Friday, February 18, 2011

Please. Stop. Staring.

I’m feeling much better and almost up to my usual breakneck speed.

I leave my office (and the line of invisible students who never seem to come to office hours) to check the faculty room for donuts and/or interesting people to talk to.

Before I can enter the room I see something that stops me in my tracks.

I spin on my shiny black patent heels that have cute rosebuds over the peek-a-boo toes and walk into the staff room.

Four women, of a variety of ages from 20 to 45 working by phones and computers look up.

I untie my scarf, then announce, “She’s staring at my crotch. I can’t go in there.”

They all stop. They are silent.

 I repeat myself.

“She’s staring at my crotch. Inappropriately. I can’t go in there.

Because no one gets up to help, I pull Charlotte up to see.

There, on the door, I tell her, pointing to the culprit  -- an important flyer posted at crotch level  that included a cool glamour-shot photo of the presenter. 

Charlotte scowls for a minute then – in her magical way --- agrees with me while denying me …“Look at her gaze, clearly she’s staring at MY crotch…

An artistically gifted work study student takes credit for posting the flyer, and at that the conversation turns to me, pulling my scarf on and off and on and off, retying it, taking it off again. 

Why are you flashing us so much today?” asks a beleaguered worker.

I shake my head. “Not flashing, deciding. Is this scarf too much for WW2? I think it might say Cold War.”

Another beleaguered worker answers, “No, wear it… it breaks things up.

I nod, then agree, repeating her advice.

Yes, yes, break things up for WW2. I’m ready…..” and off I go into professorland, fixing my scarf so it hangs straight down, covering every bit of my cleavage from that inappropriately staring woman in that flyer.