This is Eli

A blog about Eli. A blog about survival – and by that, I mean life!

“I’m in deep shit.”

So went the classy text I sent my friend, Khina.

My babysitter had an inescapable obligation arise. I had an inescapable interview to conduct.

Journalism is really flexible, surprisingly, until it’s not. And when it’s not, it’s really, really not.

My friend came to my rescue today and watched my kids so I could get my work done.

People in newsrooms pull double duty leading up to the holidays. It’s busy but I can’t complain.

I can’t complain because last Christmas, I took a second job at a restaurant that also produced holiday baked goods.

The staff there, like my manager, Dom, pulled multiple 24-hour shifts so customers could get their holiday pies.

What did my manager get in return?


Dom was a friend. An hour before ICE agents swarmed the restaurant parking lot and took him away, he texted me his sister’s number. Why?

‘Cause I was a waitress-slash-journalist. I was on a story about deadly force at the time. It didn’t feel complete to me. A police officer shot Dom’s sister’s unarmed boyfriend in the back of the head. That story rounded out my reporting.

And I wrote this, “The Death of Darryl Ray Wilson.”

You never know where a chance encounter, a friendship, will lead you.

Things were never boring at the restaurant.

When not catering to holiday pie consumption, staff catered to holiday merry makers.

And, ya know, there were more than a few times I wanted to pour a beer on a customer’s head.

Why the sour look, ya a-hat? You’re out having a good time. These hard-working people are just trying to make ends meet and keep you entertained. Can the attitude.

One customer wrote a rude not to me on the bill.

I probably deserved it. But still C’MON.

Another looked up at me in his horn-rimmed glasses and poo poo’d my knowledge of cheese.

Yeah, there are more important things in life, ya jerk.

I’m a terrible waitress.

Side note: 80 percent of the people in the restaurant were having scandalous love affairs with each other.

My stories were so ridiculous Khina was almost convinced to come work with me.

OK, that would have been fun.

But we have more fun with our littles.

It’s been nearly three years since we moved to OKC, strangers new to town. So far away from family, from the people who know me from the way back, I sure appreciate a good friend.

Cheers to friends.




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