I think deep down most people have at least some kind of desire to make a name for themselves--to leave a legacy, however small-reaching it may be. From the pharaohs of Egypt to the everyday Joe just trying live life in the best way he can imagine--we're all hoping we'll be remembered for something.
Even though I haven't been writing much lately, I've been meditating on why I write--who I'm writing for. And the answer invariably comes down to my children. I write so they can look back and see what their life was like before their little brains were capable of forming coherent memories. This is really the only legacy I'm consciously leaving behind; our story. So, I'm writing and I'll be back-dating a lot of events from this early Spring because I don't want to lose them. I've had a bit of writer's block these past months...most of which I attribute to a rude Viennese waiter who threw me completely off balance, but to be honest, my lack of writing has had a lot to do with the weather--first the unforgivable snow and then the glorious weather that soon followed.
My bi-polar emotions have not boded well for my writing. But, now I'm back...because I realized in all my brainstorming that something has been missing from this space. My real legacy has yet to be documented. And by this, I mean, the legacy of The Willian. I want my kids to know what life was like when they were little, but I also want them to know where I've come from. The real me is not pulled-together and soulful. I am messy and unhinged and more than a little uncoordinated. So, without further ado, I introduce you to The Willian's top three clumsy moments in reverse chronological order:
Incident #1: The scene? The illustrious (for Springfield, MO) University Plaza Hotel circa 2006, where I am a (really super important) PM supervisor at the front desk. Sometimes they let me wear a radio and carry an enormous set of keys...mostly the perks are getting the night chefs to cook me whatever I want for dinner. (these guys loved me so much they made me a funnel cake and a root beer float for my "last supper") So, you get the picture. Narcissistic Willian is kind of a big deal at the old University Plaza.
A lot of days at this job are nightmares--it's a convention hotel where there is commonly a complete turnover of the hotel in one day--meaning over two hundred people checking out and the same number checking in that same evening. The sales team routinely oversells the hotel, leaving the front desk to MacGyver their way through most evenings, fitting square pegs into round holes. For the most part, the front desk staff feels like a fleet of bad-asses, getting the harried job done and doing it with flair. On the flip side, there are rare periods of time when people just aren't booking conventions and events...nights when the only sound in the hotel is the rushing waterfall in the atrium. Absolute bliss. It was on one of these nights when I was manning the desk solo that I stumbled (quite literally) into a classic Willian flub.
Because playing solitare and repeatedly changing the genre of music playing in the atrium just weren't doing it for me any more, I was in the midst another of the Willian's favorite pastimes, namely: staring into space vacantly...likely thinking about bunnies or something else furry and adorable. Subconsciously I had angled one of my feet over the other and was flipping my slip-on shoe on and off my heel. I could have been holding this particular attitude for an hour...God only knows. But, suddenly the revolving front door was moving and it appeared that one of my eleven check-ins for the night had arrived. Rapture! No sooner had the man rounded the bend to the front desk than I attempted to saunter down the long desk to meet him at the nearest console. I plastered a smile on my face, shifted to the left, and realized much too late that my shoe had caught on the corner of the slightly-open bottom drawer near my feet. I proceeded to fall to the floor in a motion that can only be described as felling a tree--stiff as a board, uttering only a muffled, unintelligible grunting cry as I disappeared from view.
From the perspective of the guest, one moment I was there and the next I was gone. I'd imagine the loud *whump* and grunting/dying animal sounds that accompanied my fall (if not the sight of my fingers clawing back up the desk) clued him in. But, ever the professional, I bounded back to my feet and pretended nothing had happened. I am nothing, if not fleet of mind...but certainly not fleet of foot.
Which brings me to incident #2: In my freshman year of college I was prevailed upon to take one last Math class before moving on to the rank of people who have no practical use for the pythagorean theorem. This class was the bane of my existence--something that had to be endured three hours a week. So, imagine the giddy joy I felt when our professor dismissed class fifteen minutes early one lovely Spring day. As I attempted to reconcile what was usually a mind-numbingly depressed exit from that building in the Quad with my suddenly joyous countenance, I turned the wrong way out of class and left through the grand front facade of the math building instead of the side exit. As I walked outside, my spirits lifted even higher; I discovered the sun was shining with nary a cloud in the sky. I drank in the blinding sunlight and was planning which patch of grass on campus would soon be graced with my presence during those precious extra fifteen minutes, as I skipped down the shallow steps...and then the world fell out from under my feet.
Or rather, I misjudged where the last step before a plateau in the staircase had been. Yet again, like a great falling oak, uttering a surprised; "Aaaaccckkk!", I was propelled forward, arms flailing, flat onto my face. I imagine the momentum of my incredibly heavy backback only aided both the speed and certainty of my decent...and that same hefty weight, pinned to my back, left me feeling like I was trapped under a boulder. I have no idea how long I flailed about, displaying my general lack of upper body strength, muttering obscenities, until my brain engaged and informed my body that I could roll over on my side and slip out of the behemoth lump that had me pinned to the ground.
Like a turtle, I flopped over onto my back, pulled my arms free and as I rose from the ground, dusting myself off, I realized that the Quad had not been entirely deserted as I observed from the top of the stairs. There, at the foot of the math building, stood a solitary bystander, his face frozen in confused horror. In hindsight I probably should have just introduced myself as "Willian", but I'm pretty sure I just plucked my backpack from the ground and acted as cool as someone with dirt on her face possibly could. She's a sophisticated lady, that Wilian...
Which is probably why I have this third and last story in my book: Top clumsy moment #3. Most people don't hit their peak in High School, but, given the circumstances, I don't see how I could have risen any further. I was a person of note in High School, mostly because I was one of three girls who could see the tops of the remainder of the collective student body's heads. But, in addition to my super-awesome awkward height I was also a confirmed nerd by all standards. No, really. Like, Band-President-on-the-robotics-team nerdy. And if that weren't enough, I was also big into theater. I took drama class and even attended drama camp in the summer. I supported and performed for the community theater and, of course, performed in every school-orchestrated play.
So, it wasn't at all surprising that I was involved in a performance of the play "Spring Break" my Junior year. This play was just one in a hundred of your typical high school play scripts. I'm assuming the reason we bought "Spring Break" was because we wanted to spend as little money as possible, knowing everyone's parents would still pay the price of admission. So, I found myself landing a really small supporting role with something like five lines. I spent most of my time during rehearsals in the dressing room, applying layer upon layer of stage makeup and curling my hair.
A few nights before our first public performance, things had reached a fever pitch...as they tend to do when there are haggard mothers and unappreciated teachers trying to direct an unruly crowd of hormonal teenagers through one of the world's worst stage productions. The director had lost all patience with our lot and declared that we were in full no-nonsense dress rehearsal mode. Anyone who missed their cue would be the one who made us stop and begin again from the top.
No one wants to be that guy.
So, I was actually trying to listen to the monitor in the dressing room as I obsessively rolled my hair in my curling iron for the um-teenth time...and I realized my cue (the male lead receiving a pie in the kisser) was coming up much sooner than I thought. In a frantic hurry, I threw down my curling iron, and beat feet from the dressing room on stage left to my entrance on the opposite side. The problem in the mix, however, was the combination of my utterly insensible footwear and a gorilla in my way. No, seriously. In the pitch black, back stage, a kid in a gorilla costume was standing with his back to me. He heard my sandals schlepping and stomping at a frantic pace and chose to leap out of the way...which, incidentally, turned out to be *in* my way. The two of us collided, hurtled and rolled down the corridor as my knee slammed into the hard wood floor, taking the brunt of our last catastrophic roll...I could've stopped to make sure my limbs were all in operating order...or maybe just to cry because it REALLY hurt. But instead, I muttered something I later had to apologize for to gorilla boy and hobbled towards stage right as fast as humanly possible.
THE SHOW MUST GO ON!! Panting, disheveled and smudged, I limped frantically onto stage just as my schoolmate took a pie in the face. The two of us made eye contact and then burst into hysterical laughter. I'm pretty sure the physical evidence that my knee had swollen to the size of a grapefruit was the only thing that kept our poor, beleaguered director from following through on her word to start back from the top. The show went on. In the end, our parents suffered through two hours of that performance that they will never get back...and I spent my remaining time in the dressing room elevating and icing my knee. Ten years later, I still have no feeling in my right kneecap thanks to a man in a gorilla costume and my general Willian-ness.
So that's it, friends and neighbors. A little extra-special glance into the inner-workings (er...disfunctionings?) of The Willian--one of my favorite aspects of my personality. If I am remembered for anything, I hope it will be that I was anything but perfect...and that sometimes being less than perfect can be the best.
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