Several of you have commented that you'd like to hear the story of how I accidentally walked in on a donkey show. And I really want to tell you. But I can't tell you here. I'm going to try to write that story up elsewhere today, so if you'd like to read it, shoot me an email (ishineoutloud [at] gmail [dot] com) and I'll send you the link when the story is posted.
Today, at shine out loud, however, I'm going to tell you about a rather embarrassing incident that happened to me quite a few years ago (Read: TEN). You'll recall that I used to work at Kohl's Department Store. If you click to go read that, I'm sorry. Really, I am. But if I had to deal with it, I feel like it would be wrong of me to keep it from you.
I had to dress up for work in the department store, which usually meant I was annoyed and uncomfortable. I had one pair of shoes, however, that looked dressy enough, but had these giant rubber-ish soles, so they were really comfy. Look, it was 1999 or something. Trust me, they were cute at the time. Kind of like this:
I was forced to wear pantyhose at this job. Much like Lemmonex isn't interested in working in a place that will make her remove her nose stud, I am not interested in working in a place that will force me to wear pantyhose. EVER AGAIN. They are the most horrifyingly uncomfortable things I've ever had to wear. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with my legs. Hell, they make pantyhose to look like legs, anyway. Why not just put my legs right on out there? Sexist bastards.
And if you're about to tell me that you've worn pantyhose all your life, and they're not uncomfortable, hear this: That's the pantyhose talking. You've been brainwashed.
That was quite a detour, but I think it was a necessary one.
On the day in question, I was wearing a sheer lavender shirt with a white cami underneath, an A-line skirt, pantyhose, and the aforementioned Mary Jane shoes. I had to be at work right after lunch, which happened to be a really busy time for the main street in my 'hood.
On my way to work, I noticed I had almost no gas, so I stopped at a 7-11 right off the main drag. I pulled my car up to the gas pump (there was only one) and turned off my engine.
Now, I should explain that the gas pump had those concrete barriers around it to make sure that if someone crashes into the ends of the pump, they don't take out the pump itself. Sometimes these consist of giant concrete poles, but these were little concrete half walls. They came up to about my thigh.
I got out of my car, walked over to the pump station, and did the whole paying thing. As I reached for the handle of the pump itself and started turning toward my car, my shoes sort of...tripped me up. They stayed in their current position, while my body tried to make a 180 degree turn. You can imagine that this didn't really go over very well, especially when you consider how clumsy I am already.
I toppled over backward and landed, wedged in between the concrete half-wall barrier and the pump station. Hard. Unable to move my hips and wriggle out hard. Legs up in the air arms flailing hard.
All this time, mind you, there are cars on the road right next to me. Stopped at the traffic light. People were laughing and honking and cat-calling (as everyone could now see up my skirt).
I managed to brace with my hands against the concrete and the pump station, twist my hips, and get my feet on the ground. When I finally got myself into a standing position, which took quite a bit of effort, there were about 15 cars of faces staring at me, not to mention everyone inside the 7-11 and everyone in the parking lot.
My pantyhose were ripped (Oh, darn!), my shirt was torn and smudged with black, and I had huge bruises on my arms and legs. I. Was. Not. Happy. And having a bunch of people hollering (What? I'm from Tennessee. It's a word.) at me wasn't helping.
Also, in the melee, my gas cap flew out of my hand or off my car or whatever. The point? It was lost. I had no idea where it was, so I started looking around for it. Some guy in the parking lot said, "Hey! Hey. Lady!"
I turned and gave him my best bitch look. I really didn't need any more comments from the peanut gallery. "Look. I've had enough, okay? So just keep your fucking comments to yourself, asshole."
He looked at me, sort of taken aback, and said, "Um. I think it's over there." He was pointing at my gas cap.
I felt like a jerk. I was late for work. And my pantyhose were ripped!