The Other Good Use for a Lunch Bag

Time heals all wounds they say. I guess so. I can look back on some embarrassing moments and not feel uncomfortable about them. Actually, some of them seem humorous now. Here's a small sampling of when I blew it.

Before three girls, one of whom I really liked, they handed me a pull-out car radio that wasn't working properly in the hopes I could fix it. So, I kept toying with it and felt a sneeze coming on. I thought I could sense it felt like one of those dry sneezes. The ones that feel like Alka-Seltzer has gone off inside your nose when you do it. No problems. I let the sneeze fly.

Out of my nose, came this shooting rope of snot that must've pitched and veered like one of those rope swings kids have over the local pond. I felt it finally land across my lips and could see the rest bobbing below my chin. I have to admit the girls did their best to “not notice” but c'mon! I turned my head away, wiped off the goo and just could not think of a witty comeback to prove I hadn't done this on purpose. Christ. It's amazing how situations will arise that give the perception that you're a pig.

I swear, I really did think it was going to be a dry sneeze.

I handed the radio back to the girls with the un-snotted hand and walked away. I had blown it and it was too late.

I like looking back on my life as everyone else does. You see things in a different light after you have packed on the years. When I look back at being fourteen, I realized how much childishness I still had in me and the self-centered attitude that comes with it.

June 25^th 1978 was my Mom's 48^th birthday. My brother and I had just finished dinner and we got up, plunked our plates in the sink and headed to the living room to watch the old Star Trek series. As I sat there, watching another Red Shirt get phasered to death in the first four minutes of the show, a creeping realization came over me.

“Ken...I think we forgot Mom's birthday!” I quietly whispered to him.

He then had this look of astonishment and then became red faced. We both sat there, not knowing what to do as any birthday in this house was celebrated immediately after dinner and we both had left the kitchen as if were just another day. My brother then got up, went out the front door and left in his car. I just sat there feeling if I admitted anything to her, it would only make the situation worse.

My brother came back after a twenty minutes with a Cherry & Webb $25 gift coin. He motioned to me to come up into his room to sign a card and hoped we could come back down, greet Mom in the kitchen with the one hour belated gift.

“Happy Birthday Mom!” my brother said. I was probably holding the worst poker face, all ridden with guilt as he handed it to her.

“Oh...thanks.” Mom said. As she place both items on the table and took another sip of tea.

We blew it.

You know, as I write this, I still feel a bit bad about that.

I had told you about the time I vomited in a restaurant, so I'll skip that one.

You want the truth out of me? Then pour vodka in to my mouth. That works each time.

My parents were not on easy terms with every neighbor and the DiMeo's were enemies to be hated. Since I was the son, I aped my Dad's views on them as well. I have written about this a long while back so I won't go into the battles fought.

When I was a teen, major snowstorms on weekday nights were great because I was assured that school would be canceled the next day. It would be for all of us and that meant it was a party night! We'd find a runner to get us some cheap Popov vodka and we hung out, in the near blizzard getting soused. We roamed from friend's house to friend's house, getting thrown out of most, trying to have some fun. We finally made it to Gails' house when we saw Gail and this other girl standing out in the driveway, watching the storm. Gail's house was across from the DiMeo's.

Now the two girls were bundled up like Eskimos but only Gail was talking. I could recognize her from her face and the voice. I didn't recognize the other girl as she was silent and wrapped up in hats, scarves and what not.

I then turned around and saw the DiMeo's house and launched into a drunken tirade against the parents there. I laid it on pretty heavily when Gail, asked me if I knew who was the girl standing next to her.

I didn't.

“Ron! That's Charlene!”

“Oh...Shit.” I thought to myself. I know exactly who this is. There was only ONE Charlene I knew at all and it was Charlene DiMeo, the only daughter of the Evil Parents my Dad disliked.

Yeah, I tried to take back all I said with my best self effacing ways. It's of no use when you're gooned on cheap booze and you over act your part as most drunks do.

As Jimmy pulled me away to go to his house, I could overhear Gail and Charlene say, “Asshole...Yeah, ain't he though?” As walked further away there was a louder, “Fuck YOU!” aimed at me and it wasn't Gail's voice. I could recognize the other one clearly now.

In all fairness, I had nothing against Charlene at all as she had NEVER wronged me in any way.

I blew it again.

This next one is very intimate and personal. Well, screw it, I'm a roll...I'll just come out and say it.

I was fucking Pamela (obviously not her real name) when she asked me something. I really didn't hear her and I responded with a, “Huh? What?” She never repeated her question. The next morning, I remembered she had asked me something so I asked her what it was.

She said dryly, “I had asked you if you loved me.”

Deep inside my brain a loud alarm went off with an , “UH-OH!”

I said nothing. What could I say to correct a faux pas like that?

Well, I now have to defend my half of the race. Girls, NO conversations please! We boys don't want to think. We can't think as we are so incredibly wrapped up in the totality of sex. It's overwhelming to us. Our entire focus is absorbed by it and having Q&A sessions will not work!

“Huh? What?” I have to admit that's the funny now that I look back on it. She may still be miffed by it though.

I still blew it though.

I'm going to end this here as a lot of other examples are cropping up. Jesus...if I can think up this many times I looked the fool, put my foot in my mouth or otherwise tripped over my feet and fell flat on my face...what the hell are you going to think of me?

Ok, one more. And I'm not alone in doing this.

Typing class, 8^th grade in Goff Jr High. We're all typing away to the tapping rhythm of Mr Travese's ruler as he dictated the letters. “G-H-G!” “A-B-C” We'd type out as best as we could and the sound of twenty badly worn Smith Corona typewriters filled the room with a factory like clatter.

When that little exercise was over, it became quiet again. I could feel a fart trying to escape me but I had managed to block the bugger. I had then shifted in my chair when the thing slipped by my defenses and announced it's birth into the classroom rather audibly. Mr Travese then turned his head to me. Of course, I couldn't deny anything as my face went red as a beet. Sandra, a girl sitting in the next row, gave me a look like I had stomped on her pet kitten. Johnny behind me snickered. Our class clown, Mark, grabbed his throat and groaned like he was a WW1 soldier choking to death during a mustard gas attack.

“Aright, Mark...Cut it out!” Mr Travese bellowed.

I sat there, feeling as if every single human being on the Earth was looking at me. Ah well, these things happen.