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I don't *feel* tardy.
Jul. 6th, 2009 06:44 pmA few years ago, I spent a night in the Orleans Parish Prison for an unpaid traffic ticket, and in spite of the fact that it was hands down the single worst night of my entire life -- hey, you try being cheerful while chained to a crack whore, while listening to your Clint Eastwoodian father cry on the phone -- there were some light moments as well. There was my cellmate, for example, who was actually very kind and seemed kind of horrifyingly pleased to be given my toiletries in exchange for her consideration when I left next morning. And then there was the fact that everyone (from the booking officer to the video guy who took my mugshot to the people in the holding cell to the guy who handed me my effects as I walked out the door the next morning, all sprung and ready to walk home) asked me if I were a schoolteacher. I never really thought about it before that night, but man, it does seem clear when you think about it afterwards that there is something about me, the way I look but also the way I dress and carry myself, that screams KINDERGARTEN TEACHER in no uncertain terms. That convinces people so thoroughly that they're surprised to find that they're mistaken, that I've somehow turned out to confound their expectations without even trying.
Mostly, I am okay with this. I mean, there are worse things to be mistaken for, obviously; I can think of a dozen without pausing while typing this, and not all of them were in the cell block at the old OPP. And I can't pretend that it's not a real advantage to look guileless and trustworthy, because that one thing alone has probably seen me farther in life than my intelligence or my personality. (Which may or may not say something about my intelligence or my personality.) Man, though. Sometimes I dress or otherwise accessorize myself thinking that even if I can't escape the Schoolteacher look, maybe I can at least branch out into Sexy Schoolteacher subgenre. Take the glasses I bought last week, cute and unusual and a tiny bit edgy. Hot, even. Surely, I thought as I paid for them, surely this will be the thing that makes me look cooler than (let's face it) I really am.
But no. I still look like the same person, still manage effortlessly to beigify/dorkify cute stuff. I guess, after forty years, I should know better.
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Mostly, I am okay with this. I mean, there are worse things to be mistaken for, obviously; I can think of a dozen without pausing while typing this, and not all of them were in the cell block at the old OPP. And I can't pretend that it's not a real advantage to look guileless and trustworthy, because that one thing alone has probably seen me farther in life than my intelligence or my personality. (Which may or may not say something about my intelligence or my personality.) Man, though. Sometimes I dress or otherwise accessorize myself thinking that even if I can't escape the Schoolteacher look, maybe I can at least branch out into Sexy Schoolteacher subgenre. Take the glasses I bought last week, cute and unusual and a tiny bit edgy. Hot, even. Surely, I thought as I paid for them, surely this will be the thing that makes me look cooler than (let's face it) I really am.
But no. I still look like the same person, still manage effortlessly to beigify/dorkify cute stuff. I guess, after forty years, I should know better.
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