Hi My Name is Forest...And I sell Christmas Trees

TRUE STORY... (No, that is not the set up to a joke...no punchline...It is so!)

A few weeks back, I told you about the guy selling Christmas trees, whose real name was Forest (with only ONE “R” as he so eagerly pointed out).

Well, with the first week of the new year down, and seeing these once sought after pine trees tossed to the curb along wiht Monday's trash, it got me thinking about my dear friend Forest again. (he's the one to the left with the tan jacket)

Luckily, I had the good pleasure of sitting down and having a quite jovial chat with, “The Forest” before his tree-selling tenure was up. We discussed everything from his humble beginnings as a “Tree Identification Course Instructor,” to his ultimate aspirations to own his own farm. I think you’ll find “The Forest” to be quite an intriguing character, right down to his love for a certain West-African legend!
Without any further adieu… My COnversation with The Forest:

So tell me Forest, did your name sort of predestine you for the work you’re currently doing?
Selling Christmas trees is a dream! 12 hours in a tiny booth, who could ask for more!?

How does one get into the Christmas tree selling biz?
You gotta be well connected to people in Vermont.

Well actually, when I went to the University of Vermont, I taught the Tree Identification course, so we would take field trips with the students and teach them to differentiate b/w various types of trees and plants. I got really good grades, so that’s how I was able to teach and take classes at the same time.

So…Why Harlem? Of all places, what made the City College subway stop a prime location for Christmas tree selling?
Well, I’ve been saying for the longest that I was gonna sell Christmas trees this year for this particular guy. I just kept saying it all year long. When I approached the guy who owned the company, he said the crew was full. Eventually, I got connected with a friend of a friend who was also selling trees. One crew member dropped out mid-season, and so here I am in Harlem.

Ok, So, I get that this has been a “life-long dream” as you say, but seriously, what is your motivation for being out here for 12 hours every night in the cold, selling Christmas trees?
I wanna buy a truck with “my lady” [Sorry girls...”The Forest” is taken! True story… Sad day!] in California and drive to Vermont to start my own farm.

Everyone wants to know: Is this a lucrative business?
I made between $1,300-$1,500 for 11 days of work. (8pm-8am/7 days a week)

Would you do this again?
It’s questionable.
The goal is to make enough money with my farm to not have to be out here next winter.

Would I do this again? It would have to be the RIGHT situation.

What do you sell on your farm?
30 different kinds of vegetables. It’s all Community Supported Agriculture (CSA).

Does Chipotle buy products from you?
Chip what?

Do you even have a Chipotle in Vermont?
I don’t think so…

What else don’t you have in Vermont?
Umm…

Black People. The Correct Answer is Black People! It’s too freaking cold for us to be there. Don’t you think so?
Umm… I suppose. [nervous laughter]

How do your parents feel about your profession?
My mom calls me at 6am and 9pm to make sure I’m still kicking and Alive
Well, this is Harlem… It’s not Brooklyn or anything, but I’m saying!

Would you like your future children to continue in the legacy of selling Christmas trees?
It’s no pressure. But I do want them to experience different cultures. Being out here, you’re exposed to really great things. The other night I saw the Lunar Eclipse, right from this spot! If you’re smart, you learn how to take advantage and make the most of circumstances and opportunities.

What’s one thing we New Yorkers wouldn’t know about Vermont?
The Biggest town in Vermont is Burlington [aside: I wonder if that’s where the coat factory comes from…random thought!], and there is a Refugee Resettlement Program for Somolians.

Wait a minute…isn’t that cruel and unusual punishment. They take the hungry, displaced Somolians out of the heat and place them in the middle of snow capped mountains! Why?! I thought we already established that there were no Black people in Vermont for this particular reason!? I’m done!

Ok Forest, before we wrap this up. We’re gonna play, “FIVE FUN FACTS ABOUT FOREST!”
Uh oh.
Did I stump you? What don’t people know
ok, here we go:

Forest Fun Fact #1: My Favorite vegetable is Kale. I eat it twice a day with Olive Oil, because you need a fat to process the minerals and Kale TOTALLY helps your skin. [Such a Farmer-esque thing to say!]

Forest Fun Fact #2: I’m not afraid of the dark [Clearly..given the fact that he has graveyard shift duty!]

Forest Fun Fact #3: I Dance to Fela Kuti for hours on end!
[This response led to this conversation:
Yvonne : Shut da FRONT DOOR!! I’m Nigerian.
Forest: No Way! I Love Fela
Yvonne: Prove it, let me see you dance!
Forest : [busts a serious pelvis thrust...ladies, I can vouch…”The Forest” has got moves!]
Yea meen! I love culture. I’ve been to Haiti and the Dominican Republic
Yvonne: SHUUUUT YOUR FACE!! I spent almost 2 months in the DR. Wait a minute… WHO ARE YOU?!
Forest: [laughs]

Forest Fun Fact #4: I feel black inside
Yvonne: aww shucks, well you know I’m singe. I’ll have to keep you in my back pocket.
Is your “lady” black?
Forest: No.
Yvonne: Minus one point.

Forest Fun Fact #5: This is the BEST interview I’ll ever have in my entire life!
Yvonne: oh, well you know, I tend to have that kind of effect on people.
[Both Laugh]
Yvonne: No, in all seriousness. That means a lot to me. Thank you! Any Last words?
Forest: Keep Life always Magical and always Mystical.

And oh, yea, COME TO VERMONT!

Who knew The Forest would be so cool...and flexible...

Well, i hope this has encouraged you to stop and smell the pine every so often and have random conversations with perfect strangers...you never know, you might discover that you have more in common than you think!

Until next time... Live Life Laughing!

Y.

Love and Happiness- 'Tis the Season!

As many of my true blue friends (well, really anybody that talks to me for more than 5 minutes or posts a FB quiz testing my knowledge of Sanaa Lathan) already know , my FAVORITE movie is Love & Basketball! Hands down, any day of the week! I can quote the ENTIRE movie. I’ve often stated in times past that should Director Gina Prine-Bythewood lose the original reel, I can completely become Monica Wright (Sanaa Lathan’s character).

Why is my addiction for this movie relevant to this post? Glad you asked. In the opening scene of the movie, the background music is Al Green’s “Love and Happiness,” and it goes a lil something like this:

Love and happiness…
happiness is when you really feel good with somebody
nothing wrong with being in love with someone

oh, baby, love and happiness…

You be good to me

I'll be good to you

we'll be together

we'll see each otherwalk away with victory…

Make you do right...

love'll make you do wrong...

make you come home early...

make you stay out all night long...

the power of love...

love is...
walkin' together...talkin' together...

As a newly-turned 26-yr old self-proclaimed "Hopeful Romantic," those lyrics make my heart do cartwheels! I can truly say, “I love LOVE!” and never are the images of love and happiness more poignant than around Christmas time. New moms with their toddlers shopping for “baby’s first Christmas” items. Daddy’s little girls bouncing happily on their father’s backs, tourists standing in awe at the Rockefeller Plaza Christmas tree with the gargantuan Swarovski star-shaped crystal topping the spectacle, or best yet, the love-stricken boyfriend, soon-to-be fiancé, shopping for the perfect diamond (I guess every kiss really does begin with Kay ;).

These are the moments we MUST cherish. No matter how Grinch-like your attitude may be the other 11 months of the year, there’s something about the lights, fresh smell of pine trees, the infectious giggles of babes, decking of the halls, and even the chimes of the Salvation Army bells that softens the hardest of hearts (C’mon, even the Who’s in Whoville managed to bring out the best in the mean ‘ol Grinch!)




So soak it all in people! Bottle these moments for times to come. And when you need a reminder of simpler, happier times, close your eyes, take the cap off, and get a whiff of it. If you’re like me, you’ll find yourself smiling to yourself on the subway as you reminisce (no joke, doing it right now!). But so what! Who cares? Let yourself be free. Be free to be happy! You only live once…but if you do it right, ONCE is all you’ll need!

I recall a conversation I had with a friend in which I mentioned a “drop-off.” I was referring to a gift I was bringing over, but he, not understanding, joked that I sounded like a drug pusher. When I stated that I most certainly was not. He corrected me and said, “Well, in a sense you are. You are a pusher of Love and Happiness!”

Sadly, that’s a drug many people find hard to swallow. But I say to you today, this is one pill that you are free to OVERDOSE on! Side effects include outrageous, contagious joy, smiling at random strangers, giving freely to those in need, and feelings of satisfaction, contentment, and fulfillment! No need to see your doctor is symptoms last for more than 4 weeks.

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! FELIZ NAVIDAD!! From my family to yours!

This year, be sure to give the gift that keeps on giving…a smile!

Getting Here is Part of the Struggle! Pt 2

What’s even more frustrating is that she herself is not quite sure what to do. So she resorts to calling her supervisor, and she’ll make the decision on whether or not to let me go.

This makes me even more livid, because CLEARLY, if her supervisor lets me go, then there really was no problem. They just pick and choose who to harass so the airline industry can make bank off my misfortune. But here’s the kicker…This lady holding me up is NOT MAKING A PENNY from my $120…so why is she soo pressed? (I’m still convinced it was her first day…she must’ve still been on that probationary period. Bit of advice…nothing in life is that deep.)

I am feeling more and more like I am on a BAD episode of PUNK’d or Boiling point. Hold on! Don’t lose it!

Ok, so where is this supervisor?
Radio in to base.
Can’t locate supervisor.
Asks another employee…
“YO NO SE.”

Lady, the more time I waste here with you….the later I am to board my flight.
What I don’t want is for my name to be called over the loud-speaker for the “last boarding call” and then to step on the plane and be glared at by all the other passengers already seated with their seatbelts fastened (because the Captain has turned on the fasten seat-belt sign). Yea, I didn’t want to be, “THAT ONE!”...that made everyone else late.

Alright, now I’m starting to sweat.
FINA-FREAKING-LLY!
The supervisor arrives.
An African woman (not sure which country, but it didn’t really matter)…maybe she’ll be a little more understanding as I am heading to an African country (at this point, I’m pulling every card in the book, the international traveler card, the poor student card, there was absolutely NO SHAME in my game!)

So she starts off with the same schpeel about my bag being too big… (and now ladies and gentlemen…time for the ACTING CARD!)
First the lips start to quiver, then the forefinger comes up to the nose, there’s the uncontrollable blinking of the eyes…the staggered speech, the heavy, exacerbated breathing, and then, wait for it, wait for it, WAIT FOR IT…the tears. YES, YOU READ RIGHT! REAL TEARS! On CUE! Can somebody please get this girl an Oscar?!

My little one woman act had drawn the sympathy from a middle-eastern family whose eldest son decided to take it upon himself to plead my case.

Well, this didn’t sit too well with Ms. African Supervisor, who decided to shift focus (and anger, and everything else she might have been feeling towards me, or the fact that internally, she really hated her job…and possibly life) towards him.

This little diversion seemed to work in my favor, because now ALL eyes and ears were focused on the verbal exchange b/w my new advocate and the unrelenting supervisor, thus putting a lot of unwanted pressure on her. Now, she had to cave into the distraught young traveler with the “over-sized” carry-on…right?

She did. But not before sternly warning me to check it in the minute I got on the (blah blah blah…definitely wasn’t listening to her at this point as I high-tailed it to my terminal)

Lesson of the day…When you’re back’s up against the wall…and all else fails…CRY LIKE YOU’RE DICING ONIONS!

All this my friends for a carry-on luggage that fit quite comfortably (with space for another bag) in the overhead compartment of my COACH seat. Such is life.

Now..where was I?

Getting Here is Part of the Struggle! Pt 1

Hey everyone!
So I know by now you are all experiencing symptoms associated with “Y.Vee withdrawal,” well have no fear…I have the perfect antidote to cure that: Laughter from Liberia!

The waiting is OVER! So, It’s been four weeks since..OHH HOLD THE PHONE! OK…so as I’m sitting here typing this re-cap, there is a HUGE 6-legged Tarantula (with enough fur for a small peacoat) CHILLIN on my ceiling. Your boy is NOT budging…clearly he is like…Shorty, I got here first… umm… yeah…This too is Liberia! Where’s my Raid?! (In Liberia, having a can of Raid, is like riding the metro in DC…essential)

Ok…back to what I was saying, so it’s been 4 weeks since I touched down in Monrov (which I will interchangeably call, “Da Lib!” I love how I’m trying to make a post-conflict nation sound “Gangsta.”…Like it needs any help…the country just went through a 14 year civil war…shouldn’t that be gangsta enough?) Anywho, here we go.

Oct 29th: so after a 5 hour flight to Brussels, a 6 hour layover, and a roughly 7 hour flight to Monrovia (ohh by the way, I especially love how when its time to board a flight to an African country, boarding by seating assignment is COMPLETELY thrown OUT the window…I never did understand what the big rush was all about….I mean, the plane can’t leave without us, right? Yea, I didn’t understand the phenomenon, until I got on the flight 3rd to last and found that all the overhead bins where filled with ALL the duty-free items my fellow travelers had so graciously stocked up on in Brussels…Thanks! Lesson Learned.

Ohh, I apologize, I must back up EVEN further to an experience in DC.

So, I arrive probably a little LATER than I should’ve for an international flight. So while I’m checking in, I do this thing where I leave my carry on luggage to the side, so no one can make a fuss about how it’s too big, because here’s the thing: IT’S NOT TOO BIG! Clearly I’ve traveled with it before… the airline companies are just being WAYY TO PRESSED!

So I get through check in, and I’m going towards the line for security. WHAT IN DA HEEZY?! A LINE FOR YEARS. At this point I have 45 minutes to clear security, catch a shuttle to another terminal at the other end of the airport, locate my gate, and board. Think quick Yvonne, because if you want to make this flight, you cannot stand in this line. So, I ask one of the workers around, if there is another way to get around all of this and explain my pretty simple, yet urgent matter.

What’s that you say? Shouldn’t be a problem to get assistance from this would-be friendly airport employee? Yea, not so much!

Instead of this chick gleefully whizzing me to the front of the line (as they had done during check in—so I didn’t think it was too far-fetched to expect that option) she starts talking some mumbo jumbo about how my bag was too big and I would have to check it in

Translation: pay $120 for excess luggage. Yea, Crack still kills. It really does!

At this point, I’m like, “oh, she must be new.” After taking inventory of other passenger’s carry on luggage, I point out that their bags are just as big as mine, to which she widens he eyes and boldly declares, “They are in First Class!” Well GEE GOLLY thank you ever so much for making me feel like a second class citizen! Who cares that my ticket costs over $2,000…

Ok, now, I realize that this chick is crazy, so I start to walk away from her and she proceeds to kindly inform me that there are camera’s all around watching my every move…Crap. Ok, now she’s got me. SO I try to reason with her. I detect a Spanish accent, so my 7 years of Spanish classes and brief stint in the DR start to kick in. this is my attempt to play nice girl (because, maybe, just maybe, we got off on the wrong foot.) “ Senora, por favor, lo siento, pero estoy muy tarde. Nessesito ir.”

Blank look (now she’s looking at ME like “this chick is crazy. I am not impressed by her 3rd grade level Spanish!”)

What to do… Now the frustration is slowly creeping back as the ordeal has drawn stares by other passengers....

to be continued..

Obama's Long Lost Relative

So... I know this is wrong on soooo many levels (Please don't excommunicate me from the Nigerian Community) BUT I JUST COULDN'T RESIST!

Here is my take on how random folks will be coming out the woodworks to claim some type of affiliation with Barack Obama should he (and he will!) win the Presidency...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hD_90KFdDC8

I know...I'm dumb!