An Unexpected Lesson

On the way home from work the other day, I overheard a surprisingly inspiring conversation in one of the least inspiring of locations: a crowded, stuffy BART train. It was the usual 6 pm rush hour, and as I squeezed my way into one of the cars, I noticed a young girl sitting in a corner on a stool. More people filed in, and a middle-aged man came in and also stood in that same corner, where it was noticeably less crowded.

We began to move, and a few moments later, I heard the man speak to the girl.

“That’s smart of you to bring your own chair.”

“Yeah,” the girl replied. “I’ve been doing this every day for a while now. I stand all day at work, so this chair has been a real lifesaver!”

This started a dialogue that lasted for several stops. The pair was close enough to me that I could hear every word clearly without intentionally eavesdropping. It was the first time in a while that I had heard two strangers strike up a meaningful conversation on BART, where most of the time people were too tired, hot, or grumpy to be in the mood for conversation.

I quickly learned that the girl worked as a cashier at a salad bar in the Financial District, and that she had just graduated from culinary school. What really struck me was the way in which she spoke about her job. She described the salads as if they were her creations (“All of our ingredients are organic, and we make our dressings in-house, from scratch!”), and talked about the business as if she owned it (“Our papaya salad is getting really popular – we sold about 10 a day last month, but we’re up to 50 this month!”).It was clear that she had a strong passion for her job and really believed in her company’s mission of providing high-quality, healthy and delicious salads to customers. When the man asked if the menu contained calorie information, she replied, “Hmm, we don’t have that, but that’s a great idea! I’ll speak to my manager about it!” Her proactivity would have led anyone to believe that she was much more than just an employee at the cash register. In fact, she made the salads sound so good that I was craving for one by the time I got off the train!

The conversation reminded me of all the times I’ve heard others complain about their job – whether it was how tedious, how repetitive, or how difficult. Yet this girl, whose job was, in many ways, less than glamorous, was able to maintain such a positive attitude. She, like so many others, could have easily just sat on her stool and complained about how tiring it was to stand all day and how frustrating it was to deal with customer after customer. Instead, she was able to look past all that and really focus on the heart of the business, taking it upon herself to help improve and grow the business.

Success is often not the result of what you choose to do, but rather, how you choose to do it. In other words, you may not have complete control over the type of job you land in, but you have full control over the attitude you bring to your job. Do you simply show up, go through the motions, and watch the clock tick by? Or do you make the effort to learn and understand your work, and continuously strive to make a positive impact? Often, this means the difference between a boring, meaningless job, and one that is filled with excitement and opportunities. 

The Big Red Car

Mom called me the other day and told me that she had finally sold her car, a 2001 Mercedes E430.

“Too expensive to maintain,” she’d been complaining recently. “It only drinks premium gas.”

I didn't blame her. Gas prices were hovering around $4.00 per gallon, and that was just for regular gas.

“Well, how much did you get for it?

“$8000.”

I could feel my heart break a little. Not just because $8000 seemed like a rip off for a luxury car that, besides a few small mechanical problems, was otherwise still in what seemed like great condition, but because $8000 could not even begin to capture all the wonderful memories contained in that car.

We got the car at a car auction when I was in high school. The day before the auction, my parents and I drove about 2 hours to the other side of town, where we spent the day wandering around a huge lot filled with cars of all shapes, sizes, and colors. There was a pretty steel gray BMW that seemed to be in perfect condition except for the fact that the trunk wouldn't close all the way, a deep emerald green Infiniti with black leather seats, a silver Audi station wagon. We wrote down all the ones we liked, and the next day, my parents went back to the car auction to bid on our top choices. But as luck would have it, they hit traffic on the way there, and by the time they arrived, all our top picks were gone.  Instead, they returned with the Mercedes.

Needless to say, I was both shocked and delighted when I saw the vivid, deep red car parked majestically in front of our home, the famous Mercedes logo sparkling in the afternoon sun. My parents worked very hard, and although they didn't have trouble making ends meet, they had always taught me to live frugally and buy only what I really needed. I couldn't believe that they had decided to splurge for once, but at the same time, I felt that they truly deserved it.

“I drove the Mercedes home!” Mom exclaimed proudly, quite an accomplishment for her since she rarely drove such long distances, not to mention in an unfamiliar car. From that day on, Mom was the one who drove the Mercedes, while Dad took our old Honda Accord. Because the Mercedes, which we nicknamed the “Big Red Car”, required premium gas, it made sense to give it to Mom, who had the shorter commute. Dad was a great sport about it; if he was jealous at all, he didn't show it one bit.

On weekdays, Mom would pick me up from school. When the bell rang at exactly 2:51 pm, I would make a beeline out of the stuffy English classroom and scurry across campus, past the library, the music room, the foreign language classrooms, to where Mom was waiting for me in the Big Red Car. After a day of multiple choice tests, surprise in-class essays, and catty fights during gym class, I would feel a surge of relief as I climbed into the passenger seat, breathing in the familiar smell of the tan leather seats. I was quiet and kept to myself during class, and by the time school ended, I was bursting with stories about the triumphs and disappointments of the day. As I chatted away, Mom would drive us around to run errands before heading home. First, it was to the recycling center, where we’d drop off the plastic bottles we had accumulated over the past few weeks in exchange for a few ice cream dollars. Then, it was to Safeway to buy some fresh ingredients for dinner and a sandwich for lunch the next day. Sometimes, we’d stop by the local park for a bit of exercise after a stressful day.

The eye-catching red meant that we almost never had trouble finding it in a parking lot, unlike our black Honda Accord, for which there were way too many clones and look-a-likes. Once, while Mom and I were shopping, we had quite a scare. As we were leaving the store, we scanned the parking lot and immediately spotted the Big Red Car. But as we approached it, something did not seem right. There was a huge scratch across the rear side of the car. The trunk had a layer of brown film over it with what looked like fingerprints.

“Oh no, someone damaged the car!” I cried, panicking. But then the unfamiliar combination of letters and numbers on the license plate caught my eye. “Wait a minute…”

Turns out we had the wrong car. Apparently, a clone of the Big Red Car did exist, even in our small town! Embarrassed, we quickly backed away before anyone thought that we had done the damage.

The first time I ever drove a car, it was the Big Red Car. I had just gotten my driver’s permit and couldn't wait to get on the road. Dad had taken the Honda out of town, leaving Mom and I with our bright red friend.  As I stared at it parked out in the driveway, it seemed to beckon me to take it out for a spin. On the other hand, the thought of having my first driving lesson in a Mercedes seemed extravagant and a bit terrifying. Mom, who was often a nervous driver herself, was surprisingly encouraging and took me across the street to practice in an empty parking lot. I climbed into the driver seat, and she took the passenger side. Patiently, she showed me where the brake and accelerator were and how to adjust the seat by pushing a few cool buttons on the door shaped like the different parts of the seat.

“Just remember, keep your foot on the brake. If I say ‘stop’, then STOP!”

She showed me how to release the parking brake and switch the gear to drive mode. I cautiously released my foot from the brake, and the car began to inch forward. We were moving! I turned the steering wheel to the right slightly. The car obediently turned just the right amount, contrary to what I had experienced in arcade racing games, where the slightest turn made you crash into the wall. I turned the other way, and the car followed. Soon, I was able to make laps around the parking lot. I felt on top of the world, sitting in the driver seat of the Big Red Car.

The Big Red Car weaved its way into my high school days and became an integral part of my life. Much more than just a transportation vehicle, it was where Mom and I bonded over life’s little adventures, some more exciting than others, but all equally memorable. That is what makes this car priceless.

GO GIANTS!!!

It's Giants season again. The city of SF has been taken over by a sea of orange and black. Ecstatic fans march around in their signature black caps or furry panda beanies. The street vendors on Market Street lay out their generous assortment of Giants gear, T-shirts and hats of all sizes and colors, each with the unmistakable "NLCS Champions" printed boldly. Even the grumbly Muni buses have caught on to the festivities, with "Go Giants!" permanently flashing on their screens. The dreary BART station is decked out in the team colors, making the place seem suddenly cheery and inviting.

On game days, the 101 and 280 halt to a stop as fans file in from all over the bay area to cheer on the G-men. As they pile into AT&T park, the excitement and anticipation builds, culminating into a frenzy of cheering, shouting, and orange-towel waving as the much-awaited game finally begins.

Because it is really more than just a game. The Giants have brought the whole city, maybe even the entire bay area, together, at least for the time being. They are not only a great baseball team, but they have come to symbolize the "city by the bay" and everything we love about SF. Their triumphs and struggles, camaraderie and “don’t stop believin’” attitude have undoubtedly won our hearts. Men and women, old and young alike, all have the Giants on their minds during this time. Employees rush home after work to catch the first pitch at 5 pm PST. Facebook and twitter are swarming with status updates rooting for the Giants. Even if you are not a baseball fan, you can’t help but turn into a dedicated Giants fan.

When we win, the whole city goes wild and we have never been so proud to be “San Francisc-an”. And if we lose, everyone mourns together. And when the post-season games finally come to an end and those unforgettable hours of being glued to FOX TV are over, the Giants gear, and all the glory that came with it, is quietly stashed but not forgotten, in a back corner. The waves of orange and black that have covered the city gradually disappear in bits and pieces, and the city resumes its day-to-day business. That is until next season, when it will, once again, be unified by the team that has really lived up to its name.

What better way to end this than to say… GO GIANTS!!!