Trick or Treat I Smelled My Feet

Quote of the blog:

Ty overheard this exchange between a young boy and his dad as they biked through the park.

Boy: It smells bad here!

Dad: What does it smell like?

Boy: Smells like a lot of feet!

****

My embarrassing interactions with men know no international boundaries.

I spent the month of July working on a summer program for 13-16 year-olds in Oxford. One student, Nima from CA, came a day before the program started. He had purchased a UK phone and called my mobile so I’d have his number. After hanging out in the office for a while he went to his room. That evening all the staff was hanging out together in the office when a dean came in and said that he’d knocked on Nima’s door and he didn’t answer. I said we might have to commence “Operation Finding Nima!”

I hadn’t saved his number but simply scrolled down to the last unknown number in my phone and dialed. The conversation went like this:

Me: “Hi, is this Nima?”

Through some background noise I heard: “Yes.”

Me: Ok, great, this is Brook. I just wanted to let you know that we’re in the office and we’re going to play some games tonight if you wanna come by. Oh, we also get a hot breakfast in the morning at 8:30am if you want to join us.

Nima, enthusiastically: That sound great! Can you text me the address?

Me, confused since he was at the address: Sorry, did you ask if I can text you the address?

Nima: Yes, can you text me the address.

Me, slightly panicked realization: I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong number?

And hung up. Everyone started laughing and wanted to know whom I had called. Me, “I don’t know! I thought I called Nima!”

At this moment my phone rang. It was “Nima” calling back. I answered:

Me: Hello?

Nima (who I realized definitely sounded my age and, well, British): Hi, you just called me and invited me to games and breakfast. I didn’t get the address.

Me: Um, is this NIMA?

Nima: What? No, this is Terry!

Me: Terry, I’m so sorry, I called the wrong number.

Terry (sounding quite disappointed): Oh. Oh, I see.

I hung up again and everyone laughed. Understandably! I was blushing with embarrassment. I scrolled through my phone and there was, indeed, another missed call from earlier in the day when Nima had phoned me - who, it turned out, was a heavy sleeper and had slept through the dean's door-knocking.

When I woke up the next morning I already had a text: “Morning Brook! Are we still on for breakfast? Xxx Terry.” It was from one of the Program Assistants that hadn’t even been there the night before!

Luckily no unexpected guests showed up at breakfast. Although Jeremy, a dean, told me had he thought of it before eating he would have found someone on the street and paid him £5 to come into the dining hall, sit across from me and introduce himself as Terry.

If that had been the only embarrassing man-moment this summer it wouldn’t have been so bad. But, there was one other quite memorable mortifying moment.

My office in Oxford is also my bedroom. It’s a large long room with windows at either end. The back window is barred and opens up into the small car park for Jesus and Corpus Christi Colleges. The front window opens onto the main quad at Corpus Christi. Often, when my front window was open, people wouldn’t even come into the office we’d just chat through the window. Since it's ground level and people can see in, the bottom panes of the window were frosted although some previous occupant had scraped the bottom two inches or so of film off. So, if someone were to peer into those two inches they could see into my room – which people sometimes did: to see if I was as they knocked on the window so I would come open it or open the door to the staircase where my office is.

One of our admin team this summer was named Dave. Students had quite a few nicknames for him but for this story I’ll stick with Handsome Dave. The students would talk about how tall and handsome he is, how he plays ice hockey and is funny and is on the Oxford Exploration Society and has golden eyes and on and on and on. Admittedly, he is handsome but some of these girls would actually swoon and giggle when he walked by. Hilarious. One student even asked Rodina, a Program Assistant, “How do you get any work done with him in the office? He’s sooooooooo hot.” Rodina threw her hands up and answered, “He’s just a man!”

One Sunday I had just gotten back from church and was still in my dress. For religious reasons I don’t work Sundays; which means on these days I usually don’t hang out in the office or with the staff/admin because I end up working and this Sunday was no exception. I had about twenty minutes before Wendy Dailey from iSanctuary was scheduled to speak on Human Trafficking and I really wanted to attend (it was phenomenal!). I decided to read until I needed to leave. I sat at the back window - there aren’t many things better than a good window seat. I stretched my legs out on the seat, put a pillow behind my back and started reading.

Now, I don't know if you ever have these moments, but I was reading when I got a whiff of something. I stopped and gave a little sniff sniff and thought, "Do I smell something?" Maybe? I wasn’t sure. And then it went away. So I kept reading. Then I got another whiff. Sniff sniff. I looked around and outside. What is that smell? And then I looked at my feet and thought, slightly alarmed, “Do my feet stink??” I grabbed one of my feet and pulled it to my nose and gave it a big sniff. At that exact moment I heard “tap tap tap” and, foot-to-nose, I zoomed a (panicked) look across the room to see a surprised looking Handsome Dave staring through the scraped off two-inch space at the bottom of my window.

WHAT. Let’s think about this for two seconds.

1. Q. When was the last time I smelled my feet (let alone in a dress!).
A. DON”T REMEMBER, that’s how long it’s been!

2. Q. How long does it take to smell your foot? A. THREE SECONDS. That's it.

In the three seconds of me smelling my foot Handsome Dave looked through and tapped on my office window. I found myself mortified and immensely irritated at the laugh the universe was having. I think I even said out loud, “Are you kidding me right now?” Oh the timing. I would have jumped out the back window for embarrassment if it wasn't for the stupid bars. I walked across the room and opened the door for Handsome D. who looked so awkward and apologized for interrupting me and “I’m, uh, so, um, uhhh. I wanted to, uhhh, ask if I could, Um.” He just kept glancing at me every so often but was mostly looking to the side. He was quite nonplussed. And me? I was irritated at the uncanny timing of the situation but also genuinely embarrassed. Finally he asked his question, we had some awkward chitchat and then he left. My, oh my.

I was embarrassed enough that I didn’t tell anyone for three days! Three days! And that’s saying something. I almost always find embarrassing moments more funny/worth-sharing than embarrassing. I finally told Dean Courtenay who related the tale to a giggling Rodina 20 minutes later and I decided I might as well tell the story to everyone in the office.

I gathered them around and told Handsome Dave that the story involved him. He looked excited and sat down next to me, ironically(?) in the window seat in the program office. I told the tale and Dave had a great laugh. I asked, “Could you tell that’s what I was doing when peered through the window?” I almost added, "creeper" to the end of the sentence but refrained. Dave replied, “I couldn’t tell what you were doing I just knew I was interrupting an awkward position!” Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up! Had I been thinking on my feet (har har) I would have told him it was yoga and I was doing a Foot Salutation.

I would tell you if it was my feet that were smelly but I think I’ve shared enough embarrassing stories for one entry.

Is That How the Brits Spell Toilet?

QUOTE of the blog:

Yesterday I sent out a text to a few members of our British staff asking if they could take a pounds check (meaning a UK check for reimbursements); however, I didn’t see that I sent the phrase “sounds check” instead of pounds check. Kate thought I wanted her to check the sound in the DJ booth in the auditorium and Rodina couldn’t figure out quite what I meant. I told Rodina I should have written cheque. She wanted to know what a sound cheque was and I told her it meant we were going to reimburse her with verbal payment. Oddly, she declined. Had I used cheque instead of check the spelling mistake of Sounds would have been self-evident.

****

I am back in Oxford, England for just about six weeks. I realized few weeks ago that this is my seventh summer of the last ten I’ve spent in England! That is just crazy. The first three, 2003-2005, were six weeks spent with 45 college students in London (including a week in Paris). The latest times around, 2008-2011, has been for five weeks with 140 junior high students (grades 8-9). Coming back to England always brings back memories of summers prior and some of my favorite stories.

Today, walking down St. Aldate’s I saw this sign (indicating the space is for rent) and had to take a picture. It reminded me of a summer with the college students. We had one girl who was, well, not the quickest. We’d been in London for at least three weeks and she and a group of guys were walking down the street. She looked at one of the “To Let” signs (which are all over London) and said, “I’ve been wondering, ‘Why don’t the British spell toilet with an I?” The boys burst out laughing and managed to convince her for at a couple minutes that it was actually the French spelling and pronunciation of the word Toilette. I wish London had that many public toilets!

It’s funny what a differences phrases and spelling make. My first year I asked some staff of the dining hall where I might find some silverware and received puzzled looks. It wasn’t until I used the terms knife and fork that they realized what I really meant was “cutlery.” It wasn’t until later that I realized they probably thought I was referring to the extensive collection of Renaissance silver owned by Corpus Christi.

Just a few summers ago our staff and admin team were having drinks in the back garden (before the students arrived). One of our deans held out her wine glass to our drama teacher and mixed up the British phrase (top up: to fill up or top off) and said, “Simon, will you give me a touch up?” Simon stopped for a moment and said, “I don’t think I will.” Realizing what she said she turned bright red and we all had a good laugh.

Every summer abroad yields fantastic stories. I can't wait for this year. Our kids just arrived last Friday and so far everything is going smoothly (with the exception of one broken window pane). Nothing quite as exciting (yet) as my first summer here when our program was in Oriel and Corpus Christi and, on their first night, students sat down to eat in the Oriel dining hall - imagine a small version of the Harry Potter dining hall and you've got it. They were chatting and getting to know each other when, all of a sudden, a DEAD BIRD plummeted from the 50 foot ceilings and landed in the middle of the table with its little feet up in the air. It took about 3 seconds of shock before the students started screaming. The staff whisked the poor thing away a moment later. I had hoped that they would have been serving Cornish hen or some other small bird for dinner but alas, the comedy ended there. Well, actually not quite, as the Studio Art teacher asked if she could have it to draw and finished out her dinner with the small thing wrapped in napkins near her feet.

For a few other favorite study abroad stories see the March 2010 blog entry titled Loch Ness and Pumas (famous mythical creatures).

We Love Whales!

Quote of the blog:

My mom to a runner on the sidewalk (many years ago) as she drove by: “Run Sucker! Run!!”

***

Years ago, when I was in junior high and my brother Ty was in high school. My parents drove us up to Salt Lake City. We were going to pick up my sister and do some shopping. As we drove through the city we stopped at a red light and waited to make a right on South Temple to State Street. There was a gap in the pedestrians and my dad started to turn as a group of people started across the street. Most of them were on the heavy side but the couple at the front of the pack was, well, corpulent. As they walked closer to the car my Dad slowed slowed and then rolled down his window and yelled, “We love Whales! We love Whales!”

Ty and I, in dismayed horror, actually dove for the floorboards. My mom gasped and hit my dad on the arm. If I didn’t hiss, “drive! drive!” I certainly thought it. Other pedestrians looked at my dad and then the couple – who looked at my dad and smiled and waved.

We were mortified. My dad explained himself:

The evening before he had been in Salt Lake on business. As he drove out of Salt Lake towards 6^th to get on the freeway home he stopped at a Maverick gas station to fill up. As he finished a cute couple walking by stopped to ask him for directions. “Excuse me. Can you help us? We’re trying to find Zickmees.”

My dad said: “Sorry, you’re trying to find what?”

The couple: “Zickmees. The World Famous Store in Salt Lake City.”

My dad: “Zickmees?”

The couple: “Yes, Zickmees.”

My dad couldn’t figure out what they could be talking about so he asked them to spell it out. Using a napkin from his car they wrote out the name and handed it to my dad. When he saw it he started laughing. On the paper was written Z.C.M.I. pronounced: Z.C.M.I. The store was founded in 1868 by Brigham Young and was one of the first department stores in the United States (they were sold to Macy’s and Dillard’s in the late 90’s).

The couple was from Europe and my dad told them how he and my mom had lived in England and traveled around etc. He had even visited beaches near their hometown and talked about how lovely it was. They talked for at just about five minutes and my dad gave them directions to Z.C.M.I. and they walked on their way and my dad drove away on his.

The next day, when we turned the corner in downtown Salt Lake, my dad recognized the couple in the front of the tourist group as the couple looking for Zickmees the night before. He rolled down his window, and shouted out something they had in common – a love for their home country, “We love Wales! We love Wales!”

Judgment Day! Party Time!

Quote of the blog:

Text from Kayla to Brook. May 22nd, 2011 (one day after Judgment Day was predicted to happen):

Kayla: Looks like we're still here after the Rapture. I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow.

Brook: Sorry for the delayed response. It takes a while for texts to arrive from heaven.

******

We've been talking about the upcoming Judgment and the Rapture in the office for the last few weeks. We talked about the process of deciding on May 22nd as Judgment Day (I like to imagine there was an abacus involved), how the general public was reacting (not really), the posters (all over the subway), family radio (who knew there was such a following), and how and if Camping would respond Sunday (he hasn't yet). I found it all fascinating - unlike a lot of people, including Ty: "I find the whole thing quite boring."

There are just so many weird and intriguing aspects. Did you know that there are services where you can pay a company to rescue your pet after you've been Raptured? The company pays non-believers money to take care of the soulless animals left behind. I wonder how those interviews go and how one takes the implications of being hired: "Well, we figure you're going to be left behind anyway...do you mind looking after Fido?"

I had read the news and seen the Judgment Day! posters on the subway but hadn't seen any actual Believers until Friday the 13th. And they were out in force.

It was Friday, I was leaving for Boston with friends in just a few hours, and my coworker Talia and I had just left Magnolia's bakery - where we had picked up some Banana Pudding. We laughed and chatted the whole time, I was in a great mood.

On our way back to the office we passed a group of 15 or so people. They were clad in green shirts that read "Judgment Day! May 21st!" and held signs proclaiming the end of the world. Well, remember in Wayne's World how they say, "Party Time! Excellent!" Keep that tone and inflection in mind for the next bit. As we walked passed the group of people I thought, in the Wayne's World inflection and enthusiasm, "Judgment Daaaay! Party Tiiiiime!" It was about halfway through - when some of the group turned - that I realized I was using my outside voice (and not the library outside voice variety). I thought Talia was going to die - but wasn't sure if embarrassment or amusement would be the primary cause. She looked shocked but was laughing. She couldn't believe I had said it -and I couldn't either!

It was a catch phrase in the office all last week and I think I blushed every time.

As the predicted Judgment Day approached, I knew one thing for certain, after that experience I'd be a prime hire for that post-rapture pet-rescue company.

The Dog Thief

Quote of the blog –

My Aunt visited New York last weekend with her friend. We met up for dinner and a trip to see Jersey Boys on Broadway. I had heard great things about the musical but was surprised (and then not surprised considering the name) at how much swearing there was. I squirmed a few times hoping I hadn’t given my Aunt reason to question my taste. During intermission she turned to me and said, “The acting and singing are phenomenal! But you know, they could do with a few less F* words. I’m surprised they swear so much. Do they really need to say – and here she quoted a few choice phrases from the play- “That bleep, bleep, bleepity, bleeps, and bleeped, bleepity, bleep?” Then she shrugged. “Seems unnecessary to me.”

****

During dinner with my aunt last week we retold one of my all-time favorite recent family stories about her daughter Shanda Lear who is a bonds woman. I’m not joking, about the name or the job. She runs a pawnshop called Shanda’s Pawn & Bond in a small town in Missouri. I’ve kind of always been in awe of Shanda. I remember going out to MO for a family reunion when I was eight. Shanda drove a couple of my sisters, my brother, and me to the lake. She smoked, she swore, and we flew over the hilly roads to the lake blaring Joyride by Roxette (thank you Sweden) at volumes I’d never heard.

Shanda has some of the best stories. Maybe ever. Most of them are about the bail bond business, but last time we were there she told us a different kind of story. It began when Shanda and her boyfriend Phil bought a little Maltese puppy for Shanda's daughter. One quick note about Phil – the first thing I noticed was the tattoos. They’re all over his muscular arms and body. The most recent edition is a sizeable five-pointed red star on the side of his shaved head. One star-point runs longer than the rest down the length of head and stops in a sharp point at the edge of his eye. He’s intimidating. The second thing I noticed when I met him was that he was working on a painting. He’s a curious cat and, from everything I can tell, is awesome. His soft-spoken disposition is a nice compliment to Shanda’s spitfire personality.

One night, Shanda, Phil, and Sidney, who was nine at the time, had been out with their little Maltese, Angel. They stopped for dinner and left Angel in the car with the windows rolled down a few inches – they didn’t lock the door (they never have). When they came back from dinner the dog was gone. Sidney was distraught and they spent an hour in the parking lot searching for Angel – even though Shanda knew the dog had been stolen.

She put a Lost Dog posting up on Craigslist and offered a reward (the site wouldn't allow her to post that the dog was stolen). She wrote about how sad Sidney was - how she wasn’t sleeping because she had lost her puppy. A woman who bred and sold Maltese responded to the posting a few days later and said she felt so badly for Sidney she would give her a new Maltese puppy for free. So, Sidney got a brand new little puppy that they named Paris.

A few days after the arrival of Paris Shanda got an anonymous call from a woman saying that she knew who had her dog but was worried the thief might find out she had tipped them off. She said the dog had been stolen and gave Shanda an address in Springfield (about 30 miles away).

Well, Shanda planned a stakeout with Phil. They drove to the address and parked down the street a little from the house – prepared to wait all day if necessary. But they didn’t have to wait long. About twenty minutes after they parked a large woman lumbered out of the house and down the steps with Angel in her arms on a cat leash. Shanda started pushing Phil out of the car, “Go! Go get my dog back! I don’t care if you have to make out with her! Go get my dog back!”

Phil told her to stay in the car, got out, and started walking down the street like he had been walking in the neighborhood. When he reached the woman he greeted her and asked, “Do you know where Willie Mays lives?” The woman said that she didn’t know but that the name sounded familiar. Meanwhile, Phil had confirmed the dog was angel (he'd recognize the hair bow and pink painted puppy toenails anywhere). Angel had also recognized Phil. She was wagging her tail and squirming in the woman’s arms. Phil told her how cute her puppy was and asked if she would mind if he held her for a moment.

When the woman passed Angel to Phil he yanked the cat leash out of her hand and ran down the street to the car. Shanda got out of the car and started swearing and yelling at the woman as Phil was yelling, “Get in the car! Drive! Drive” while the woman on her lawn yelled, “Ramone! Ramone!” Shanda pulled down the street just as Ramone, in a wife beater, bolted out of the house and started sprinting down the street after the car as they drove away.

A moment later Shanda got a phone call. It was the informant, “Was that you? Some tattooed man just grabbed your dog and took off! If that wasn’t you, you'll never see that dog again!” The woman lived across the street and had seen the whole thing happen!

After Sidney and Angel were reunited, Shanda called the woman who had given Sidney the other puppy and offered to give it back. The woman told them to just keep her so my aunt inherited a new dog. Shanda and Phil also tracked down the location where the informant worked (via cell phone) and gave her the reward. The last time I saw Angel she was nestled in the crook of Phil’s tattooed arm, a tuft of white hair held up with a blue bow and her paws, with their dainty pink painted nails hanging over his forearm.