An eye doc once told me I was legally blind, and I'll take his word for it. Fortunately, modern science has allowed me a normal life of sight thanks to high prescription contact lenses! That said, it's always been vital that I have my eyes checked once a year, and those check-ups often include something I don't enjoy: DILATION.
Eye dilation, as defined by this Illustration major with no medical background, is when they put stingy drops in your eyes and your pupils enlarge as if you're in a dark room. This allows the eye doctor to thoroughly check for any problems. This also allows for even the tiniest bit of light to make you feel as though you're staring into the center of a solar eclipse...
Now let's talk about my mom's old car (I promise it's relevant). It was an '86 cornflower blue Volvo with no air conditioning. The only two things it had going for it were A. I was allowed to drive it free of charge and B. It had a working radio. Well, "B" soon became obsolete when the radio antenna was snapped off in a freak carwash accident. But at least I could still drive it...
Several years passed, and my mom began moving up in the world. She felt that the time had come to treat herself to a new [used] car, and she began a thorough search that involved lots of phone calls and frequent test drives. When she would discuss makes and models with me, I would offer up my one and only requirement: that it have a radio. It became a joke between us: "Does it have a radio?" It's amazing how one day a joke can turn into pretty much your most embarrassing moment ever...
One summer Saturday while I was home from college, my mom sweetly volunteered to take me to my annual eye exam. After the doctor dilated my eyes, I once again remembered what I forgot before every visit: how uncomfortable it was! My contacts weren't in, so I was wearing my coke bottles and had forgotten any form of sun protection.
When we got out to the car, the discomfort from the light was unbearable. My mom rummaged through the trunk and offered me the only help she could find, my little brother's foam little league hat that was two sizes too small and had a giant "Y" (for Yankees!) on it. I could not have cared less. I put the awkward thing onto my disheveled head and dealt with the remaining sunlight by doing this eye-squint head-bob combination that apparently eased the pain. And then my mom asked if we could go look at cars.
Now, the LAST place you should go after getting your eyes dilated is a car lot on a sunny day. There is literally light bouncing off of EVERY surface in EVERY direction. But I did not realize this until we got there.
A cute salesman in his mid-twenties greeted us and began to talk details with my mom. I noticed that he smiled in my direction, yet avoided making eye contact with me. I did not think much of it. I hung by each car we looked at, boy's little league hat atop my head, giant glasses sliding down my nose each time I squinted and bobbed. I decided an inside joke could only make the situation better, so I interrupted my mom with:
"Hey Mom! Hey Mom! Does it have a radio??"
The salesman nearly knocked my mom to the side as he ran over to me and opened the passenger side door.
"YEEESSS! It DOES have a radio! Would YOU like to hear it?"
His sudden burst of enthusiasm confused me. "Um... sure?" I replied, and slid into the passenger seat. The salesman turned on some random mariachi station and smiled a little too largely.
"Can we check out that one over there?" my mom asked, her nose in some pamphlet. She began to head over to the next vehicle, and the salesman ran to her side. He leaned over and said:
"Uh... is... is she okay in there by herself?"
My mom looked at him blankly for a moment as she wondered why he would be concerned about a twenty-year-old girl sitting in a car ten feet away. And then it hit her. The squinting. The head bobbing. The obsession with radios. She realized what the salesman was thinking and put it into less-than-tactful words.
"What? NO!! My daughter's not retarded!"
I sprang from the car, also realizing the confusion. I poured out my life story, and the circumstances that led to me looking and acting this way. Mortification does not begin to describe it. Of course, in the big picture, there's nothing wrong with being mentally challenged... but a young girl who's NOT mentally challenged (depending on who you ask) still doesn't want people thinking she is!
We politely left the car lot and my mother eventually found the car of her dreams: a '92 Beamer. And, yes, it had a radio.
")
Friday, August 24, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Of All the Pizza Joints...
I've said it once, and I'll say it again! This blog is just becoming a collection of my awkward life moments involving men, boys, and your run-of-the-mill weirdos. Ah well!
Let's journey back to '07, shall we? I had a summer job as a nanny with an incredible family in Arlington, MA who I'd gotten to know during my job as an after-school teacher. This family lived in a duplex, and I cared for their sweet little cupcake-cheeked crystal blue-eyed baby girl and their older daughter, a witty and hilarious nine-year-old who I adored working with during the school year.
The duplex was owned by the people who lived next door: a family from Syria consisting of a handsome, friendly dad; beautiful-but-aloof wife; and three smiley children under the age of six. The kids would often be out in the yard, so the girls and I would play with them. Sometimes they even came running out if they saw us; we were one big happy Sound-of-Music-eque gang playing together in the summer sun.
The father of the children, "Sal," would come outside and make small talk, probably not wanting me to think that he was dumping his kids on me. Throughout numerous short conversations, I learned that he owned a popular pizza place in town. When I told him that I was an illustrator, he asked about my website and said he wanted to buy some prints. Because if there's anything a middle-aged male business owner has at the forefront of his busy schedule, it's purchasing local art from the babysitter next door...
Sal asked if I wanted to come by the pizza place some evening for a meal on the house. Now you may think that as a successful after-school art teacher and part-time babysitter that I was above a free meal, but you'd be surprised. I decided to invite the older of the two girls to with me (free dinner!), but oddly enough her father (the one I actually worked for) seemed opposed to the idea and politely declined. That's funny... he trusted me with his daughters, but didn't want me taking one down the street for pizza? What was I missing...
One evening (it was still very light out I feel the need to mention!) I sauntered into the pizza place, expecting to get a quick nod from Sal and a free meal. I was caught a bit off-guard when Sal was not behind the counter, but at a table for two that he had set aside for us. Now even writing this it seems completely obvious what was going on, but please believe that at the time I was still clueless or else I would have run out the door with the footsteps/car-starting/car driving away sound sequence that they use on the Simpson's whenever Homer's in trouble.
I'll try to summarize: in very thinly veiled but increasingly obvious ways, Sal let me know that he was interested in me for more than art. Maybe it was the part when he said his wife didn't like it when he spoke to me so he had to meet me somewhere else, or perhaps it was when he spoke of the many properties he owned and offered me a place to live. Not sure. But after 20+ minutes and declining an offer to get a drink at a nearby bar, I got the FLIP out of there (still carrying my leftover food because, seriously, free pizza!). I ignored many follow-up e-mails until finally having the guts to reply, in a semi-respectful way, "You're a creep, leave me alone." I never heard from him again and, on an unrelated whim, packed up and moved to NYC at the end of that summer.
Fast forward to A WEEK AGO. I was visting my family and staying in Chelmsford, a town 30+ minutes away from Arlington. My father had to work and my husband had a class, so I had the afternoon to kill with Grant. One of our favorite places, Chelmsford House of Pizza had closed (single tear) and I decided to try the place that had opened across the street. I wheeled Grant in his stroller and ordered some pizza and salad from the friendly man behind the counter. Just as I was thinking about how nice he was, I heard that DUN DUN DUN sound in my head as I noticed he was wearing the shirt of that OTHER pizza place.
Though the name was different on the outside, I shuddered at the thought that Sal owned this place too. But, at the same time, I was hungry and, again, it's pizza. Besides, just because Sal MAYBE had a part in this new operation didn't mean I was going to... OH NO! THERE HE IS!! Just as I had sat down with Grant to eat, I saw Sal from across the room.
A stronger woman would have walked out immediately. Instead, I bowed my head and shoveled pizza into my mouth, PRAYING he wouldn't see me and if he DID, not think I had gotten fat because I was just pregnant but didn't want to go into that with him. Because, ethics aside, heaven forbid anyone thinks I've gained weight...
Thankfully, he never noticed me. And I didn't exactly tap him on the shoulder to say hello. And, to be honest, the pizza was sub-par. There, I said it. Take that, SAL.
")
Let's journey back to '07, shall we? I had a summer job as a nanny with an incredible family in Arlington, MA who I'd gotten to know during my job as an after-school teacher. This family lived in a duplex, and I cared for their sweet little cupcake-cheeked crystal blue-eyed baby girl and their older daughter, a witty and hilarious nine-year-old who I adored working with during the school year.
The duplex was owned by the people who lived next door: a family from Syria consisting of a handsome, friendly dad; beautiful-but-aloof wife; and three smiley children under the age of six. The kids would often be out in the yard, so the girls and I would play with them. Sometimes they even came running out if they saw us; we were one big happy Sound-of-Music-eque gang playing together in the summer sun.
The father of the children, "Sal," would come outside and make small talk, probably not wanting me to think that he was dumping his kids on me. Throughout numerous short conversations, I learned that he owned a popular pizza place in town. When I told him that I was an illustrator, he asked about my website and said he wanted to buy some prints. Because if there's anything a middle-aged male business owner has at the forefront of his busy schedule, it's purchasing local art from the babysitter next door...
Sal asked if I wanted to come by the pizza place some evening for a meal on the house. Now you may think that as a successful after-school art teacher and part-time babysitter that I was above a free meal, but you'd be surprised. I decided to invite the older of the two girls to with me (free dinner!), but oddly enough her father (the one I actually worked for) seemed opposed to the idea and politely declined. That's funny... he trusted me with his daughters, but didn't want me taking one down the street for pizza? What was I missing...
One evening (it was still very light out I feel the need to mention!) I sauntered into the pizza place, expecting to get a quick nod from Sal and a free meal. I was caught a bit off-guard when Sal was not behind the counter, but at a table for two that he had set aside for us. Now even writing this it seems completely obvious what was going on, but please believe that at the time I was still clueless or else I would have run out the door with the footsteps/car-starting/car driving away sound sequence that they use on the Simpson's whenever Homer's in trouble.
I'll try to summarize: in very thinly veiled but increasingly obvious ways, Sal let me know that he was interested in me for more than art. Maybe it was the part when he said his wife didn't like it when he spoke to me so he had to meet me somewhere else, or perhaps it was when he spoke of the many properties he owned and offered me a place to live. Not sure. But after 20+ minutes and declining an offer to get a drink at a nearby bar, I got the FLIP out of there (still carrying my leftover food because, seriously, free pizza!). I ignored many follow-up e-mails until finally having the guts to reply, in a semi-respectful way, "You're a creep, leave me alone." I never heard from him again and, on an unrelated whim, packed up and moved to NYC at the end of that summer.
Fast forward to A WEEK AGO. I was visting my family and staying in Chelmsford, a town 30+ minutes away from Arlington. My father had to work and my husband had a class, so I had the afternoon to kill with Grant. One of our favorite places, Chelmsford House of Pizza had closed (single tear) and I decided to try the place that had opened across the street. I wheeled Grant in his stroller and ordered some pizza and salad from the friendly man behind the counter. Just as I was thinking about how nice he was, I heard that DUN DUN DUN sound in my head as I noticed he was wearing the shirt of that OTHER pizza place.
Though the name was different on the outside, I shuddered at the thought that Sal owned this place too. But, at the same time, I was hungry and, again, it's pizza. Besides, just because Sal MAYBE had a part in this new operation didn't mean I was going to... OH NO! THERE HE IS!! Just as I had sat down with Grant to eat, I saw Sal from across the room.
A stronger woman would have walked out immediately. Instead, I bowed my head and shoveled pizza into my mouth, PRAYING he wouldn't see me and if he DID, not think I had gotten fat because I was just pregnant but didn't want to go into that with him. Because, ethics aside, heaven forbid anyone thinks I've gained weight...
Thankfully, he never noticed me. And I didn't exactly tap him on the shoulder to say hello. And, to be honest, the pizza was sub-par. There, I said it. Take that, SAL.
")
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