My Hall of Shame: Part Deux (or is it trois?)

We've all had embarassing moments and some readers may be familiar with My Hall of Shame post. The other day, I saw something that triggered this memory. In the summer between 9th and 10th grade, I worked on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City, NJ. I loved my job as a waitress at one of the most popular eateries, which was Taylor Pork Roll. Located between Steel Pier and the Amusement Pier, it was my first 'real job' and one at which I truly excelled. I remember telling fascinated visitors exactly how pork roll was made (I had memorized the sign in the store). At least I think they were fascinated. Most of them spoke English, and all of them left tips.

I remember feeling so grown up taking the bus from Somers Point into work every day. I smoked cigarettes in the back with the cool kids, as we were all riding to our jobs Down The Shore. It was the days before the casinos had arrived, after the glory years of the Boardwalk itself, and Atlantic City had acquired a somewhat seedy reputation. But it was the old days still, and Atlantic City was exciting to me. The Diving Horses on the Steel Pier were still an attraction but the Marine Ballroom (where I competed as a squaredancer in 7th grade) had burned down the year before.

I made a lot of friends that summer and I'd walk to visit them on my breaks. One friend worked the rides at the Amusement Pier, others worked in the restaurant business, some were lifeguards and a couple of new girlfriends worked at shops along the way. It was great. Heck, I was even dating the Planters Peanut Man (who was really just a boy in a peanut suit that I'd taken a liking to). Don't judge me. He was cute.

I just felt so grown up being in high school and spending the entire day on my own at work. Songs about The Shore always bring back memories of the two summers I worked on the Boardalk in Atlantic City.

But the title of this story should really be My Mother's Hall of Shame, because that's what it truly is.

In late August of that year, I got very sick at work. My father had to drive to the city to come collect me. My stomach was killing me, it was really acute and I ended up quietly suffering through a horrible night. I think around 3 in the morning, my mother checked on me and ended up calling the hospital, where she worked as a telephone operator, and explained my symptoms and they said to bring me in right away.

Before we go any further, I just want to say that my parents, like everyone at that time, were very patriotic people. Having lived through two wars, and gone through the Great Depression, well it was just a different era. Then the 70's came, and all hell broke loose. Young people were wearing (gasp) things with the image of the AMERICAN FLAG on them. My mother was appalled. She thought it was just so rude and well, disrespectful. I just want to point this fact out. You'll need to remember it later.

We arrived early in the morning at the emergency room at Shore Memorial Hospital, and because she worked there, my mom was permitted to come in with me. I gingerly climbed onto an examination table and my shorts were pulled down and little and my top was pulled up, and one of the nurses commented on my cute underpants. Oh yeah, I'd forgotten I'd worn that pair, I remember thinking. I could see my mother talking to one of the nurses over in the corner of the room. A doctor asked me if it hurt when he pushed in places, and as he gently pushed on my right side, I screamed. God, did that hurt! And my mother came running, and to her horror, she saw that I was wearing bikini underpants with our nation's stars and stripes emblazoned all over them. "Oh, for the love of God, Katy!" she said, "Where in Heavens Name did you get those underpants?"

Now it was bad enough wearing the flag on your outer garments, but one look at this article of clothing, well it set my mother off. She didn't say anything else, but I could tell that she thought I was pretty tacky wearing it. But all I remember feeling was really sick, and now felt like crying because I had embarassed her in front of her co-workers. Luckily, the nurses came to my aid and quickly ushered my mother from the room, telling her I needed emergency surgery. I'd been diagnosed with acute appendicitis. I came out of the whole thing just fine, in the end, and to my mother's chagrin, was known during my stay at the hospital as the girl with the flag underwear, you know, CHARLOTTE'S DAUGHTER.

I liked to think of myself as the girl with the itsy bitsy teeny weeny red, white and blue bikini. Yeah, that was me. And my mother wasn't really that upset. I mean, it was just a pair of underpants.

I was just sorry that I had embarassed her.

Wrap-around skirts: they're not for everyone

Another in My Hall of Shame series. The Hall is not just about being embarassed. It's also about some shameful things I've done in my life. Things I'm not very proud of, but they've always made an amusing story. And you all know I'm all about the stories.

Back in the early 80's, before I had my children, I worked for a woman who was a very, oh let's just say, a very difficult person. Just in case she ever reads this blog, I shouldn't mention her name, but I highly doubt she'd ever read this blog, so Ok, her name was Sara. She and her husband ran a monthly horse publication out of their home in PA and they hired me from a daily newspaper where I was employed. We used to do their production work for the horse publication, so I knew Sara and respected her. It's probably why I was one of the few people who got along with her. I was really good at what I did and we respected each other.

And so I went to work for her exclusively. And ended up staying there for years until I just couldn't take her anymore. But for a long time, I was the one constant in that office and saw many people come and go. I saw young girls leave her office in tears, one broke out in hives, the rest quit, and I'm making her out to be like Josie at C'est La Vie's Black Widow Spider. Actually, that would have been an apt term for dear Sara, but I saw another side of her. I saw a generous soul who loved having a good time. She always took us to Longwood Gardens at the holidays. She took us out to dinner after we put the paper to bed every now and then. The other girls said it was because she didn't have any other friends, but I didn't care. We went to nice places and laughed and ate and drank. And Sara was always fun to be with when she drank. But I digress.

I didn't care that she was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth and I didn't care that she acted like she was better than everyone else. I saw her break down in tears one day after me and another one of the girls gave her a beautiful grey cashmere sweater for her birthday. I liked Sara. It was what enabled me to work for someone that difficult.

Sometimes, though, Sara could be very mean. Not to me, but she was mean over the phone and mean to the young girls that worked for her. And to heavy people. Sara really didn't tolerate overweight people very well. She had two huge dobermans who used to follow her around everywhere. They ate everything and anything. One of them had a particular affectation for socks. The smellier the better. You could always tell when a sock had been consumed because the office smelled like a giant fart for the entire day. Oh, my. And one particular day, I was feeling like I was having enough of Sara. And her dobermans that stunk to high heavens. And this is where the shameful part came in.

Sara sauntered into the office at the end of the day in another of her wrap-around skirts and halter tops. She must have been in her late 40's at that point, but she was very petite and in excellent shape. A handsome woman. But her fashion sense was always a bit off. Halter tops and wrap-around skirts had gone out years before, but she was still wearing them. She announced, quite curtly I might add, that she was on her way to the Longwood Service Station to have her car worked on. She'd be back after we'd left for the day, so she was saying goodbye and giving us a list of things she wanted us to accomplish while she was gone. I saw her turn around in the skirt and well, imagine my surprise at her having picked out a skirt that didn't quite make it all the way around. There was a huge gap and I could see that today she was wearing pink underwear. I said, "excuse me, Sara?" to which she turned around and with quite a rude tone to her voice, said, "what? I'm in a hurry!"

And that's when I did something shameful. I simply said, "well, I just wanted to um, to say goodbye."

"Oh, goodbye then", she said. And with that, she turned around, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door with the dogs at her heels. We giggled for the rest of that hour, imagining the service attendants at Longwood having an absolute field day with the open-gapped wrap-around skirt and pink bikini brief combo, complete with the halter top and no bra look. It must have been a banner day for them at the garage that afternoon. For me, I quickly faxed my old boss at the newspaper to tell him what had just happened. Fax machines had just come out back then and it was such a fun way to communicate. Besides, I knew he'd get a kick out of the story. He told everyone in the composing room and they, in turn, told everyone in the news room. It was really not nice of me.

Like I said, it was shameful of me. And if she had said "what?" nicely instead of that awful sneering way she said it, I would have told her something on the lines of I see London, I see France, I see Sara's . . . well, you get the picture. Really, I would have. You know, it's weird. I don't think she ever realized how she was dressed that day. And it's always been one of my favorite Sara stories to tell!

Chance Encounter in My Hall of Shame

This doe doesn't have anything to do with this tale. She's an innocent who simply stirred up a memory today.

I took this photo of her with my old Sony Cybershot while visiting Shenandoah National Park last summer. The deer are pretty tame there, and if you've never been, you really need to visit the Skyline Drive that runs through the Blue Ridge Mountains next time you're in Virginia. But I digress.

I do that alot.

What this story is about has to do with the fact that we all do things that are just downright embarassing sometimes. And the memory I had today was no exception. Even though there wasn't anyone around to see, there COULD have been and then it would have been much worse . . .

A few years back, I was walking our former dog, Ralph, in the woods. Like George, Ralph was also a fine specimen of a border collie and he did love his walks. Although he was getting on in years, he still had a bit of a spring in his step. We were returning from a long walk and were still about a mile from our house. As anyone who takes long walks after drinking several cups of coffee knows, a person sometimes has to use the facilities. And when there are none to be found, we must make do in the woods. For the menfolk, this is easy. But we ladies have to find the right place. I quickly found my ladies room right next to a fence, at the edge of a stand of trees, but hidden. What I didn't know at the time was that I was actually right on top of one of the myriad paths that deer use regularly through the fields and the woods.

When I was finished, and still crouching down, I heard a crashing noise. It was getting louder and coming straight my way. I quickly thought about getting up and getting out of there, maybe backing into the trees, but in heaven's name, I'm glad I didn't. As I sat crouched (sorry for the mental picture, people) what happened next was shocking. A huge buck with a big rack BOUNDED right over top of me and went right over the fence and just. Kept. Going. It happened in an instant and probably took all of 5 seconds from the first time I'd heard the noise in the woods. And I had been sitting right smack in the middle of his path over the fence and he didn't see me until it was too late. If I had stood up, that buck would have crashed right into me.

I would have been knocked unconscious. Or killed!

And they would have found me there. With my jeans pulled down to my ankles.

I'm so glad I didn't stand up . . .

The things I remember sometimes!

This is another in a series of Hall of Shame posts, and regular readers of this blog will remember my other crazy stories. But this is a story that's not really about anything shameful that I did, well, other than to permit my two very young sons to watch a rather dark little Disney movie.

But let me begin.

When my sons were very small, aged 3 and 5, we lived on a huge Dutch Warmblood farm in southern Chester County. My husband was the broodmare manager and it was the biggest and most prestigious farm we'd been on at the time. We lived in a cottage and it was quite a perfect existence, taking walks in the woods with the boys, visiting a little waterfall, having their friends over for visits. Oh, and there was a cat in the barn who had just had kittens. I remember that the farm wanted us to catch the momma cat so we could take it to get fixed, so we were looking for homes for her 3 kittens.

We ended up taking a sweet, beautiful long-haired kitten. We took her home that evening and ended up having friends over for dinner the following night. We had dinner and settled down in the living room to play with their new baby and talk. We were also planning on watching a Disney movie that I'd rented that afternoon.

During the short amount of time that we had the new kitten in our lives, it had taken to sitting in a chair we called the Cuddle Chair. It was a big recliner, big enough for me to sit in with 2 little boys at either side, hence the name. This is where the visiting dad was sitting after dinner that evening when he got up to get something to drink from the kitchen. As he rose from the chair, he noticed what looked like a little fluff of fur next to the arm of the chair and was shocked to find that the kitten had been snuggled up in the little space between the cushion and the arm of the chair.

This person was further horrified to find that the kitten had suffocated, and that he had been the cause of her demise. He was beside himself at what he had done, inadvertent as it was. I played it down because, after all, I told him, it was just a kitten, please don't be upset and anyone could have done it. How could he have seen her sitting there? I hadn't even seen her! She was practically the same color as the chair. He felt awful and could not shake it and the family ended up leaving early. I really did feel badly for them.

As an aside to this story, this family gave us another kitten who we ended up loving and having for years. But let's get back to that fateful evening, before I begin to digress all over the place.

I downplayed the kitten's death and told my boys that it was a simple mistake. If I recall properly, there were no tears, only surprise. Before the family left, I had taken the kitten out of the room and put her in the laundry basket, covered with a soft towel. I intended to give her a proper burial the following day, and the boys were all for that.

The movie I had rented for the evening was "The Three Lives of Thomasina" which, given the current circumstances, seemed like a good choice in retrospect. The boys ended up loving the movie, as did I. It had a popular cat about town that everyone loved, a grumpy dad who was a vet, a beautiful witch, and it was very British and had a happy ending. We all went to bed content and nobody seemed at all upset with the events that had occurred earlier.

Imagine my surprise the next morning when I came downstairs to find my young boys not only already up, but both of them sitting in the cuddle chair and on their laps was (you saw this coming, didn' t you?) THE DEAD KITTEN. They were both stroking it, and it was stiff as a board and my eldest said to me, "We thought that maybe this kitten would come back from the dead like Thomasina did, mommy." My little one was gently rubbing its ear.

I didn't make a big fuss about what they'd done. I remember kneeling down and petting it and telling them that it doesn't work that way. Only in the movies do things like this happen. This kitten was dead and we were going to bury it this morning, and I gently removed the dead animal from their laps. And a burial is what we ended up doing right away. My husband, however, loved telling this story at work or to anyone who would listen. It was quite the laughing matter among his co-workers on the farm.

It's just one of those things that happen and I don't know what made me think of it this morning while I was driving to work. Sometimes I remember the oddest things . . .

UPDATE: Rich at work tells me he had to read this twice. He can't believe I posted it. I need to tell you that the guy who sat in the chair was a skinny young guy. The kitten was very small and was apparently sleeping between the arm of the chair and the cushion; there was a little space there. It did not struggle, or he didn't feel it. It's a sad story, and I apologize. But it's a weird story, too, and you know I'm weird, right? I was totally freaked when I got up and found the dead kitten on my sons' laps! But I didn't want them to know, so I played it cool and gently took it away from them. It's all everyone on the farm talked about for weeks, because it was sort of crazy.

(photos courtesy Disney studios)

My Hall of Shame

An old friend e-mailed me today, and among other things told me about something really embarassing that had just happened to her. She was really shaken up about it. I told her to look at my post today because we all have those moments. And that someday, she can laugh about it. Really, looking back on one of my most memorable shameful moments, it doesn't seem like that big of a deal to me now. 


I had been camping with my family, down in Ocracoke NC and we were packing to leave for home. I was pulling out tent stakes, big wooden ones, because we were camped in the dunes by the beach. But that last stake was a tough one and when I finally got it out of the ground, I felt my back twinge. By the time we got up to the ferry and were waiting for it to arrive, I had to take a couple of Tylenols. We had 8 hours of driving ahead of us and I was driving the VW Beetle and my husband was in our VW Eurovan. My back twinged and hurt all the way home, but I turned up the AC and turned on the heated seat and that seemed to help. That night, I found that I couldn't lie down in bed to sleep, not in any position. I had to sit on the couch to sleep. The second day, it only got worse and well, to make a long story short, I called my friend Mary who told me I had to go to her chiropractor. Immediately. 


I'd never been to one before and wasn't sure what to expect. I called and made an emergency appointment because by now I was in such pain and just wanted relief. Mary told me, "I need to warn you. My chiropractor is really handsome", she said. "He's excellent; it's just that he's really gorgeous. I wanted you to be prepared for that." At the time, I couldn't have cared less. I hurt so bad. It took me over an hour to get to his place, and I had gotten the first appointment in the morning. When I went in, I had totally forgotten what Mary had told me about his looks. But when he came out of his office, OMG, Mary was not lying. 


This guy was George Clooney wrapped up in a white doctor coat. And he was the nicest man. I was practically in tears because of my back. After he took x-rays and found that my back was all twisted, he had me lie sideways on the table. I'm sure that if you've been to a chiropractor, you've had this done. He told me to cross my arms over my chest and move my one leg up to them and then take a deep breath and let it out. And that I shouldn't worry, this wouldn't hurt. I took my breath and let it out and he cracked my back so well, and (and this is my shameful part) I let out the biggest fart I had ever experienced in my life. Oh God, I was mortified. I mean, it was huge. Like a man fart. I could have cried. 


But bless him, this wonderful man, he told me that this sort of thing happens all the time. He said it's natural for it to happen and it meant I was really relaxed. I felt a little better. Still mortified, though. I went to 3 more appointments and at the last one, he told me that I should do 3 exercises each day. He demonstrated each exercise, even getting down on the floor for one of them. Afterward, when he asked me if I had gotten all that, I don't know what demon inside me said that no, I hadn't. I just wanted to see him do them again. So I asked if he could repeat them, really quickly. 


While this handsome doctor was doing those exercises again, I was thinking to myself, "I am a bad, bad person for making him do this." But I knew I'd never see him again and well, I just wanted to see him do those exercises one more time . . . 


So, to my friend who had the bad day . . . does this make you feel just a little bit better? I am a shameless farting hussy. And I'm saying it out loud for all to hear. And people, don't judge me. If you had seen this guy, and he had asked you if you needed to see those exercises one more time, you may have done the same thing I did.

A soupcon of this, a soupcon of that

I thought I’d throw in another vocabulary word today that Rich doesn’t know. For those who don’t know, or are new to this blog, Rich is my co-worker and he used to be my biggest fan. I’m not sure he’s my biggest fan anymore, but I’m ok with that. He’s the one who suggested I put a site counter on my blog just over a year ago after I’d been blogging a couple of months. He loves the funny stories about my American flag underwear, me accidentally farting in my handsome chiropractors face, and all the hall of shame posts I’ve done. But I think his favorite is the one where I explained my hatred of flies. And you won’t believe this, but I got an e-mail from a company today who wanted to link their powerful fly killing insecticide to that very post.

I think it’s hilarious. I also think this industrious little squirrel is hilarious. He thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips just because he’s figured out how to shimmy down the rope to get to the bird seed.

I also think I love my hairdresser. Yes, I do love my hairdresser. And I love the salon I’ve been going to since last December. It’s a fantastic place and they make me feel like I’m somebody. I mean, I already know I’m somebody, but they’re so great there. The wine is also good, and I promise I only had one (large) glass. I also love the shampoo girl. She gives a head massage and I’m always afraid I’m going to start groaning. Sort of.

I also love a nice hot bowl of Campbell’s tomato soup after a long drive home from the hair salon on 95 in the pouring rain. I love Progresso soups, too but we didn’t have any in the cupboard tonight.

Remember my stovetop from 1968? Well, last week another burner went. My husband took it apart but we’re pretty sure they don’t make the parts for this one anymore. So he went out to the WalMart and bought this handy little number for only $35. We can use any pot we want on it and we now have four burners. Life is good.

Sorry this post was all over the place but it’s a soupcon full of a lot of things. There you go, Rich. A link for you.

Until tomorrow, dear friends . . .

A faux pas in the school parking lot

Long-time readers of this blog may remember my posts about embarrassing things that have happened to me. I call them my Hall of Shame. I really don’t see what’s wrong with asking your handsome chiropractor to show you again the exercises he wants you to do daily. It was nice watching him do them the first time, and since they involved bending over, when he asked if I ‘got all that’, I lied and told him no. And asked if he could please do the first two exercises again?

He looked like George Clooney. And although I don’t condone lying, I do condone saying yes to something pleasurable. As long as nobody gets hurt, you know?

I’ve also written about my star-spangled underpants and the subsequent emergency room trip as a teenager, farting in that same handsome chiropractor’s face, and a former boss who had a wrap-around skirt that didn’t have quite enough fabric.

All these posts can be found [here], if you’re that interested.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, this is yet another embarrassing situation for me and I’m writing it here because I enjoy making fun of myself. Besides, it made my husband laugh out loud when I told him this afternoon.

This morning, as I was coming down the road that leads to school, the radio station I was listening to queued up an old tune from the Allman Brothers Band, Southbound. If you’ve never heard it before, there’s a link to YouTube, but let me warn you, the song is almost 10 minutes long. It’s a classic Southern rock ballad and when we were young, my husband and I absolutely LOVED the Allman Brothers. My husband saw them play in ‘73 at Watkins Glen, along with the Grateful Dead and The Band. (We started dating in ‘76).

I have good acoustics in my Honda Element, so I cranked it up, turned into the long driveway to the prestigious private school where I work, and let the music overtake me.

When I finally pulled into my appointed parking spot out back, parents were dropping off their children in car line and teachers were arriving and getting out of their cars. I left the car running so I could hear some more of the song and maybe it was because I was feeling so good, maybe it was the fantastic memories the song brought back and maybe it was because it was just damn good music, but I totally. Rocked. Out. To. this song.

I played the air drums on my steering wheel. I rocked my head back and forth, and I’m sure I looked like an insane person but I didn’t really think anyone was looking. And for some crazy reason, I didn’t think anyone could hear how loud I was playing my car stereo.

And then, there was a knock on my window.

I jumped! It was my co-worker, Rich, who handles car line in the morning. He opened the door and was laughing at this point, and asked me if I was ok.

Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I was so embarrassed. I got out of the car and parents were waving, co-workers were laughing, my friend Rich was telling them that he thought I was having some sort of seizure because, you know, I’d been in the hospital a couple weeks ago. Maybe I was having an attack of some kind.

I am usually very ladylike and I never rock out to music in public. Well, not anymore, but this song just took me back and sounded so damn good in my car that I wanted to listen to it just a little longer.

I think it’s my haircut and color. Because it really does rock.

Yeah, that’s probably it!

Until tomorrow, my friends . . .

PS ~ Thanks for all the wonderful comments on my husband's (er, George's) photography yesterday. If I read him some of the comments, he'll get all embarrassed, and we can't have that.

Rock on.

Things are looking up

Thanks for all the comments on My Hall of Shame. It's nice to know you're not alone when embarassment comes a-calling. Meanwhile, go ahead and take a guess at the Weekend Guessing Game if you have the time. Maybe it really isn't too easy. Try to remember that these things are items that would be found in nature; they haven't been tampered with and are in their natural state. They are things that most people would have seen at least once in their lives, even if they live in a city. Hey, there's parks out there! Have a great Saturday.