After graduation from High School I attended Beauty School. I had a small group of friends that I hung out with & ate with & took breaks with. We were a diverse group but we all kinda clicked. We would sit & chat during breaks and talk about all kinds of things but mostly life stuff. Eventually the girl's started calling me Rose. Not for any sweet or romantic reason. But b/c of my habit of telling "stories" that seemed to fit just about any topic of conversation. It came from the character Rose on the tv show Golden Girls. She was the sweet but somewhat air-headed old gal who, whenever her more dynamic roomies would find themselves in some sort of crazy situation or problem, would relate whatever was happening to a story from her beloved home of St. Olaf. Most of these stories would start out pretty innocent & somewhat confusing but would come to a conclusion that was rather, well...bent. Think of it as Betty White goes to Band Camp.
At the time I was really embarrassed by this and started to feel somewhat self - conscious and would have second thoughts before I would say anything. I mean the Rose character comparison was hardly flattering. She was that stereotypical blond joke kind of gal. A geriatric Chrissy Snow. When your 18 & you are trying to find yourself a bubble head in support stockings is so NOT the image you are going for. So I tried to check St. Olaf at the door & worked to develop my conversational skills. It was hard. It's like my brain would race about linking up what I was hearing w/ past stories floating about in my memory banks. I would try to ignore them but sometimes it would be too much & they would just burst free - like they had to be told.
Cutting hair you have to be a good conversationalist. I tried to hone those skills. Really I did. But I am just not very good at the small talk kind of thing. If a customer was a big talker I could just prompt & listen. Then it was easier because sometimes their stories were more interesting than what ever was rattling around in my head at the time if not well at least I didn't have to try so hard to think of something to say. But if they weren't talkative, ugh, the silence in my head would drive me insane. If after a gazillion times of where are you from & what do you do for a living got to be to much I would start to tell my stories. If one got a good response I would re-tell it throughout the day if it worked with whatever topic was at hand. I think, actually I know, I sometimes drove my co-workers insane with the repetition. But I kept myself entertained & it made the day go faster - at least for me.
Over the years I have tried to rein the stories in. But these days I am a bit more accepting of myself & my quirks. I think story telling is somehow just a part of who I am. I know my grandfather could craft a totally entertaining story. So could his mother. I think I heard the story of how she met her husband, my great-grandfather, at least a half a dozen times. I would have listened to it a half a dozen more, I loved it. One of the things I miss most now that my grandparents & great-grandmothers are gone are their stories. My job now doesn't lend itself to long conversations. So small talk is all I get a lot of the time. In the meantime it seems that with the advent of Myspace, Facebook & blogging everyone has a story to tell so suddenly my story telling tendencies don't seem so odd. Writing them out also gives me an outlet so I am not always talking some one's ears off. Altho, I know I have a tendency to do that too, esp after a few cocktails (sorry bunco girls LOL). So being a "Rose" doesn't bother me so much anymore. After all who is more cool these days than Betty White?
