Before I start this blog, I first should tell you all a little bit of information about me, so that later on through the chronicles, you’ll be able to say “that damn Lisa, look at her acting up, but she warned us” You all must know, my tone is a sarcastic humor, and I cuss A LOT! I don’t know why, but I have a potty mouth. So if you are offended, get the hell off my page then…. after you read the blog. Okay moving along to the key points of Lisa.
1. As you all know, my middle name is Queen. So, with that, being called Queen all my life, sometimes unbeknown-st to me, I have a tendency to kinda act Queen-ish. You know, think people should cater to me, and throw a fit from time to time. Hey, stop that, don’t judge me—if your middle name was asshole, I’m sure you kinda live up to that name. Hell some of you are assholio-ish and it’s not even your middle name. Moving on!
2. My grandparents raised me, and who wouldn’t want to be raised by grandparents—spoiled 24/7. Grandparents are the best its like hitting the “Spoiled to def” sweepstakes at birth. Don’t get it twisted, I didn’t get away with everything, Levi and Sarah DID NOT PLAY that ol’ bull mess. However, I was spoiled—bottom line. And being that I’m the only child between my mom and my dad, I was the only child being raised by my grandparents—so I don’t understand the concept of sharing, compromise, getting along with others for the betterment of a team. No, I work better alone, and actually I’m great at delegating (passing the shit for someone else to do).
3. Not to be heavy like a wet blanket, but my life experiences are a bit of a drain. So, my grandmother, Sarah, was tragically murdered when I was 12. FUCKED ME UP! We will not get into the psychological damages that shit played. My mom took a downward spiral into drugs. Crack is a helleuva drug. My Mom was then murdered when I was 21, FUCKED ME UP! So with all of that being said, I gained two outlooks on life: Life is too short for petty shit, and sometimes I just don’t give a fuck *shrugs shoulders*
All right boys and girls, now that the disclaimers are out there, those three points will later come up in the chronicles and how I approach some of the may jobs I held. Not all the time, for the most part, I was a good employee and still am. I’m loyal, kind, sensitive to peoples issues, and I can take one for the team should it deem itself necessary. I just don’t always volunteer it!
Anyone from Spokane, who is black and grew up on the Eastside of Spokane, has a fond (or maybe not so fond) memory of The East Central Community Center. Growing up the Center was the SHIT! A community center that housed all sporting events, had a senior citizen room for daytime activities for seniors, a library and a daycare. I am a product of ECCC’s day care, got books from the library, ate the free lunches, learned how to do all the latest dances, attended the Friday night teen dances, participated in the community talent shows, and had my first French kiss at the center—dammit I have my ECCC stripes for sho. Therefore, it was an HONOR and pure excitement when I was offered the job to work in the kitchen serving snacks and concession items to patrons of the center.
509 stand up! ECCC where it all went down!
The first time I worked at the center when I was 15 (going on 16) my schedule was 10am –5pm Mon-Fri and 11am – 6pm on Saturdays. Talk about fun. I’d see EVERYONE all day everyday. The seniors who would come by from the Senior Citizen room were funny. There was this particular old white man, he was very friendly that would come and talk to me from time to time. I would give him his popcorn for free (although it was like 75 cents), nonetheless it’s the things you remember.
The job ended when the school year started, and I went into my junior year with a little pocket money, whatever was leftover after my mom made me breakdown and give my granddaddy some money. Side note, my mom was controlling my life from 300 miles away in Yakima She was a telephone mother, meaning she called on the phone every night to talk to my granddaddy and me and boss me around using AT&T…. and collect call at that. Anyways, my granddaddy would sometimes say
“Nisa, keep your little money, we’re okay”
Mind you, my granddaddy and I were the only ones living in the house, and yes, he called me Nisa, don’t know why, but always did—love that man more than my own life.
So, after doing such a remarkable job as concession stand attendant, two years later I was asked if I wanted to do it again. The summer I was 16 going on 17, I went away to Governors School at Seattle University for the summer, so I did not work.
So, at 17 going on 18 I worked again at the center. This time, I had my own car, had a little swagger and seniority up in that piece. I had a 1989 Mercury Tracer, hatchback—nigga what? I thought I was the ish! Until I got cussed out by daddy Bebe for letting this boy (who shall remain nameless) drive my car and he wasn't even my boyfriend, although I was SO IN LOVE with his best friend. Anyways you know, I forget how small Spokane is, well my dad saw (bleep) driving my car, and trust me when I got home, everybody cussed me out! My daddy, my granddaddy and even the operator from AT&T with the collect call from Antoinette was like:
“you ought to be ashamed of yourself, but you have a collect call, caller state your name”
*in my 2Pac voice* Picture me rollin'
Needless to say, I would NEVER let anyone drive my car after that. However, working at the center is what landed my next job. One day, Larry Roseman, the neighborhood OG—opps I mean barber, was walking through the center and said
“Lisa Gardner, girl what you doing behind that counter, where your granddaddy at, at the racetrack? Girl don’t you know your damn daddy stealing all my business cutting hair up there out his house, that man sho can argue,. Girl, gimme one of them sodas”
“Hi Larry, yes, my granddaddy is at the racetrack, but uh the sodas are 50 cents”
“50 cent? Girl reach over there and gimme one of them sodas.”
From that conversation, Larry asked if I was interested in working in his beauty supply shop that he was opening up next door to his barbershop. Of course I had to negotiate my pay with Larry, this was my first experience in negotiating pay.
“$4.25 an hour? Are you sure that’s what they’re paying you?” He asked.
Yes, Larry, they’re paying me $4.25. I replied.
“That’s a lot of money. Everyday?”
"Yes Larry, everyday."
"Well, okay, come on by the shop next week when you stop working here, I’ll have some work for you with unpacking the boxes with the braid hair. $4.25, are you sure?”
Next Job: Larry's Beauty Supply!
Lol I'm dying!
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