Hanky Panky

In sixth grade I found myself on a bus traveling toward the most awful week of my life. The bus was, of course, disguised for the parents as a yellow school bus that was en-route to a winter outdoor education camp in the snow covered mountains. The enlightened kids saw it for what it really was, a week of bullying, bad food, strange excursions and a painful square dance where 3/4 the boys would balk at asking one of us girls to dance. Especially the fat tall girls. Which was basically me.

For whatever reason, however, I was optimistic. It wasn't because I was going up there with hoards of friends, or that my new snow jacket made me look like I had bosoms, or even the fact that I particularly loved the outdoors. In fact I was going up there friendless, in a blindingly bright shapeless 80's snow parka hand-me-down, and hiking wasn't really my thing.

BUT- my bag was full of Bonnebell chapstick, candy and various other miniature toiletries that were uncommon in the Tanner household- bribing me into undergoing one of the most awkward weeks of my life.

Fast forward to the first morning we woke up at the camp. We are interrupted from frigid icy sleep by the drill sergeant bark of a woman telling us we must take a shower before breakfast. Dutifully I searched through my duffle bag only to find that with all the items in my bag, I was missing a key staple. A towel.

OH.

HOLY.

CRAP.

"Excuse me" I told Ms. Granola as my turn was nearing, "Um, somehow I forgot my towel. Is there one here that I can use?"
"You were told to bring one on the list." She barked amid a shower of oatmeal spewing from her mouth. Obviously we were having oatmeal for breakfast this morning.
"I know." I tried to explain, "But somehow it didn't make it into my bag. Is there one I can borrow?"
"I don't know anything about that." She curtly answered, blowing the 2 minute whistle on the poor girl who had just gotten warm in the shower. "Next!"
"Well can I skip the shower today until I find a towel?" I asked hopefully. Searching her face for any sign of kindness.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over, distaste washing over her face. A chunky kid was disgusting enough, but one with imagined bad hygiene and a penchant for skipping showers was too much for her. "Everyone has to take a shower everyday. You are no exception." Her finger wagged and pointed into my face. "Let me find one for you. Next!"

In two minutes she was back and holding out the item that was to be used as a "towel."

I wanted to ask her if her nose was running, because what she was holding up was not possibly a towel. In her hand hung a hanky, a terry cloth hanky, something that would not have wrapped around a normal 80 pound sixth grader, let alone one that was 3 times the thickness of your typical 11 year old.

The towel was not as big as a hand towel, slightly larger than a face clothe and amusingly was supposed to cover me as I walked to my duffle bag and changed community locker room style in the cabin. If it hadn't been for the strict 2 minute time limit I could have changed into some clothes before I left the shower, but there was no time to change behind the curtain.

I looked at her in horror. Could she possibly be suggesting that the girl with the premature junk her her trunk wrap that tiny morsel of cloth around her body in a manner that would condemn her for merciless teasing the remaining 3 years of middle school? If it was now, I would have said, "I don't think so. Not today you crazy nudist." But at that point I took the towel and considered just how I would make my shuffle back to my bunk in anonymity.

I considered the option of using the towel to cover my face so no one would know it was me streaking across the floor. Maybe they would think it was the ghost of an insane former counselor who went crazy from the undercooked eggs and soggy toast we were to be inflicted with over the coming week. I finally settled on wrapping the towel around my waist, so only one large strip on the side of my leg was showing, my free arm covering whatever else I could.

Have you ever tried to cover yourself up with your arm and a hanky? It's difficult. Very difficult. I felt like Eve with the fig leaf. "I'm pretty sure he meant Banana leaves" I could imagine her saying. "Banana leaves make more sense. Who would cover themselves with a fig leaf (besides of course a dozen hopefuls on America's Next Top Model)? Yeah, lets go with the banana leaves. What do you mean they are all the way in South America?"

I proceeded to shuffle, the towel grasped in an iron grip as though I was holding on to the last bit of decency I had left. I dared anyone to look at me, to make eye contact in which I would fix them with an icy stare as cold as the room I was now parting the crowd like Moses through. "Make way," I wanted to shout, "Haven't you seen a fat kid in a tea cozy before?"

Thankfully the counselor had a little mercy, or an angel came down and told her she would be smitten with the pox if she didn't scavenger up a towel for the porky girl who just passed through the rings of hell and back because the next morning I had a towel of respectable size.

You can guarantee yourself that I have never forgotten a towel since. One indecent amount of exposure was enough for me to learn my lesson and garner a great embarrassing story as well. Seems like these things seem to happy to me waaay too often...

Language Barriers

There is a little Carl's Jr. right across the street from where I work in LA, surrounded by the city, bums and various characters that give me plenty to write about. Today I made my way across the street, ordered a diet coke and a side salad and proceeded to commence my lunch. As I was sitting there I happened to make eye contact with a small Mexican man who standing strait as an arrow might (and I say might) have come up to my belly button. He had to have been as round as he was tall, and he had the biggest lips I have ever seen. Honestly. I couldn't help my mind from conjuring the image of the frog on Thumbelina.

My first mistake was making eye contact, as soon as our eyes connected he stopped mid stride turned around and gave me a full once over, his eyes becoming very swishy. I wanted to laugh at his "suaveness" and in an attempt to hide it I made my second mistake-a half smile out of politeness. Working in the city I should know not to look at people and especially not to smile, but it's against my nature and something that I'm working on. Because of it I have had some awesome conversations and the result of this mistake today made a priceless conversation that I wouldn't have traded for anything.

After grinding to a halt on his way to the soda machine and turning completely around he began to work his magic on me. In a thick spanish accent he began with.

Him: "Hey beautiful lady... I like jor es-smile." He said as his eyebrows wiggling wildly.
Me: laughing, "Um... thanks."
Him: Whas shur name preety lady?"
Me: Now this is where I draw the line, no personal information that could link me to anything. "I'm sorry, I'm married." I say, pointing to my ring. Usually this statement works well enough to shy away any unwanted "suiters."
Him: "Oh, ok, hey Mary." He says with a triumphant smile from gleaning some information.
Me: Well this is awkward. I now have to explain that I didn't in fact give him my name, but that I'm spoken for. "No, my name isn't Mary, I'm married." I say, pointing at my ring again.
Him: Densely, "Oh. Is jor husband coming to mee(t) you?" He asks as though maybe I'll come sit with him if Jarom isn't.
Me: "Um... yeah." I say lying.
Him: "Ok, well, I eh-like jor beautiful es-smile." He tries one more time.
Me: "Thanks." I say as I try to ignore the further conversation he's trying to carry on. Finally, after standing their awkwardly staring at me he walks to the machine and fills his drink. As he walks past me I look at my iPod and try to ignore the smoldering look he is trying to pass over on me.

Sorry Don Juan, no thanks. I am Mary.