You Think You’ve Been Embarrassed?
You think you’ve been embarrassed? Well, I’ve got you beat.
First, it all happened to me on the other side of the planet, so I couldn’t go home, turn off the lights and put my head under the pillow.
It happened in Xi’an, China, in an airport the morning I was scheduled to fly to Chongqing to see a panda sanctuary. Then, I was to board a boat to go down the Yangtze River through the Three Gorges, and down to Shanghai.
I was traveling with a small group and the Xi’an Airport was huge, so I had nowhere to hide as my embarrassment went on and on and on.
It all started innocently at dinner the night before we were scheduled to fly out of the Xi’an airport the next morning. Our guide addressed the group and informed us that because our plane left so early the next day we all had to have our bags packed and outside of our door at 4:30. They would be picked up and taken to the airport before we went to breakfast.
Everything had to be packed, except the clothes we would be wearing the next day, and whatever toiletries we required for that morning. We were told that the toiletries, once used, had to be carried on our person until we landed at Chongqing airport several hours later, when we could return them to our suitcases.
After dinner that night, we all went up to our rooms. I picked out my essential toiletries, toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, razor, soap, and hairbrush. I also chose my clothes for the next day, which in my case, were one of my endless pairs of khaki pants, a blue long sleeve business shirt, underwear, socks and shoes. All the rest was packed in the suitcase, which I put outside the door before I set the alarm and went to bed.
The next morning when my alarm went off, I peeked out the door before I showered and shaved. My suitcase was gone and on its way to the airport. I looked at the clock and measured the short time I had to get to breakfast.
After my shower, I bundled up my toiletries, put on my blue business shirt and started to pull up my khaki pants. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t get them on until I realized that the only pair of pants I had to wear were actually those I had accidentally packed, which unfortunately belonged to my teenage son.
My son had a 32-inch waist. I did not.
I was running out of time. I had to get to breakfast.
I grabbed both sides of the pants so that my fingers gripped the pockets and I hoisted as hard as I could. No progress.
Next, I laid on my back on the bed with my feet extended in the air and bounced on the bed to get maximum leverage. Kicking my feet and yanking with all my strength, I made no progress.
The top of the pants made it to slightly above my crotch. I was pretty certain I did not get the pants high enough to cover my back end, even half way. Nothing. I tried straddling a chair and rode my pants like a cowboy rode a horse to try to force the crotch into submission. I then tried jumping up and down to get maximum thrust, lifted and torqued. Nothing.
It was not good!
I had to get to breakfast but I couldn’t leave the room. It was not good at all!
I reassessed my situation.
I still had to put on my shoes and socks. I would have to roll up the bottom of the pants so that I wouldn’t trip over them. I was able to walk, but only if I held the top of my pants up as high as possible and walked with my knees banging together every time I took a step.
I searched the room for any possible help. I was fortunate to find a Chinese newspaper — bright with color — to cover my crotch.
It was a very long and slow elevator ride. The descent down was maybe three floors. I noticed that the Chinese people in Xi’an, at least in the elevator on that particular morning, were very quiet and tried to look anywhere else than at my crotch.
My group at breakfast was less forgiving. They had to stop eating because they couldn’t stop laughing.
Our guide tried to be helpful and encouraged me to wander the airport to find a clothing store. Apparently, he was hopeful that I could instantly learn Mandarin and acquire a pair of pants that was twice the size any member of the Chinese culture would ever wear. The guide didn’t understand that I was no longer interested in clothing. I was no longer hoping to fit into the culture.
I was hoping to vanish from the face of the earth.
Everyone in the airport seemed to be walking by and rubbernecking in order to catch sight of me. I was completely hunched over, gripping my newspaper and pants. My pant legs were rolled up above my ankles. Just to add to my unlikely assimilation into the culture, I was wearing my disposable razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush bundled up into a boutonniere blooming from my shirt pocket.
The Chinese newspaper was fast becoming my most valuable asset. My seat on the plane was between two meticulously dressed, frightened Chinese businessmen. They apparently feared eye contact with me, perhaps because I might have flashed them.
I tried to focus on making my situation into a positive learning experience. I concluded there wasn’t a lot to learn. So, I thought it might be helpful to try to imagine what could be worse.
I had learned what it felt like to wear a miniskirt if one was knock kneed. But that wasn’t bad enough. So I tried to imagine what it was like to wear a miniskirt, knock kneed with high heels.
When we landed, I made sure that I was the last person to leave the plane. I wanted to give the baggage handlers extra time and hoped that my bag would be there when I went to pick it up.
I hid in the airport men’s room for a while. I was afraid I had permanently injured my lower intestines. I was sure I had bruising. I couldn’t really lift or lower my pants anymore.
Eventually, I built up all my courage. I raced through the teeming airport hunched over, with one hand holding the top of my pants and the other gripping my newspaper.
I swooped down on my bag and hauled it into the men’s room. I found a stall, opened the suitcase, liberated myself of my son’s pants, and instantly threw them away. I needed to purge them.
A few months ago, I went on a trip with some of the same people in the group who had gone on the China trip. When my story came up, I refused to relive the experience. They went right ahead and told it anyway, and embellished the story at my expense.
The trip to China was ten years ago, and the listeners could not stop laughing. Apparently, my story kept getting better and better. One person, who I was not sure was even on the China trip, claimed to have seen it all from the back. My story was referred to as “the morning the moon rose over the Yangtze!”
© Robert Bowie, Jr.
Robert Bowie, Jr. has worked as a house painter, bartender, lawyer, adjunct professor, poet, author, and playwright. He has had ten plays produced, including Onaje, which premiered at FringeNYC. Bob serves as the Poet Laureate of The Harvard Alumni Association, and is the author of a collection of sonnets, An Accidental Diary, (Amazon Press). A new collection of Bob’s stories, The Older You Get, the Shorter Your Stories Should Be, will be published by Amazon later this year. More at robertbowiejr.com.
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