Getting “Busted” at Work

There is a shop in the city in which I work that specializes in women’s lingerie, specifically the foundational type. I am a customer of this establishment, where one can be fitted by experts. The products are not inexpensive, so once a year or so I go in and purchase a couple of basic colors in my size, and I happily make do until time to re-stock. Earlier this week I was beckoned into the office of a friend (I will not use names so as to protect the innocent), who pulled a bag from this shop to which I referred from under her desk and explained that one of the secretaries in the main office had visited the shop recently when there was a big sale going on. This lady had picked up three ‘garments’ that were marked as her size, and without trying them on, purchased them, only to find out later that they were NOT her size after all, and she couldn’t return them because they had been on clearance. She had brought them to work with her for a friend to try on, and by the time they were passed on to me, had been tried by three or four ladies who found they were unable to wear them.

I happily took them home with me,(though I felt I had to conceal the bag as I left the building, since it was clearly marked with the name of the shop and the outline of the --ahem-- female form). I found to my delight, that not only did the ‘garments’ fit me, they were nothing like what I usually purchase. (--Certainly not what Grandmother wore!) They are pretty and patterned and decorative. What fun!

Fast forward to the next morning at about 4:30, when I awoke with a migraine. (Please bear with me, this is important to my tale.) I arose and took my medication as soon as I could, but I knew it would be a few hours before I felt like driving. When I finally did make it into work a little after 9, my head was better, but I still felt sick, and I had to wear sunglasses because the light hurt my eyes. I sat down at my computer and wanted to do the proper, mannerly thing and thank the person responsible for my newfound foundational undergarment wardrobe. --I couldn’t remember exactly who it was, so I set about emailing the friend who had pulled me into her office and given me the bag.

I thought about doing something cute like, “Call me Cinderella--they fit!”, but instead went with the following-- Message Subject: Over the Shoulder Boulder Holders. Message Body: They fit beautifully and are such a nice change from my typical beige and black. Whom do I thank? -- Hit SEND.

Now, here is where you need to know that the first two letters of my friend’s name are the same first two letters of the last name of our, well, I’ll just say top administrator. The lights were dim in my studio, I wasn’t well, and yes, I partially blame my computer’s efforts to make my life easier by filling in the email address it believes I had in mind. I was busy doing other things when I heard the ‘new mail’ tone and went to the computer to see an email from our top administrator that read: Am I missing something?

Oh, yes, dear readers, I had sent that little message to the man who is over the school, who met me for the first time in August, and has since had about four conversations with me.

You know that feeling you get when you’ve done something you would pay good money to reverse or erase, but the trap door isn’t open and the witness protection program is not an option? Well, this is when I knew I just had to be a Steel Magnolia or, as my sister would say, put my big girl panties on and deal with it. (Yes, I realize that is yet another underwear reference, but you must admit it’s appropriate --sadly.) I responded to my administrator that I sent it to the wrong address, that I had awakened with a migraine and still wasn’t myself, and that I apologized. He responded “No problem.”

About that time, the friend who started this whole business by passing along the items in the first place had emailed me back in horror! She then appeared at my door and couldn’t even speak, she was laughing so hard!!

You know that earlier in this year, I was standing in the work room at the college where I teach part-time, talking to my beloved and highly-respected Music History professor, when I felt an odd sensation on my legs. I looked down, and there lay my slip in a puddle around my feet on the floor. This professor, being a consummate Southern gentleman, stepped forward immediately, reflexively, to pick up what I had “dropped.” In my best steel magnolia voice I said, “I declare! I believe I have lost my slip!” to which he replied, “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll let you retrieve it yourself.” (Thank goodness!)

If I had dreamed these incidents, we could analyze what in the world is going on with me and these underwear adventures. Since they happened in real life, I’m at a loss! Meanwhile, I’m happy to have supplied so many with a good laugh. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to wear the things now! My colleagues can’t even look at me without bursting into laughter.

Somebody help me!

We shall never speak of this again.

(My thanks to my friend Kim for the suggestion for the title. She's still laughing, too.)

Look Up Here Every Now and Then and Make Sure I'm Alright

As a choral director of a choir of 7th-12th graders, I use many different approaches and techniques to teach music and help the singers perfect it for performance. Because of the great age span, and therefore multiple maturity and musicality levels, in my choir, I vary activities and approaches regularly. We always perform by memory, but use the score as we are learning and perfecting a piece. As with most groups, my choir has a tendency to look down and into the score if they are holding it and referring to it. We use multiple things to 'remind' them to watch, but a lot of times I will light-heartedly say, "Hey, look up here every now and then just to make sure I'm alright!" We have a good laugh, and for at least a time, they hold the score higher and attempt to look over it more often for cues from me.

A few weeks ago, this saying of mine took on a whole new meaning. Our school is in the midst of a major construction project that has many of us meeting our classes in spaces we are not accustomed to, and this semester, the choir is meeting in the theatre. For this particular rehearsal, we were in formation seated on the stage area, which is only about 4" above the floor level. (The seating is elevated.) We perform in this space twice a year, and I always have to remind myself repeatedly not to back off the 4" rise. On this day, the choir was seated and actively engaged in working on a fairly new piece. At this stage in the learning, I move around a great deal, going from part to part and section to section so that I can listen as they begin to put things together. I was moving hurriedly, and skirting the 8-foot Steinway, and on my way from the sopranos around the piano to the altos, my foot hung on the 4" rise and I knew I was going to fall. I felt as if I were in a movie, in slow motion, and even had time to think, "Yes, you're going down, and no, you shouldn't try to grab the piano to stop yourself because you could break your arm." Once I hit the floor with what seemed to me the noise of an atomic explosion, I was able to tell myself not to move for a few seconds so that I could stabilize my equilibrium. By the time I did rise (mere seconds, actually), one of my baritones had vaulted from his seat on the back row to come to my aid. The entire choir had gasped in unison and gone silent. I'm sure they were taken aback by my sudden disappearance, as I went down behind the huge piano that stood between them and me. I was able to be thankful that, especially since I was wearing a skirt that day, I didn't go head-over-heels. That would have traumatized us all!

Once I reassured them all that I was fine (though I had black and blue knees for two weeks!), I reminded them, "I told you all to look up here every now and then and make sure I'm alright. Now you know why!"