Today is a special day.  

Two months ago, my feet, sheltered in my Adidas Superstar, stepped on the tarmac of LAX by way of Manila, Philippines.  I left my tita’s house in the suburbs of LA a week after getting into a fight with her son because I hung out with a trans woman, and I painted my nails black.  After months of job searching, I started my first job at Goldilocks, a Filipino fast-food restaurant on Vermont and Third Street.  I worked as a server, busboy, and anything in between. A week into the job, I donned the Goldilocks costume.  The company mascot, like its name, was based on the classic children’s tale.  The costume was hidden in a closet tucked away from the restaurant’s civilized area. 

Rarely did they use the mascot because no one really fits Goldilocks’ internal figure.  Maybe the manager thought this was the perfectly sinister joke for a new employee who barely started his first job in America.  Maybe I was just built right for the suit because of my skinny frame.  Or they thought I won’t complain because immigrants like me needed a job to survive in LA. I slipped into the costume.  Years of sweat layered the fabric leaving Goldilocks feeling grimy.  The pungent smell of apple cider vinegar shaken and stirred with desperation lingered.  Like rancid icing topping off a stale cake, the manager secured Goldilocks’ heavy fiberglass head on the costume.  I breathed and saw through the thin mesh on Goldilocks’ big mouth.  Working as a mascot was not glamorous and was kind of looked down on in the Philippines.  The mesh served to hide the shame and people’s faces. But the mesh also smelled like chicharron dipped in spicy vinegar.

Yesterday, they made me clean the restaurant’s restrooms.  Let me tell you that I never cleaned the comfort room in our house in Manila.  We paid someone else to do it for us. It was the first time in my life that I felt degraded.  If restrooms were any indication of people’s ethics or morality, walking into the men’s and women’s restrooms were lavatory… I mean, revelatory.

But today is a special day.  It’s payday and my day off.  I’m too excited to wait the next day to pick up my first paycheck.  Today, I slide into my baggy jeans that are 5-6 sizes bigger than my waistline.  I secure them with my extra-long, bright blue canvas military-style belt that dangled down to my knees.  Then I wear my oversized plain red t-shirt and fisherman’s hat.  I always tried to leave the senior housing on Burlington and 8th Street unnoticed.  But that’s impossible because there’s only one way to enter and exit the building.  And it was right beside the manager’s office.  Every time the old manager approached me, I told him that I’m close to finding a place for myself.  I walk down 8th towards Vermont to catch the 204 bus.

While waiting for my check at the restaurant, a coworker asked, “What’re you doing with your first paycheck?”

“I’m getting myself a skateboard.  I’ve always wanted one.  Also, I’m probably gonna buy something for my friend.  We’ve known each other since high school in Manila and has been a great help since I moved here in LA.”

“That’s such a nice thought. With that kind of mentality, you’ll definitely go a long way in life.”

I couldn’t wait to see how much money I earned working for 30 hours a week at $6.75 per hour.  I haven’t received my check yet, but I already feel like a million bucks.  “If you don’t have a bank account, cash this at the check-cashing place a block away from here,” the manager tells me as she hands over my check.  I didn’t have a bank account.  I thankfully smiled at her.  Before cashing my check, I looked at it and saw that I am no millionaire, as expected.  I did have some $200 before taxes.  But this is my first job and paycheck in my 21 years of existence.  I am proud of what I have accomplished in the past two weeks.  I deserve to feel good.

At 3^rd and Vermont, I caught the bus to The Grove.  Before I left for California, my cousin Ray who’s traveled to America, reminded me that I should visit The Grove in Los Angeles.  “There’s a water and light show.  They have a farmers’ market where you can buy a big slice of pizza.  They have a 3-story bookstore that I think you’ll like.”  Ray wasn’t wrong.  But standing in the middle of The Grove, he forgot to mention how grand-looking the place is for a mall.  My jaws dropped in awe.  The vintage, rustic architectural details resembled an America of yesteryears with a touch of modern design and facilities.

For the first few minutes, I was wide-eyed in pure delight.  Growing up in the Philippines, malls that I’ve been to are all indoor places where people gathered to cool off from the third world country’s sweltering heat.  Never have I seen a water fountain show dancing to Mozart.  I was amazed at the beauty of the statue erected in front of Barnes and Noble, the 3-story bookstore I’ve been told I would appreciate. 

I walked on the brick road like a happy child wandering wild and free.  Surprised by the trolley honking at shoppers, myself included, I tripped on my own foot like a lost tourist as I try to move out of the way.  I breathe in the air and savor it for a few seconds before telling myself, “Welcome to America!”

Inside Quiksilver, photos of half-naked people enjoying their day at a sunny beach beside a sign that read buy one, get one half off pulled me in.  That sounded like a great deal to me.  I walked out of the store with two pairs of jeans, one for me and the other for my friend, Jack. 

Across Quiksilver was a skate shop where I bought a custom skateboard that fits my body.  “Come back after an hour,” he said.  I strolled around a little more.  I stopped walking to search where the sweet, buttery smell was coming from.  What could that be?  Is it pastry?  Is it bread? 

It’s a pretzel, according to the sign in front of me.  I’ve had Auntie Anne’s in Manila.  It tasted like dough with water, but this Wetzel’s Pretzels was something else.  Its aroma reeled me to stand in line, and later I discover that the pretzel’s soft buttery texture dipped in whipped cream cheese is satisfyingly delicious. 

Pretzels are the perfect snack as I waited for my skateboard.  Discovering this side of America is such a treat that added layers of delight to this special day.

I left The Grove satisfied.  With a bag of jeans and skateboard on the one hand and a bus token on the other, I was ready to head back home.  Walking this side of LA felt different when I’m on the streets of MacArthur Park.  The park reminds me of home – chaotic, full of life, loud, filled with vendors, and sprinkled with a pungent odor that loiters under my nose.  The Fairfax area is bursting with high-end boutiques, fancy sports cars roaming the streets, and fewer people rushing from place to place.  A block away from the bus stop, I turned to see what was happening behind me.  I saw two men in a red beat-up 1990 Honda CRX yelling at me in Spanish.  “PINCHE, PENDEJO!” They flipped me off and sped away.  I don’t speak Spanish, but I know “pendeho” is never a good word in Manila.

I was having too nice of a time to let me get affected by that tiny speck of dust to my day. I gazed westward, waiting for the bus.  

Tomorrow is tomorrow.