I'm a little uneasy that I won't be able to top my story from last year. But hopefully since this one is going to have a different tone, the two won't be compared quite as closely...
So here goes:
CONTROL
"How many more weeks do we have to wear these obnoxious shamrocks?" I asked as I pinned the coffee cup saucer size shamrock with the greek letters Chi Omega Delta to my coat.
"Six," said Darla with an exasperated sigh.
"I thought that after wearing these things for a month, it would get easier," Lori complained.
"Easier - yeah right. God there isn't anything easy about pledging Chi Delts. It's been one drama filled day after another. By the time we're done we'll be carrying around a shamrock the size of Delaware and a pledge book that weighs 50 pounds. Can either of you remind me why we decided to do this again?" I was searching for some type of motivation. The tunnel was dark and I was desperate to see even a trickle of light.
"We don't have time to pschyoanalyze our drunken stupors. Let's just get to dinner," Darla said as she pinned her own gigantic shamrock to her coat directly over her heart.
With my tunnel still dark, I grabbed my pledge book, looked in the mirror to make sure the shamrock was directly over my heart, and dragged my lagging self-esteem out my dorm room door. The three of us looked like Hewey, Dewey, and Louie dressed up for St. Patrick's Day - too bad it was October. Thankfully, however, with each room we passed, more girls filtered out. This allowed us the opportunity to surround ourselves with normalicy as we walked like a pack to the dining hall. The pack moved slowly however because poor Brenda from three doors down had busted up her ankle playing basketball and was on crutches. We kept the pace slow to help her feel a part of things. By the time we arrived the queue for food was out the door. We settled in line and talked about our upcoming mid-terms.
When we got inside we decided to go get a table for Brenda so she could sit down. There weren't too many open tables left so we decided to split up. Darla and I hung with Brenda and three others and grabbed a table in the center. The rest went to a table in the back corner. Brenda's roommate asked for her order and then ordered her to stay put - she was a hazard to herself and others on those crutches. The rest of us went our own way to gather our favorite things from the buffet. I always got 3 glasses of Diet Coke, a small garden salad with ranch dressing and some spaghetti with garlic bread. Darla, Ms. Dairy of Holland County, always got 3 glasses of milk, peaches and a bowl of whatever green vegetable they were serving. I never understood why she would eat that stuff when her mother wasn't here making her. You couldn't pay me to put that green stuff on my tray.
Soon everyone was sitting and eating. Above all the chatter, the new song, "Control" by Janet Jackson could be heard...this was my theme song even though ironically I felt a little out of control at the moment. For weeks I had been following other people's orders, and seeking identity by losing my own. But the song made me feel stronger. I listened hoping it would feed my own self-control .... "This is a story about control, my control. Control of what I say, control of what I do. And this time I’m gonna do it my way. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. Are we ready? I am? Cause it’s all about control. And I’ve got lots of it ..."
'The only thing I have control of right now is what I'm gonna eat for desert,' I thought. "Hey girls put your stuff on my tray - I'm gonna take all this up to dish land on my way to get some of that ice-cream." The girls started stacking glasses, plates, cups and bowls onto my tray.
"That looks kind of full Jodi - are you sure you have it?" asked Brenda.
"Nothin' to it my friend - I wasn't a waitress for the past four years of my life for nothin'."
So I took hold of the tray with assertion and headed to dish land. I stepped out with my right foot, but before my left foot could figure out that my right foot had just been kidnapped, I was heading face first for the floor. I didn't even have time to throw the tray of food out of my way. I simply went down like a felled tree. BAM! THUD! CRASHHHHHHH! Brenda's crutches had just taken me prisoner. I landed on about 8 glasses of milk, soda, fruit punch, and water; six plates of spaghetti, salad, fries, and spinache; and five bowls of ice cream, peaches, and beef barley soup. The strident sound brought silence to the one place quiet never visits. Even Janet Jackson became hushed from the surpise sound of shattering glass. Seconds stretched into years as I tried to piece together what just happened to me in the deafening silence. A second ago I was doing a random act of kindness, and now I was simply laying face first in a blenderized version of the Tuesday night buffet. I looked up, spaghetti dangling from my hair and milk running down my nose, abashed, unable to move.
"Baaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Darla's cackle broke the code. That was all it took. The place erupted into laughter - even Janet Jackson seemed to be laughing at my loss of control. The sound of laughter hit harder than the spaghetti. I wanted to cry but that would show weakness. Janet coaxed me ... "Cause it’s all about control. And I’ve got lots of it ..." I stood up from the sea of broken dishes beneath me, wiped the spaghetti away from my face and took control. With my best histrionic version of a Broadway actor, I took a bow. The thundering applause cajoled me to take another. I stood there bowing and laughing at myself letting everyone know that it was OK to laugh right along with me instead of just at me. I was a sight to behold -- spaghetti hair like Medusa, milky white face like a a geisha, and that big ass shamrock covered in mashed potatoes, peaches and ice cream.
I was soon the dining hall legend - the girl who survived the fall of death. And guess who the hero was? That's right, the big ass Chi Omega Delta shamrock. According to this legend, the power of sisterhood was so strong it used the shamrock as a shield against harm. Without it I would have been speared by a steak knife right through the heart. Much more romantic than the truth don't you think? Damn crutches.
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