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My Sister Lucy ... is pissed because she's not represented here on Whitless.com, while my younger brother Brian gets his own page. I was bewitched as a child by my six-years-older sister, who lived a life that seemed impossibly glamorous. She was on the Junior Varsity rally squad and won the state championship. She dated boys who drove souped-up cars. She and her friends spoke to each other in baby-talk voices that I knew I'd sound foolish even attempting. I realized even at age nine that I would never get to be a high school girl, spending languorous hours fixing my long, feathered hair and shoveling on vast amounts of eye makeup. I'd have to wait until my thirties for that. As a rule, the Seventies and Eighties were not kind to the institution of the family photo. For anyone's family. What was once a formal affair that demanded suits and Mom's fanciest dress, the family photo devolved into leisure suits, too-short shorts that revealed spindly legs, the occasional tube top. My family was no exception. My Mom is good enough to keep the worst pictures hidden away, those which reveal unfortunate hairstyles and clothing choices and sullen expressions, but last Christmas I stumbled across a controversial family photo. At least, it was to Lucy. I thought she looked kind of cute, but Lucy took very noisy objection to her hair, which was sort of a brush-cut of the bangs, long-on-the-sides-then-curled-under sort of 'do. Her protestations of course demanded a chase through the house after I snatched the picture away, giggling madly as Lucy hurled threats at me, finally requiring Mom to intervene.
Oh, the glamour that the Rax Roast Beef job held in my ten-year-old mind! Previously, Lucy had worked at the Consumer Warehouse grocery store, pushing the shopping carts from the parking lot back to the entryway. Our doting grandfather, Beepa, talked about that job as though Lucy had been named Secretary of State. And then she topped herself with the gig at Rax Roast Beef! Lucy had elevated herself even further. She was to my mind the embodiment of a Bohemian independence for which I still strive to this day. (She now owns her own successful public-relations firm, but it's still not as glamorous as Rax. I'm just sayin', Lucy.) So last month, in the basement, I took a photo of Lucy's Rax photo with my phone, and when I saw Lucy a couple of weeks later, asked her to call me. The Rax photo came up. I was crushed to find that Lucy was thrilled by the photo, when I was certain I'd be greeted with vigorous protest. This is the photo:
(Wood-grain Ford stationwagon in the background: check.) Lucy vividly remembers how much she hated her hat, which I admit would lessen the impact of a truly remarkable hairstyle. Based on her pissed-off expression, it looks as though she may have been photographed seconds after Mom requested that she put the hat on. She didn't wear the hat until she got to work, because her boyfriend drove her and Lucy didn't want the humiliation of wearing the HAT in front of him. On her first day, she worked the drive-thru, and her boyfriend sneakily ordered and then drove to the window, witnessing Lucy in her terribly embarrassing Rax Roast Beef hat -- the hat that spoiled an otherwise lovely outfit. When Lucy tells that story, the outrage is undiminished by the intervening years. Another item to notice is her name tag. Some flirty guys came into Rax and asked Lucy what her name was. She pointed at her name tag. "Lucky?" asked the guy. My boyfriend Steve now always calls her Lucky. Lucky continues to be one of the all time great fun people in my life. And she turned out to be gorgeous (not to say she isn't in her Rax picture). So, Lucky, you're on my webpage now. We'll have some laughs soon. Love Your brother Jeff ADDDENDUM: After a phone conversation with Lucy, she casually revealed that she left the job at Rax after SIX WEEKS because of the opportunity to work at "James and Company," a clothing store in the Bay Area's Pony Village Mall. My disbelief only increased after she revealed that she only gave them THREE DAYS' NOTICE. What restaurant owner on earth could hire someone and train them on the art of the Rax salad bar in the tiny space of time that ambitious Lucy afforded them? All of this trouble, only because she had designs making a splash in the Bay Area fashion industry. I was rocked by this news. She argued that she arrived at the three days' notice after a long sit-down with my father. I have to say this new information makes me question not only Lucy's judgment, but my father's as well. |
I
dropped through my hometown of Coos Bay last month, and while in
the basement came across another incriminating picture, this
time of Lucy alone. It commemorated her first day of work
at Rax Roast Beef in downtown Coos Bay, circa 1982.