Joaquin told my mom he’d watch out for me
So I’ve been in Wichita a week, and today my internet finally (!!!) got turned on. Yay.
It’s weird, working at the newspaper I grew up reading. I’ve read the Wichita Eagle pretty much daily since I learn to read (of course, I really only looked at little more than the comics, Dear Abby and the Opinion Line for a long time). Everyone I’m introduced to, all of my new coworkers, seem like celebrities to me. Because since I could read, I’ve been reading their bylines every day.
And because, to me, they are celebrities, I have a constant impulse to post to my blog, “Maybe it’s not completely surprising, but _____ is completely ___________!” Because I really don’t want to get fired, I’ll ask you to fill in the blanks with whatever Eagle staffer and adjective you want.
The person I can tell stories about is my neighbor. Joaquin.
He lives on the other half of our duplex. He’s crazy.
I imagine I’ll soon have lots of Joaquin stories. But for now, here’s what he said to me today, out of nowhere.
(Keep in mind that Joaquin is almost 60, Native American, sits on his porch with a beer most of the time, and always tries to offer one of his cheap beers to me.)
“You’re not an ugly girl. I’m serious, I mean, you hide it well, but you’re not an ugly girl.”
And then he told me about the Earth Mother. And how he got stoned with his daughter one time. And how some guy was parked outside my house for a long time a couple days, supposedly waiting for me, even though no one knows my address yet.
Joaquin is my tipsy, old watchdog. He said he’d set traps if the guy ever comes back.
Traps? Okay, man.
