightly colored sweater, think 80s style...black sweater with brightly-colored swirls, approached me. May I please stress again that HE WAS WEARING A SWEATER! In a heavy English accent, he asked me if he could buy me a Coca-Cola. I looked around the plaza. No cameras, not even a sideways glance from another student or business person sitting on an adjacent bench.
"No," I replied. "I don't like Coke."
He proceeded to walk over to the soda machines outside the doors at the entryway to The World of Coke and purchased two 20 oz. bottles of Coke anyway. Then he returned to my bench and sat down beside me. He handed me the coke, which I simply placed on the bench between the two of us. Seriously, was I in a Coke commercial? What the hell was going on?
"I am from Nigeria," he stated. I nodded my head, but did not look up from my Spanish book. You have to understand, I wasn't being uncompassionate, it's just that when you're in Atlanta, you meet a lot of odd people...and unfortunately, everyone has a story. The sad thing is, most are fake.
I continued studying my Spanish. He continued to speak. "There was a war in my native country. My mother was a lawyer, my father a doctor. Both were killed. I moved here and am staying in a boarding house...I rent a room...I go on dates, but the girls are not wife material...you seem like wife material..."
WAIT? WHAT? I'm vaguely hearing the words coming out of his mouth and through my ears, but certainly not listening. This catches my attention. (He hasn't touched his bottle of Coke, by the way). I'm marriage material? A girl sitting on a bench studying Spanish outside of The World Coke and Underground Atlanta is marriage material? How on Earth can you just tell something like that by looking at somebody? And why was he wearing that awful sweater in the heat of Summer? While all of these questions are running through my head and I'm continuing to pretend to read my Spanish book at the same time, I hear the last of his one-sided conversation.
"So, would you like to marry me so I can get my green card and stay here in the United States of America permanently? I only have one room currently since it's a boarding house, but I'm sure if I had legal citizenship I could find employment."
At this point, I didn't even care. I handed him back the bottle of Coke he had purchased for me out of the vending machine (still unopened) and packed up and left. I definitely think I got punk'd.
Still a funny story (to me, anyway),
Freeway Fairington
During my tenure at Georgia State, the World of Coke and Underground Atlanta still existed in the same vicinity. In fact, there was a plaza with a water fountain and benches between the two that backed up to Johnny Rockets. This is where I often took my break.
Now, on to the story...
Here I am on what is the very last day of August sitting on a bench, minding my own business and studying for a Spanish test. Mind you, it is VERY hot in Atlanta in the month of August. (Well, in all actuality, it's always hot in Atlanta, but especially so during the Summer). An African-American man in a brightly colored sweater, think 80s style...black sweater with brightly-colored swirls, approached me. May I please stress again that HE WAS WEARING A SWEATER! In a heavy English accent, he asked me if he could buy me a Coca-Cola. I looked around the plaza. No cameras, not even a sideways glance from another student or business person sitting on an adjacent bench.
"No," I replied. "I don't like Coke."
He proceeded to walk over to the soda machines outside the doors at the entryway to The World of Coke and purchased two 20 oz. bottles of Coke anyway. Then he returned to my bench and sat down beside me. He handed me the coke, which I simply placed on the bench between the two of us. Seriously, was I in a Coke commercial? What the hell was going on?
"I am from Nigeria," he stated. I nodded my head, but did not look up from my Spanish book. You have to understand, I wasn't being uncompassionate, it's just that when you're in Atlanta, you meet a lot of odd people...and unfortunately, everyone has a story. The sad thing is, most are fake.
I continued studying my Spanish. He continued to speak. "There was a war in my native country. My mother was a lawyer, my father a doctor. Both were killed. I moved here and am staying in a boarding house...I rent a room...I go on dates, but the girls are not wife material...you seem like wife material..."
WAIT? WHAT? I'm vaguely hearing the words coming out of his mouth and through my ears, but certainly not listening. This catches my attention. (He hasn't touched his bottle of Coke, by the way). I'm marriage material? A girl sitting on a bench studying Spanish outside of The World Coke and Underground Atlanta is marriage material? How on Earth can you just tell something like that by looking at somebody? And why was he wearing that awful sweater in the heat of Summer? While all of these questions are running through my head and I'm continuing to pretend to read my Spanish book at the same time, I hear the last of his one-sided conversation.
"So, would you like to marry me so I can get my green card and stay here in the United States of America permanently? I only have one room currently since it's a boarding house, but I'm sure if I had legal citizenship I could find employment."
At this point, I didn't even care. I handed him back the bottle of Coke he had purchased for me out of the vending machine (still unopened) and packed up and left. I definitely think I got punk'd.
Still a funny story (to me, anyway),
Freeway Fairington
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
A Note to My 17 Year Old Self
I realize that I'm not quite yet 30, yet it seems that so much has changed in the months and years since I was last considered an adolescent (aka, NOT an "official" adult). I've come to learn that I am what is considered "old-school"...meaning, the lessons my parents and teachers taught me are now basically extinct, along with the fact that my own perceptions of what was once considered proper is no more. Below is a note to my 17 year old self. I highly recommend that all current 17 year olds (hell, even those of you who are a few years older) read it and consider the importance of some, if not all, of the items I mention.
Dear 17 Year Old Freeway:
In a little more than ten years from today, you will be a full-fledged adult. This means, you won't be able to call your parents, grandparents, or really any other family members to "bail" you out of random and screwed up situations.
You will be responsible for going to work day in and day out, paying ridiculous bills that in the end truly have no merit (credit card bills, utility bills, car notes, mortgages, grocery bills, etc.), and you will constantly wish that you could revert back to being 17. Although, right now, the age of 17 totally sucks to you. You can't drink right now (well, legally), you're still in school, you work a bullshit job for minimum wage, and you have a curfew. Granted, the curfew is government-imposed, but it still sucks.
You will encounter many people over the next ten years who will lie to you, use you, take advantage of you, steal from you, talk about you behind your back, and in a few rare cases, you will make friendships and allies that will be with you til your dying day.
Some important lessons to consider from your 17th Birthday forward:
1) Only be concerned with your own happiness. If you worry too much about pleasing others, you will never find the time needed to please yourself and pursue that which makes you happy.
2) Work hard, but try your best to either work at a job that is meaningful and fulfilling to you. If you aren't able to always do this, use each job you have as a learning experience and stepping-stone. You will have many bosses in your lifetime who treat you crappy, expect too much, or are just plain mean. Learn from them how to be an excellent employee and emulate the characteristics that they do not.
3) Don't waste your time on a broken heart. What's meant to be, will be. If it's not meant, it's for a reason. This is the hardest thing to understand in life, and one of the hardest still to accept. Know deep down that you are intended to meet the "right" person at the "right" time in your life. And know, more importantly, that you are strong enough (and special enough) to be alone.
4) Always do what's right. Don't follow the crowd just because it's cool. Be your own leader. Make your own "cool".
5) Friends and boyfriends will come and go. Some will hurt you. Some will use you. Some will just fade and drift away with time. Family is forever (no matter how screwed up or crazy yours may seem)...take the time to get to know your family and its history. It may not seem important now, but someday, it will be.
6) FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS! Whatever you choose to do in life, make sure it is what you want to do. Don't go to school to be a lawyer because that's what your dad or mom always wanted to be. If you want to be a nurse, pursue that dream. If you want to be a writer, work toward that goal. You will never be happy living out a dream that someone else has created for you.
These are only a few of the lessons I wish I had instilled upon my 17 year old self. Please feel free to comment on this posting with more of your own lessons. We all should continue to learn and evolve.
(Sorry for the serious blog...must be the weather...lol).
Closing in on thirty,
Freeway Fairington
Dear 17 Year Old Freeway:
In a little more than ten years from today, you will be a full-fledged adult. This means, you won't be able to call your parents, grandparents, or really any other family members to "bail" you out of random and screwed up situations.
You will be responsible for going to work day in and day out, paying ridiculous bills that in the end truly have no merit (credit card bills, utility bills, car notes, mortgages, grocery bills, etc.), and you will constantly wish that you could revert back to being 17. Although, right now, the age of 17 totally sucks to you. You can't drink right now (well, legally), you're still in school, you work a bullshit job for minimum wage, and you have a curfew. Granted, the curfew is government-imposed, but it still sucks.
You will encounter many people over the next ten years who will lie to you, use you, take advantage of you, steal from you, talk about you behind your back, and in a few rare cases, you will make friendships and allies that will be with you til your dying day.
Some important lessons to consider from your 17th Birthday forward:
1) Only be concerned with your own happiness. If you worry too much about pleasing others, you will never find the time needed to please yourself and pursue that which makes you happy.
2) Work hard, but try your best to either work at a job that is meaningful and fulfilling to you. If you aren't able to always do this, use each job you have as a learning experience and stepping-stone. You will have many bosses in your lifetime who treat you crappy, expect too much, or are just plain mean. Learn from them how to be an excellent employee and emulate the characteristics that they do not.
3) Don't waste your time on a broken heart. What's meant to be, will be. If it's not meant, it's for a reason. This is the hardest thing to understand in life, and one of the hardest still to accept. Know deep down that you are intended to meet the "right" person at the "right" time in your life. And know, more importantly, that you are strong enough (and special enough) to be alone.
4) Always do what's right. Don't follow the crowd just because it's cool. Be your own leader. Make your own "cool".
5) Friends and boyfriends will come and go. Some will hurt you. Some will use you. Some will just fade and drift away with time. Family is forever (no matter how screwed up or crazy yours may seem)...take the time to get to know your family and its history. It may not seem important now, but someday, it will be.
6) FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS! Whatever you choose to do in life, make sure it is what you want to do. Don't go to school to be a lawyer because that's what your dad or mom always wanted to be. If you want to be a nurse, pursue that dream. If you want to be a writer, work toward that goal. You will never be happy living out a dream that someone else has created for you.
These are only a few of the lessons I wish I had instilled upon my 17 year old self. Please feel free to comment on this posting with more of your own lessons. We all should continue to learn and evolve.
(Sorry for the serious blog...must be the weather...lol).
Closing in on thirty,
Freeway Fairington
Welcome, [Male] Neighbor!
This Blog was originally published in the November, 2011 edition of The Canton Local. To view articles by other great authors and to subscribe, please visit www.readthelocal.com.
I recently purchased my first home. I stress the word “my” for good reason. I’ve worked hard for twenty-something odd years to save up for this moment, and I (had) intended to savor every minute of it. You know, traditional homeowner stuff-cleaning, decorating, meeting the neighbors…
I recently purchased my first home. I stress the word “my” for good reason. I’ve worked hard for twenty-something odd years to save up for this moment, and I (had) intended to savor every minute of it. You know, traditional homeowner stuff-cleaning, decorating, meeting the neighbors…
At this point, I should probably introduce the fact that I
have a boyfriend who lives with me. Yes,
he pays rent, but no, his name is not on the mortgage. However, try telling that to my
neighbors. My very female neighbors.
For whatever reason, my boyfriend has what I like to call a
“female magnet”. No matter where we go,
women of all age find it necessary to talk to him. I have no idea why I thought him moving into my
house would be any different.
Within a week of us first moving in, our next door neighbor
came over and introduced herself. She
made sure to mention that she lives alone.
She appears to be in her late 60s.
A few days after that, our neighbor directly across the street “just
happened to be baking cookies” and came over to say hello. She made sure to stress the fact that her
husband is almost always out of town.
Oh, and I failed to mention that another of our neighbors mows her grass
at least twice a week. In her
bikini. Seriously?!
If you’re wondering, no, I have not yet met my
neighbors. It seems that they prefer the
male renter in my household…
Until next time,
Freeway Fairington
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Yard Sailing
I recently held my first "Yard Sale" (as we call them in the South) approximately one-month ago. Being the business-savvy person that I am, I placed an ad in a local newspaper advertising the sale and made sure to price everything excessively low.
You see, I am the queen of letting things go...I throw almost everything away (cards, letters, useless items that I no longer find necessary in my daily routine, etc.) due to the fact that I absolutely hate clutter. I figure if it's something to be considered "memorable", then my mind will stash it away and remember it as such. Not to mention, I have a few hoarders in my family...but that, my friends, is a whole other blog entirely.
I am proud to say that I practically sold out of my yard sale belongings the first of the two days that I had advertised for. I know people are cheap, but I never realized just how cheap people were until the bargaining part of my yard sale began. Except, shocker, I didn't really bargain. I just paused for a minute and then told everyone, "Sure" to their offers. I mean, it's "for sale" for a reason-I have no need for the items for anymore, and furthermore, whatever didn't sell would only be donated to Goodwill anyway...for free. So, why not take what I could get? Makes sense to me.
That whole way of thinking, however, obviously does not make sense to others. Namely, two of my neighbors. For the last four weekends, I have watched them meticulously set up a "Yard Sale" in their driveways every Saturday morning. There are tables loaded with their now useless-to-them junk. And when they pull the signs down each Saturday and haul the belongings back inside their suburban garages, the tables are still full. The only thing I can think of is that secretly they really do not want to get rid of these items. Which is a shame. Yard Sailing can be so much fun. Especially the people who do it professionally.
Oh, you didn't know that there are Professional Yard Sailers? It's true. These are the people who hunt out a good bargain regardless of whether they need the items for sale or not. They come early...at least thirty minutes before your advertised "start" time. And then, they sit and wait. As soon as you pop open that garage door, they converge on your belongings and snatch up as many items as possible while offering you a flat price. If you're smart, you accept their flat price. Less time you have to spend "selling" your belongings, and less items to haul off for donation at the end of the day. Then there are the stragglers...the people who just peruse through your junk, agree that it's junk, make small conversation because they feel obligated, and leave. These are who I deem the lonely people. People who just need to get out of their houses and have a few social encounters before calling it a day. And then, there are the neighbors.
The same female neighbors who gravitated toward my boyfriend during our entrance into the neighborhood (read my column in The Canton Local at www.readthelocal.com for more background on this), came over to scope out my belongings (and garage) while pretending to be neighborly. One just wanted to see what kind of decorating themes I used and how clean my garage was. The other stated she just wanted to know if we had a "boombox" (yes, she really used that term) that she could purchase for her daughter's cheerleading squad. She too eyeballed my garage while asking this question.
All in all, my yard sale was a success. Maybe this Saturday when my neighbors again have theirs, I'll go check it out. One, I want to be nosy too. And two, I want to see what kind of junk it is that they're hoarding and can't (or don't want to) get rid of.
Super Shopper Yard Sailer,
Freeway Fairington
You see, I am the queen of letting things go...I throw almost everything away (cards, letters, useless items that I no longer find necessary in my daily routine, etc.) due to the fact that I absolutely hate clutter. I figure if it's something to be considered "memorable", then my mind will stash it away and remember it as such. Not to mention, I have a few hoarders in my family...but that, my friends, is a whole other blog entirely.
I am proud to say that I practically sold out of my yard sale belongings the first of the two days that I had advertised for. I know people are cheap, but I never realized just how cheap people were until the bargaining part of my yard sale began. Except, shocker, I didn't really bargain. I just paused for a minute and then told everyone, "Sure" to their offers. I mean, it's "for sale" for a reason-I have no need for the items for anymore, and furthermore, whatever didn't sell would only be donated to Goodwill anyway...for free. So, why not take what I could get? Makes sense to me.
That whole way of thinking, however, obviously does not make sense to others. Namely, two of my neighbors. For the last four weekends, I have watched them meticulously set up a "Yard Sale" in their driveways every Saturday morning. There are tables loaded with their now useless-to-them junk. And when they pull the signs down each Saturday and haul the belongings back inside their suburban garages, the tables are still full. The only thing I can think of is that secretly they really do not want to get rid of these items. Which is a shame. Yard Sailing can be so much fun. Especially the people who do it professionally.
Oh, you didn't know that there are Professional Yard Sailers? It's true. These are the people who hunt out a good bargain regardless of whether they need the items for sale or not. They come early...at least thirty minutes before your advertised "start" time. And then, they sit and wait. As soon as you pop open that garage door, they converge on your belongings and snatch up as many items as possible while offering you a flat price. If you're smart, you accept their flat price. Less time you have to spend "selling" your belongings, and less items to haul off for donation at the end of the day. Then there are the stragglers...the people who just peruse through your junk, agree that it's junk, make small conversation because they feel obligated, and leave. These are who I deem the lonely people. People who just need to get out of their houses and have a few social encounters before calling it a day. And then, there are the neighbors.
The same female neighbors who gravitated toward my boyfriend during our entrance into the neighborhood (read my column in The Canton Local at www.readthelocal.com for more background on this), came over to scope out my belongings (and garage) while pretending to be neighborly. One just wanted to see what kind of decorating themes I used and how clean my garage was. The other stated she just wanted to know if we had a "boombox" (yes, she really used that term) that she could purchase for her daughter's cheerleading squad. She too eyeballed my garage while asking this question.
All in all, my yard sale was a success. Maybe this Saturday when my neighbors again have theirs, I'll go check it out. One, I want to be nosy too. And two, I want to see what kind of junk it is that they're hoarding and can't (or don't want to) get rid of.
Super Shopper Yard Sailer,
Freeway Fairington
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