I Can't Remember What I Had For Breakfast Yesterday, But I Remember This
It was always my favorite place to eat out. With it's awkwardly steep pitched roof and rugged decor, it looked like it should be called Country Kitchen. And it was. I looked forward to sitting in the high-backed green booths as I munched on whatever I could find at the salad bar. Really, it was all about the black olives and cottage cheese. Those two things, while perhaps strange together, are really at their best when you're dining at a cheap buffet-style restaurant.
The sun shone brightly as we pulled into the parking lot. Not a single cloud could be found as far as the eye could see. In North Dakota, a crisp, clear, blue sky means it's colder than a freeze-dried Gisele Bundchen after getting hit on by David Spade. We had just left church and it was a very short car ride, except for the part where the heater hadn't had a time to make a dent in the sub-zero temperatures. I hustled to the door, my long lavender and white checked dress rustling in the wind as I sought to warm up.
I whipped the door open and quickly stepped into the entryway. There was a set of glass doors behind me leading to the great outdoors and another matching set in front of me, that set leading to the hostess station and restaurant. My parents seemed to have decided it would be fun to move at a snail's pace, so I started perusing the row of candy and toy machines that lined one side of the entryway.
I dismissed the sour candies. I scoffed at the gum that was sure to be hard and tasteless. As a preteen, I wasn't really interested in any of the little toy-filled eggs. I was growing impatient with the old folks who apparently decided to cure the common cold before going into the restaurant. To pass the seconds, I started counting the neon rainbow of bouncy balls in one machine.
The counting thing was something that I often did. In fact, I still do. Trees, rocks, windows, light poles, whatever. It all works as I try to find a pattern or rhythm. It's just a way to pass time. Nothing more.
As I reached fifty in my ball count, I heard the door open. I was born a smart-ass, so without looking over my shoulder, I said, "Mommy, can I have a big blue bouncy ball?" in a sing-song voice. I was far too old to actually want a ball. I was only asking so I could pretend to be upset when she shot me down. If she was paying attention, she would know I was joking. If she wasn't, she would be annoyed with me for even thinking about asking for a silly toy. Either way, I was going to stir up some drama.
I didn't realize it wasn't my parents who had opened the door until I heard the loud, booming voice. It plowed through the air with, "I'll give you some blue balls for free."
I. was. mortified.
I was old enough to understand the veiled meaning of the sentence, but not old enough to realize that I should give the guy a piece of my mind. I stood with my mouth agape, staring as the man walked past. When my parents FINALLY came through the door, I was still stunned silent.
It's funny the things that stick in your memory. 20-something years later, I remember those few minutes as if they were yesterday.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Reader Comments (10)
When I was, oh I don't know, 12, this creepy old guy clocked my cheek in the grocery and said something like "what a cutie" and I thought he must be some old dude my parents knew from church or something so I was all "Oh hi!!!" And my mom was there with me and didn't say anything about it.
I still get a really icky feeling when I think about that.
I have a few moments of creepy that stick with me also. Funny how the mind works. Oh, and that counting thing made me laugh because Jim does this weird counting thing in traffic to pass the time.
How absolutely mortifying!!! I would be mortified if it happened to me TODAY, not to mention at that age!! Sad thing is - there are men like that still around everywhere. Iy....
Thanks for sharing, now I'll be cringing all day.
I'm mortified on your behalf. I've had a few of those encounters myself, and when I remember them, I still feel dirty.
I had a creepy experience as a young teen and I can remember every little detail.
Oh my God, that's disgusting. I hope that man never did anything to a kid.
I didn't think I'd get that image of you in a purple checked dress out of my mind, but blue balls did it. Is it appropriate to say I'm Sorry?
What a jerk! I'm so sorry that happened to you.
I got GIGANTIC boobs when I was 13. Old men on the train, who looked like my grandfather, and for whom I smiled because I didn't know yet that those boobs would make everyone assume I was a whore, would suggest that my body invited them to take me back to their place and "screw me until I couldn't see anymore".
13. A YOUNG 13.
I am pregnant with a girl, and absolutely terrified about it. My parents did a fairly good job of watching me and I was still molested and sly-commented until I had a very horrible relationship with my body and mind.
My ballet teacher managed to fondle me DURING class in FRONT of parents.
I don't know how you protect babies anymore. I don't know that you ever could.
Your story made my heart ache. People (not just men) are pigs.
I just don't understand how some people can be so broken and out of touch with basic human decency that that seems okay to them.