The past week in class we talked about what a true complex character is, their purpose, and their meaning. Over the summer I worked 50 hours a week devoting my time to three jobs. Not only different jobs, but a different character.
At Cold Stone creamery I was a minority. Not going to lie, I was treated differently and at times and I felt that I was unapproachable. After getting to meet my loud and vivacious personality, my boss one day asked for my middle name. I replied “Jean.” I was then given a hood name, “ViviJ.” That whole summer I was called cuzin Viv and ViviJ. To them I was a hard worker, yukon driver, shift spotter, “return of the mak lover”, lemon sorbet lover, and most importantly family. At a place where I once felt out of place, became a place I call home.
No way would my mother let my sister and I get away with not working. While I worked at Coldstone, my sister Gabrielle worked at Detroit Wing Company. They were short staffed for most the summer and begged me to work there but I refused to leave the fam at the Stone. Once my sister was off to college I decided to have mercy and take her spot in August. I can confidently say that I am more outgoing compared to my introverted sister so when I first arrived they were shocked by our different characters, yet I was labeled “Gabby’s sister.” It’s sort of weird being named after your sister when you don’t call her by that name. In my family she’s “Gabrielle” or “Brielle.” Despite being polar opposite personalities, her having blue eyes and brown hair and me having brown eyes and blonde hair, everyone says we act the same. I got in a friendly argument with the chef that Nicki Manage is the best female rapper (WHICH SHE IS) they all reacted with “that is so something Gabby would say.” My whole character there was Gabby’s sister and for once in my life I’ve never realized how connected and similar we are with her being so far away.
WHO NEEDS A DUMB CAT SITTER. Like really, I babysat a cat this summer. Let that sink in… Any who, usually, I would run to the house and cat-sit to get in my mileage but when I got a yukon my parents let me drive. CRASH! I killed two mailboxes my first time driving. It was a whole different route and I was looking for the stupid red door and ran over two mailboxes in the broad day light head on. Literally shaking I couldn’t leave the scene, tempted, but my body wouldn't let me leave. I caused $100 dollars worth of mailbox damage and I knocked on the doors of the houses and told them what I’ve done. The old man felt bad as I sobbed telling him that I murdered his nice double doored mailbox. I told him I wasn’t familiar with the neighborhood and that I would gladly pay for the damage. He made me only give him $40 dollars because I was doing a good deed of cat sitting. Little does that man that the innocent Miss. Francois HATES cats
There you have it folks I was a complex character to three different settings. It’s so deceiving and easy to be different to certain people. I did it without even realizing.
My birthday letter, me crying, and my first time making buffalo chicken dip (sent to Brielle).
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