December 12 Was A Monday in 1977

As my diary reminded. I wrote how I waited for the weekend---imagine that! However, life was a tad bit different. Just a tad-then. I'd moved to Kansas City, my first move away from home, a couple weeks before. It was to head to my first major, real time job, at Travelodge Reservations Center. They hired me on the phone, site unseen. It was the 70's.

This job was WAY before computers. We did everything with different colors of papers. OK--I'm not gonna bore with you that. Wait--the salary, I think, was less than $500 a month...big time.

What I will tell you, I moved to a KC, after I attended a travel school in Coral Gables, Florida. While in Florida, I busted my step-mother's platform shoes, while I got my groove thing on the dance floor--however, that's another entry. I moved to KC with out a car--why, I'm not sure. Kansas City was a bit bigger than my Iowa hometown and even, Des Moines. For the first week or so, I lived in a motel room, not far from work. A taxi cab, that I became on a first name basis with, took me everyday. Even the motel folks were nice, they said I could stay as long as I wanted. Looking back, I should have done just that. However, at the instance of my step-mother, I needed to find a place to live. So, on a Friday night, after work, I moved into my first ever apartment, site unseen and a few miles from my job.

The apartment was a one room, furnished, all expense paid, pull out the mattress from the green vinyl couch, with a gorgeous shag carpet of black, brown, and white. Yippee. Oh, and after the taxi cab dropped me off--remember, I had no car--I moved in without even toilet paper. I remember I went to my up stair's neighbor and humbly asked for a roll. She was a single mom, with the daughter who played "Easy" by the Commodores, so loud, I heard it through the floor. A co-worker was to come and take me to the store--and didn't. I had no phone. Can't remember what I ate that first night. I remember being panicked as I looked at my tub and realized I had not shower curtain, and just bars of soap I took from the motel.

Oh, did I mention, I had no TV or stereo--just a clock radio? I'd lived in that motel, so I had my needs supplied. Those luxuries would should up in about another week or so, when my Dad Greyhound them to me. On this day, I waited for letters from my friends back home...ANYTHING. And I was readying myself for a test at my job--to make sure we all learned what color of papers to use for reservations in the US and Australia and cancellations.

In KC, is also when I began to use my full first name. It had to do with how distinguished the reps on the colored pieces of papers. A co-worker and I shared the same first and last initials. So I mentioned what my whole first name is actually two names with a hyphen in the middle. So since then, folks have known me by the whole first name, while those prior just first name of the two-name first name. Confused?

I lasted 6 months in Kansas City. Didn't have a car the entire time. Walked to work. Took me about 40 minutes. I walked straight through-no stops, and would walk home. Took a bus on some days. Or people would give me rides. Yet, I wasn't too bright to call for the bus schedule, because, one Saturday, I stood in the rain and waited for it, so I could get to work. It didn't show, so as I walked back to my apartment (which was on a hill), stopped at a 7-11 (since my phone was shut off) and called work to say I was sick. Hmm. I need to Google the distance I walked. I'm curious.

Anyway, in the diary, I wrote how I looked forward to the weekend--it was Monday, after all. I was determined to go and DO something the next weekend. Co-workers spoke of taking me around. I wonder if that happened. Little did I know, I would soon meet a guy at work. Develope such a crush and tell him, 'your name is so macho'--and later find out he was gay. Live and learn. This guy and I have known each other for 30 years. He took me to my first gay bar, showed me how to smoke my first joint and...well, the rest is for another entry--although I heard a particular song for first time at his house--as we all partied in his den as stereo blarred vinyl.

Oh well, It was the 70's. Six months does more than a memory make. Cue the Village People, for Friday IS this day and the particular song I heard for the first time in this guy's den? Hit play.