Beat Jeremy Coon

Unhappy Hands Club

I'm allergic to the gloves at work, causing ugly, red, itchy rashes to break out all over my hands. And as the months of wearing gloves that I'm allergic to go by, the rash just gets worse. Over the course of writing that last entry, I scratched both of my hands until they bled. And then I scratched some more, until my hands oozed a clear, scentless liquid.

Okay, okay, maybe not entirely scentless. But if it has a scent, it's really really subtle. And it definitely oozed.

A couple of months ago, we had Happy Hands Hypoallergenic Gloves. They were great. Hypoallergenic gloves had never even occured to me, yet there they were. Maybe someone else at Angelica was having the same problem and thought to speak up. "Ahh, now we have hypoallergenic gloves forever," I basked. I thanked Gary (the manager) the next day, and he had no idea what I was talking about.

Then, after a week, the gloves were gone. Ordering them was accident, it turned out, and no one involved with the ordering process knew anything about them. I've been requesting that we get them on purpose ever since, and though the pleas have been acknowledged, and sometimes even remembered, there doesn't seem to be relief in sight.

Yesterday, Rene (one of the cooks, and also the main supply buyer) told me, "Rhys, your new gloves are downstairs!" So I eagerly followed him into the dry storage area, where all the latex and vinyl gloves wait to bring me so much misery. There he proudly showed me the powder free latex gloves that Gary apologetically offered me last week ("We asked them for hypoallergenic polyurethene gloves, and this is what they sent," Gary said). I guess Gary didn't update Rene on the whole those were the wrong gloves situation.

"Oh," I said to Rene. When Rene seemed disappointed that I seemed disappointed, I said, "Well, latex seems to be slightly not as bad as vinyl." That seemed to make Rene happy. But also probably set my goal of getting hypoallergic gloves back 3 or 4 months.

I feel kind of like I did when I worked at Best Buy and had to wear a nametag that said "B.J." for an entire year because every month they forgot to order a "Rhys Southan" name tag. I know Angelica is trying, but the prospect of putting on those gloves fills me with dread every day.

I know. It's stupid to have an allergy like this. Nobody else at Angelica does. It's my sensitive skin that's the real problem, and hypoallergenic gloves will only cure the symptom. But the symptom sucks, and I want it cured.

Last night at work, one of the managers warned us about an imminent terrorist attack on New York subways, and suggested we take cabs home. I don't mean to echo my "Subway Musings" entry here, but after I got sad thinking about how terrorists wanted to kill me and Savannah and Carmichael and Annique and Ed and Enrique and everyone else at Angelica without ever having met us, I thought, "Well, if terrorists did away with me, at least they'd be erasing a substantial amount of itchiness from the world."

Look, I don't really mean it. I want to live forever. Itchy or not.

Two sides to every story

It must be pretty frightening to fall onto the tracks just as your train arrives. Some might even have nightmares about this. On the other hand, you might fall into the soft cradle of the crevice between the slats and be able to look up as the train passes over you, dominating all of your five senses of smell, look, eat, hear, and touch. That could prove exhilirating and memorable.

This example represents the duality of life experience: there are two sides to every story. Which side will you be on?

P.S. I wrote this entry today as I waited for my train. Later, I imagined myself jumping onto the tracks and running in to the dark, lonely tunnel, attempting to out-race the train. I lost. Anyway, the point is that I'm out of town and you still got your Tuesday entry. Stop complaining. Later I'd like to tackle the subject of nightmares where your teeth fall out. Come on, subconscious. What would be so bad about losing our teeth?

Machinations on MySpace

I just accepted a new friend invitation on MySpace. It's Carmichael, pretty much the hippest person who works in the kitchen at Angelica. I think this will be really good for my career. Much better than having "vickie leEVIL" as a MySpace friend has been for my career. That's done nothing for me.