October 21 - Colgate University will include a personal essay by Abby Callahan (SAAS '09) in the November edition of its alumni magazine, The Scene.
Abby is yet another student in a growing group of Seattle Academy graduates identified by their colleges as outstanding first-years: Last year, Chelsea Kellogg '08 was on the cover of and profiled in Occidental College's promotional magazine, and Shannon McCarthy '08 was profiled in Pitzer College's alumni magazine.
Abby Callahan's essay can be found below:
Strands of colored sugar fly off the machine, coating my long hair and freckling my face. The longer I work, the older I appear as the fluffy, tinted wisps coalesce to turn my brown hair gray. Eventually, the sugar melts to form speckles of burned goo that dot my hands and clothes. Families of tourists line up to gape as I twirl hot, sticky strings of sugar into fluffy masterpieces. As a cotton candy maker and fudge promoter in the shadow of Seattle’s Space Needle, I spend my summers selling overpriced sweets to the clouds of tourists that descend on Seattle.
Before my first summer working as a candy professional, I pushed my mom hard to attend an overseas program like many of my classmates at the private school I attend. I always saw traveling as the ultimate challenge and adventure, and thrived on the excitement of new people and places. My mom told me that I needed to realize I could not just travel wherever and whenever I wanted, and that I needed to work. I felt like I had already taken all the adventure out of Seattle, and here I was keeping tourists entertained in my own back yard.
The first few weeks on the job, I would go to any length not to be noticed. Huddled in the cubby of a ’70s-style red popcorn wagon, covered head to toe in melting sugar, I was not in my most attractive state. However, customers seemed to enjoy my sticky costume and I soon became part of the scenery. Their sense of humor coupled with their bright-eyed attitude and their untested knowledge of Seattle began to give me some footing. While I was still the clown, Seattle was my three-ring circus.
I continue to charm customers with a perpetual bright smile, lively small talk, and respectful answers to their questions, including the most common of all, “Could you tell me where I can find the Space Needle?” I hide my amusement as I point straight up at the towering building. My sales often conclude with a few dollars in the tip jar and far fewer sweets on the rack.
My customers range from eager day campers taking a break from splashing in the giant International Fountain, to tourists from around the world seeking an insider’s guide to Seattle. I have even encountered a few short-change artists. However, out of all my customers, my favorite is Arnold.
Unlike most of my customers, Arnold doesn’t flow through the Seattle Center as part of a day-time excursion, he is always there. Arnold is a mentally challenged janitor at the Seattle Center. He often comes by my wagon to seek refuge from the chaos created by tourists. Whenever a customer approaches, he always scoots off to the side and never interrupts sales. He’s even chased off a few hungry pigeons for me, saving bunches of cotton candy. Usually, all Arnold wants is someone to talk to and I am his captive audience.
On the job, friendly chatter isn’t limited to Arnold. Often, in those short moments while I work my sales magic, lost and confused foreigners open up to me about the difficulties they have in American culture. On a blistering summer day, a winded man who recently had arrived from India approached my cart to buy some water. Water costs $2.50. He paid with a $100 bill. I let out a brief cry as I stared down at the bill. The man followed my gaze and quickly realized his error, he gasped. He reclaimed his money and continued to fumble through his wallet to retrieve the correct change. He pulled out each bill and inspected it closely before stuffing it back into his wallet in search of another. I watched confused as he held the correct bill in his hand, yet continued to fumble through wads of money looking for another. Finally he spoke, letting me in on the secret to his confusion: “Ahh, all your money looks the same!” I helped him sort through his change by pointing out the nuances differentiating each bill and realized for the first time that we are one of the few countries with money of the same size and color.
Customers raised more cultural flags. One day, I overheard a customer ask a man from Italy if he knew the weather forecast for the next day. In his elegant Italian accent he described his observation that Americans are obsessed about the weather. He was shocked in an encounter with the Weather Channel at his hotel earlier that day that an entire TV station could be devoted to weather. Apparently, in Italy, people do not care about it. They look up and are satisfied with whatever happens.
There are many different ways to learn about the world. In my brief exchanges with customers, the nuances of American society, those I had never thought twice about, became clear. I was seeing my city from a tourist’s perspective. I have traveled to other countries — India, Guatemala, Ireland. Even when not out of the country, I am an armchair adventurer, reading newspapers and magazines and the news. Yet now, I simply learned about the world through selling fudge.
