Two Trips in Hollywood with a Cool Cab Driver

When I was living in Los Angeles in 1984, I hopped in a cab to get home, and let the driver know I was short on cash. I asked him to stop the car when we got to to $7. We hit the mark at Beverly and Genesee, which was only about a half mile from my apartment. The driver pulled over and I handed him $9. He said, "Wait, this is $9. You told me to stop at $7." I said, "Well, yeah. Tip money." He laughed and said, "Get in." He took me the rest of the way home for no charge. 

A couple weeks later, my friends and I were near Sunset and Vine sitting on the back of a bus bench. We'd made the choice between bus fare and cigarettes, so the bus bench was purely for rest before our 2.5 mile walk home. A cab pulled up and honked. 

"Need a ride?" the same cab driver asked.

"We don't have any money," I said.

"What's new?" he said, "Get in."

What I Wrote That Time I Couldn't

I had an interview in Sacramento at 2pm the day after Ronnie died. 

We were with Ronnie in Medford, Oregon, until just before he died in the early morning hours. We got up and drove straight back to Sacramento the next morning. When we got home, I showered, put on some makeup, and went immediately to my interview, running on maybe three hours of sleep. A woman showed me to an interview room and gave me a laptop computer with a writing prompt and explained that I had 30 minutes to write and essay.

This was the prompt:

Most people have a favorite teacher or professor. Who was that individual for you? What was it about this person that was particularly helpful to you, and what did he/she do to make that class memorable?

I sat for several minutes without typing. I thought about helpful teachers over the years, or memorable ones. At least two history professors, a drama teacher...I couldn't think of anything that made sense to write. I was too tired and overwhelmed. I considered walking out and and asking them to reschedule my interview. But then I thought - they're not asking which teacher I liked. They're asking me what it takes to deliver an effective training. So, I flipped my perspective and with only about 10 minutes left, I started to write and I kept writing straight through until my time was up. With this essay, I got the job - a job I loved for 9 years. It's  not the best thing I ever wrote, but I'm proud of it. 

Here's the essay I wrote in a few minutes:

We learn new things every day, but occasionally, if you’re particularly lucky, you may learn something that makes a difference in your life and in the lives of others. In 2014, I became certified in Mental Health First Aid, a program which trains lay people to help connect people experiencing mental health crises to services. My instructor, Gina, gave me with that rare opportunity, providing me with important and helpful information through personable and engaging instruction. While her training appeared effortless, it was the result of careful and considered choices to create collaborative, engaging and relevant instruction.

Gina included the trainees in decisions and processes from the very start. She opened the 5-day course with an invitation to share in creating comfort rules for our group interactions. In the process of creating the list, we were able to form what we expected of the training, and to set our goals for course. This helped to establish trust within the group as we made decisions how to best use our time. She also described what we were going to learn, giving a high-level outline of the content, and why this information was so vital. She gave us the shape of the instruction by outlining how we would access the content as well, describing the interplay of direct and experiential learning.

Early on, we had robust discussions about our existing knowledge of behavioral health issues. This was an important step, as in the process we were able to confront stigma and myths in a way that allowed everyone to feel safe to share their own thoughts. We were also given a great deal of intricate content. She helped us process this information and was personable and encouraging, and her self-deprecating humor helped everyone feel confident to share.

The exercises were tailored to reflect and extend recent learning, and they all connected in some way to the personal experience, and therefore the strengths, of each person in the room. Everyone was at some point brought to the forefront and given a chance to shine. The confidence from this approach was essential; to give Mental Health First Aid, the Aider must be able to quickly and confidently access information. In one exercise, we were able to role-play helping someone with an anxiety attack, and the experience stayed with me.

Gina exemplified for me the traits of an excellent instructor; she considered the feelings of her students and found ways to bring their own experience and strengths to the course. Her adept understanding of these principles made this course enjoyable as well as effective.

 

Pastel #1

My friend Kordt used to work at a restaurant on Rodeo Drive called "Pastel." The manager - let's say he was named Fabien - was ebullient guy with a thick French accent. One of the servers (let's call her Telsie), was petite, beautiful, and very self-assured.

Once, as Fabien was ushering a couple into Telsie's section, she said, "Oh, no. No, no. Fabien, I told you I would never wait on them again." Fabien's response: "Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Telsie," and to the couple, "I'm sorry, you will have to follow me." The woman protested, "What?" and Fabien shrugged, put his hands up, "It's impossible! Follow me."

Telsie worked two jobs, Pastel during the day and the Playboy Club at night. We went to visit her - I guess she got us in; I don't remember. We were impressed by her nighttime look, "Oh, my God, Telsie, you've got boobs!" She said, "Oh, yeah, you basically just drag every single bit of your body up into this iron cage and set all of that on a shelf of padding. All of this," (she poked the bottom of her boob) "is just stuffing. Half of this," (she poked the top of her boob) came from my thigh." Then she said, "Oh. I have to go deal with those dickheads," and she walked off smiling from ear to ear at a tableful of business men who looked very much like dickheads.

Telsie had bought a second house by the time I left LA.

This is the real Pastel; I didn't change it's name.

Someday I'll write about the night I worked there.

what i dreamed and wrote down

we became

and then we were

we made more

and learned to stay

we made sounds

and we threw colors

we moved things

and gave them names

and through it all

with every dawn

we reached out 

'til we were gone

It'll Get Better

From January 8, 2014 I was sitting in my car after parking at Kaiser, crying my eyes out from pain and nausea before going in to get an x-ray.

A nice gentleman saw me, motioned for me to roll down my window and said, "It'll get better. It doesn't seem like it, but it will."

I said, "I know! I have a kidney stone!"

The gentle smile fell from his face and he said, "Oh SHIT! That's what I've got! THIS is what I have to look forward to?" and we both laughed our heads off.