There's a blaze of light in every word; it doesn't matter which you heard

At this particular moment in time, I'm sitting at my desk in my room in the apartment I share with Sarah and Anne. I'm curled in my chair, blanket-wrapped, in my favorite un-ladylike position, with my right leg and foot curled under me while the other is propped on the seat of the chair so my knee sticks up mountain-like next to my arm. Directly in front of me, out the window, the sky is clear, and against the lighted side of my neighbor's house I can see the blurry shadows of leaves fluttering on their branches from the tree in my yard. I've just made myself my second mug of Swiss Miss-infused coffee and have been, for the last several minutes, idly listening to the newest additions to my iTunes. Pleased over the fact that there's nothing terribly pressing for me to be doing right now, I wonder if I'm going to be able to think of anything to blog about.

This type of scene (ComfyLinda + coffee + nice weather + music + blogging) falls into a category of non-extraordinary situations that, if pressed, I'd probably call Linda's Happy Moments. I imagine most people have their own. They're the types of scenes you think about when hypnotists or grief counselors tell you to go to a "happy place", or when you're stuck trudging through sleeting rain and your mind begins to wander to places you'd rather be. Some of my other ones include:

- Reading a novel, outside, on one of those late spring/early fall 75-degree sunny days, lounging on one of the rare comfortable benches in downtown Naperville
- Crocheting in a comfy recliner to the glow of either a fireplace or Christmas tree in wintertime while a movie (one I've seen before and don't need to pay close attention to) plays within sight. Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate is a plus.
- Holing up in my room, playing every Ani DiFranco CD I own, and over the course of several unnoticed hours, completing a charcoal drawing from start to finish

You may notice a theme. Apparently immobile solitude mixed with hot liquid and some connection to the liberal arts is a magic combination for me.

In the one or two conversations I've had with people on this topic, I've been mildly surprised to discover that other people's Happy Moments aren't necessarily calming and caffeine-infused. Some people appear to be at their happiest when actively socially engaged, in a crowd, around other people. One person I talked to said she instantly mentally traveled to the intense center of a Metro mosh pit. I could convince myself pretty easily that "Being curled up with my Boy of Choice watching a movie" or "Having an extended and chatty coffee date with a good friend" would make my list as well, but to be perfectly honest with myself, all of my gut-reaction LHM involve me being alone with my hobbies.

Insert really obvious psychoanalysis here.

I see God in birds and Satan in long words

I distinctly remember, when I was a but a wide-eyed 14-year-old, musing about the future jobs I would hold. I'm not talking about the clandestine, adulthood, occupational style of job (because of course I was going to be a musician. I mean a stage manager. I mean an English teacher...) but the part-time, Clerks-type job that would get me through my high school and college years and allow me to pretend I had a modicum of life experience and independence at the age of 16. My sister and some of my older friends held jobs at places like Dairy Queen, Walden Books, and Party City, and frankly I couldn't get over how cool it sounded when someone close to my age used "paycheck" or "coworker" in a sentence.

Anyway, I distinctly remember thinking to myself, "I'd be happy with pretty much anything, I think. Anything but food service. I'll never work food service." Now, after one cafe, one pizza joint, one coffee shop, and two American-style restaurants, I find this memory hilarious.

I'd characterize my lengthy chronicle of food service experience as akin to a really high-maintenance and sporadically violent girlfriend. I always have something to complain about and I frequently get injured. It's a little embarrassing to admit to my friends that, in my heart of hearts, I really do enjoy having my job around, despite her constant nagging and attempts to claw up my forearms.

If anything, food service work results in life experiences that give you some practical information about yourself. Are you capable of apologizing profusely about something that is completely trivial and not remotely your fault? How good are you at continuing a task per usual immediately after severely burning the side of your hand? Do you convey a convincing fake-sincere thank-you smile? How many separate pieces of information can you hold in your mind before you have to start writing things down? Are you secure enough with yourself to not get offended when someone treats you like a servant or dismisses you with a flippant wave? What's the quickest way to count various denominations of cash? How long can you stay standing before you really get tired? Are you a complainer? Are you the kind of person who will pick up other peoples' slack, who will let the slack go, or who will yell at the slackers about it?

Not that all of these lessons are particular to food service (except maybe the one about the burns), but having also worked in retail, in-office, and at home, I do think food service is a unique enough experience that, in my presumably more dignified latter years, I'll probably look back on this period of my life with a weird brand of nostalgia not entirely dissimilar to a VFW.