I've always wondered how memories get etched into our minds. Out of all the things one experiences in life, what makes a certain instance stand out from the rest-- even if it is a mundane one?
For me, memories are like snapshots. I actually think of them as Polaroids, for some reason-- white border and all, stored in my mind.
One memory that is completely ridiculous that stands out involves Bob Saget (aka Danny Tanner from "Full House"). It was fifth grade and I was making a cake in our tiny apartment kitchen. We had on (an HBO, I think) comedy special featuring his not-family-friendly comedy. For some reason, a bit where he discussed riding the train at the Houston Zoo with his family stands out. Apparently, he could see the conductor's buttcrack. Saget kept repeating "crack in my butt" during his gig.
That was all he could think during the train ride.
Totally random, totally out of context, but this bit is etched into my subconscious in a way that will never, ever leave.
I thought of the "crack in my butt" gig yesterday when I was at the podiatrist, getting new orthotic inserts for my Old Lady Feet. I ordered these things in November, needing them for February. I was told six weeks max and let's just say...it took many phone calls plus my showing up in the office TWICE before they finally arrived...in May.
Honestly, I think they were in the office the whole time and the lady in charge was either too disorganized or lazy to deal with them.
So I'm standing in the office with her and I'm very aware that these orthotics might have gotten this lady in trouble. Granted, not my circus as it was her job to get these to me, but I digress. (Might I add, in the future, returning a customer's phone calls and notes to call her might work a bit better? No?)
The lady is trying to shove the orthotics into my shoes. She's a big gal, definitely could take me in a fight (even with both hands tied behind her back) and she's a bit intimidating.
She tells me, "it might take a while for you to get used to these."
This pops into my brain: "Like an underwire bra."
Don't say it, I thought. She's not going to think you are funny or adorable.
We chat for a second and she says it again. "It might take a few days to get used to having them on."
My brain: "Like an underwire bra!"
Damnit, I think. Don't say it. Seriously. Don't say it.
She mentions her sister has orthotics and which shoes she does and doesn't wear now. Once again, she tells me that it takes most people 3 or 4 days to get comfortable.
"Like an underwire bra!" My brain is still begging me to say it. I refuse. I'm not going down this road. I know this is a dead end road to nowhere and I'm gonna learn to shut my mouth once and for all.
The conversation is slowing down and I know I'm about to get out of there with my dignity intact. I'm really working on learning to censor the idiotic things that pop into my mind. Eighty percent of the time, I'm not exactly doing a good job. The other twenty percent the conversation was so short I could hang on.
I'm high-fiving myself at this point. Look at me, I'm a big girl. I kept my mouth shut for this whole five minutes and I'm going to leave with my dignity intact.
As I'm picking up my purse, she says, "Let me know if they irritate you in any way."
"I'm a special little snowflake," I say. Then, for some reason, I become possessed and say in a high squeaky voice, "I get irritated all the time!"
She looks at me, I look at her. I realize I'm now looking like an idiot. I thank her, grab my things and run out as fast as possible.
I have yet decided if this conversation was a win, lose or draw for me.
For me, memories are like snapshots. I actually think of them as Polaroids, for some reason-- white border and all, stored in my mind.
One memory that is completely ridiculous that stands out involves Bob Saget (aka Danny Tanner from "Full House"). It was fifth grade and I was making a cake in our tiny apartment kitchen. We had on (an HBO, I think) comedy special featuring his not-family-friendly comedy. For some reason, a bit where he discussed riding the train at the Houston Zoo with his family stands out. Apparently, he could see the conductor's buttcrack. Saget kept repeating "crack in my butt" during his gig.
That was all he could think during the train ride.
Totally random, totally out of context, but this bit is etched into my subconscious in a way that will never, ever leave.
I thought of the "crack in my butt" gig yesterday when I was at the podiatrist, getting new orthotic inserts for my Old Lady Feet. I ordered these things in November, needing them for February. I was told six weeks max and let's just say...it took many phone calls plus my showing up in the office TWICE before they finally arrived...in May.
Honestly, I think they were in the office the whole time and the lady in charge was either too disorganized or lazy to deal with them.
So I'm standing in the office with her and I'm very aware that these orthotics might have gotten this lady in trouble. Granted, not my circus as it was her job to get these to me, but I digress. (Might I add, in the future, returning a customer's phone calls and notes to call her might work a bit better? No?)
The lady is trying to shove the orthotics into my shoes. She's a big gal, definitely could take me in a fight (even with both hands tied behind her back) and she's a bit intimidating.
She tells me, "it might take a while for you to get used to these."
This pops into my brain: "Like an underwire bra."
Don't say it, I thought. She's not going to think you are funny or adorable.
We chat for a second and she says it again. "It might take a few days to get used to having them on."
My brain: "Like an underwire bra!"
Damnit, I think. Don't say it. Seriously. Don't say it.
She mentions her sister has orthotics and which shoes she does and doesn't wear now. Once again, she tells me that it takes most people 3 or 4 days to get comfortable.
"Like an underwire bra!" My brain is still begging me to say it. I refuse. I'm not going down this road. I know this is a dead end road to nowhere and I'm gonna learn to shut my mouth once and for all.
The conversation is slowing down and I know I'm about to get out of there with my dignity intact. I'm really working on learning to censor the idiotic things that pop into my mind. Eighty percent of the time, I'm not exactly doing a good job. The other twenty percent the conversation was so short I could hang on.
I'm high-fiving myself at this point. Look at me, I'm a big girl. I kept my mouth shut for this whole five minutes and I'm going to leave with my dignity intact.
As I'm picking up my purse, she says, "Let me know if they irritate you in any way."
"I'm a special little snowflake," I say. Then, for some reason, I become possessed and say in a high squeaky voice, "I get irritated all the time!"
She looks at me, I look at her. I realize I'm now looking like an idiot. I thank her, grab my things and run out as fast as possible.
I have yet decided if this conversation was a win, lose or draw for me.
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