He wasn’t that into me or any chick on the face of the planet
It’s been a while since we visited 1987, so I decided we would ride into the past to see how I have become so adept at reading people. Buckle your seatbelts and pack your sunglasses, because you will be cringing and you will want to cover your eyes.
In high school and college I worked part-time at a fast food restaurant called Arby’s. I believe most of us know that Arby’s is the home of the roast beef sandwich. It’s nice for some strange every once in a while, but now that I know the inner workings of the restaurant I am not so keen on a roast beef sandwich.
Anyway, the chain I worked at (near my home town) had a manager named Jamie. And I had a massive crush on Jamie. Looking back, I have to say this was my first foray into unrequited love. I think I was 19 and Jamie must have been 24 or 25. He had dark brown hair and a mustache and he was really nice.
So whenever I got ready for work I tried to make the best of my polyester uniform and visor, because I was trying to impress Jamie.
Gotta have a side note on hats. I hate wearing hats. I do not have a hat face. I do not have a hat head. I don’t look good in hats and I will gladly let my ears succumb to frostbite in the midst of winter. I don’t like hoods, I don’t like a beret.
And babushkas are totally out, even though I have Polish blood running through my veins. My mother has worn a babushka — I just like saying the word — but not often. I think I wore a babushka once in grade school for Halloween when I was a gypsy. But I tied it back behind my ears. My mother always tied hers in front under her chin.
I wish I looked decent in a baseball hat, because then I could slip my pony tail through the hat adjuster opening in back and not have to deal with a bad hair day. But that is not my luck. In extreme weather, I have been known to wear a pair of rabbit fur ear muffs. That’s as far as I will go concerning a fabric item atop my noggin.
The bottom line is: Cardiogirl + Hats = Bad News.
But back to my uniform. I would peg the legs of my beige work pants, you know, so they looked cool in 1987. I didn’t know how to sew back then, so I flipped my pants inside out and pegged the knee down to the ankle with a row of safety pins. Yes, necessity is the mother of invention. Then, when I flipped them right side out, they looked like I had sewn them into place (or so I thought). Oh yeah, I had it goin’ on.
Then I had my striped golf shirt and the maroon visor. I spent so much time french braiding my hair on both sides, then meeting it in the middle in back and turning the braid under. Then I clipped it with a satin, cream-colored bow that was on a barrette. Do you remember those barrettes that had a big bow on them? That was one of my fashion phases from the late 80s. I had a huge assortment of colors to choose from.
The point here, is that I spent a lot of time on my hair and then I just perched that visor on top. Because I was trying to impress Jamie.
I was nervous around him. I was sort of dumbstruck and had a hard time talking to him, because I was blinded by his beauty.
I do remember him standing in front of the french fries, making bags with the scooper and hearing him sing Whitney Houston’s classic, “I Want to Dance With Somebody.” That seemed a bit odd, but I chalked it up to his quirky but attractive personality.
Then one day I saw that he had a vase of flowers on his desk. I was so disappointed. He had a girlfriend who sent him flowers. So I asked around and I will never forget when a girl named Renee told me, “Oh those flowers are from Jamie’s boyfriend.”
I cocked my head and squinted my eyes as I looked at her. “Uh, what’s that?”
Renee was much more worldly than I was, even though she was my age. She immediately put all of it together and laughed her @ss off as she saw the puzzle slowly and reluctantly try to come together in my mind via the expression on my face.
“Those flowers are from Jamie’s girlfriend?” I said.
Through her laughter, Renee shook her head no.
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend? But who sent him flowers, then?” I asked.
More laughter, more shaking of her head no.
I swear I remember not. Getting. It. And just looking at her, confused. But how can he have flowers on his desk if he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Yes, I rode the short bus regarding society back then.
She finally put her hands on her hips, when she could see I didn’t understand what was going on, smiled and said, “Jamie is gay.”
I do recall staring at her and not really taking it in. Wha…t?
I’m quite sure, back there where we washed the dishes, my face turned very, very red. I thought about how clueless I was and how I had spent extra time braiding my hair that day, to impress Jamie.
That was embarrassing and I wanted to crawl in betwixt the tiles in the floor and disappear. But since I didn’t have a pick axe on me, I had to endure all of my co-worker’s intense laughter instead. All except for Jamie, who graciously acted as if nothing had happened.
You know, it was sort of like going through the five stages of grief — denial, bargaining, depression, anger and acceptance.
I wonder whatever happened to Jamie. Because, you know, (clears throat) I have moved on, as they say.
[...] I laughed through a post by one of my favorite bloggers, Cardiogirl. She wrote about her experience working in a fast-food restaurant as a teenager and how she had to wear a hat as part of her [...]