I know I promised daily recaps of embarrassing stories, but then May happened and I became a chauffeur and a babysitter and graduation rush of people coming back to college town and now I'm going to South Dakota next week. That's all. Anyway, here are some humiliating vignettes to keep you interested until (if?) I return from the Plains.
Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Other times, they just happen to me.
***
It was the first day of freshman year at college, and I was enjoying all the other firsts that came along with it: my first place away from home, my first phone line (didn't get a cell phone til much later, obviously), and my first day of independently taking care of myself. So far, it had been great. I returned home after my first afternoon of classes and met my first college friend and neighbor, who was also on her way back to our dorm. The second floor hallway was full of freshman girls in similar high spirits, unaware as they were that 80% of them would eventually declare pre-med and develop an eating disorder. As I unlocked the door and stepped into my room, I saw a red light flashing on my (my!) phone. My first message on the answering machine! Clearly this heralded my arrival as an important and competent adult. I was so excited I waved my friend in, and didn't bother closing my door before I hit 'play.' My dad's voice instantly filled my small room and echoed out into the hallway: "Hi [embarrassing childhood nickname], just wanted to see how your first day at big-girl school went! Call us!" My fingers flailed over the phone like giant useless electrified spiders, groping for the 'stop' button, as the second floor's laughter filled the hall...
My first college and still current friend occasionally called me by the nickname she'd overheard. I soon moved out of that dorm, never to return, although honestly that had more to do with the black mold.
***
This next story cannot, unfortunately, be written about as one concrete episode, because it happened to me repeatedly. A few summers ago, I was working in and around my then-current university. I had three jobs, but let's save that story for when I'm talking about things that were terrible without being particularly embarrassing. Anyway, one summer, three jobs in close vicinity to the downtown of a small city, and no car. I carpooled in at 6:30 every morning with a neighbor (despite the fact that my first job didn't start til 9:30 and I wiled away the extra hours napping in various waiting room chairs at the medical center -- you'll probably hear about this again, in a future embarrassing story post entitled "Public Places I Used to Stealthily Sleep"), and then out again at 5:00. This schedule and the locations of my jobs meant that I had to carry everything I would need throughout the day with me, and do any errands on any spare minute I could catch.
When I could, I would catch the free bus a few miles to the public library to stock up on things to read while either a) waiting interminably for a ride, or b) doing job #3 as a dorm receptionist, usually for a dorm that was literally empty by this point. This meant that I'd be stuck lugging books around all day when I got back, but it seemed worth it to have an alternative to propelling myself slowly down the hall and back in my wheely desk chair. So I filled my shoulder bag with paperbacks and hightailed it back to campus.
Unless you're a shoplifter, I doubt many of us realize how many public places have sensors. You know, those things by the door that beep when you walk out with an item that hasn't been desensitized by being purchased, scanned, etc. Let me tell you: they're freakin' everywhere. And they all recognize the barcode of a book obtained legally from this town's public library. Coupling the book run with other errands, I would go in to places like shops or the bookstore only to immediately set off the alarm and be questioned by the staff. To prove I wasn't a thief or miscreant (keep in mind, this was upon stepping
into the store), I would always empty my bag on the counter in front of an employee to show that it was the books that were setting off the sensor and not ill-obtained merchandise. This is reasonable and I would've had no qualms about complying, were it not for the contents of my book bag. That's right, it was Baby-sitters Club books. Always. Stacks of pastel-colored young adult books were my undoing, despite the fact that I thought I could conceal my secret vice by using the self-checkout at the library and hiding them in my bag. Nope. Now I had to show them to everyone. I look younger, but not that young, so now I looked like either a very young mom or a very old YA reader and possible pervert. Thank God I'm not a man.
Anyway, I repeatedly had to flash my stack of BSC Mysteries and, God forbid, Super Specials to the cashier at the school bookstore, the pharmacist at Walgreens, and the clerk at the school library (that's right, a librarian. She knew damn well what they were!) to prove my innocence. Eventually I found ways to avoid this. "Stop checking out books intended for 9-year-olds in the year 1997?" I hear you ask. Oh hell no. I would just hide my bag somewhere outside the sensor -- in the entryway of the store, behind the coke machine in the library foyer, etc.
O Ann M. Martin (and associated ghostwriters), what hath thou wrought?
***
I had more stories but I think I'll save them for future installments of MLI-Embarrassing-LT, since right now I feel the need to lie facedown on the floor with a Mountain Dew IV to recover from reliving these moments yet again. Thanks for your patience and understanding.
Go
here and try not to get angry. Someone get on my level... please.
