Bad Things Happen In Your Pajamas

Did you ever have one of those nightmares where you’re inappropriately dressed, or not dressed at all? Yeah. I came close to that the other week. It’s taken me a while, but I think I’ve recovered from the trauma of it all. I’ll try to be brief.

7:30am – Home from working at 12 hour night shift.

8:00am – Done showering, and put on my pajamas to relax with my kids at home. It was pouring rain and a perfect day for movies.

8:15am – I decide to drive my husband to work because we only have one car, and who knows, my kids and I may want to go for a drive in the pouring rain. I’m still in my jammies, but figure, eh, I won’t need to get out of the car.

8:30am – Drop off my husband and start driving back home.

8:35am – Almost to the highway, when the car engine dies. I pull off to the side, sit there in a small state of panic, trying to decide what to do because remember, I’m in my pajamas. I try to call my knight-in-shining-armor-of-a-husband, but realize he can’t hear my cries for help for two reasons: 1) I don’t have my cell phone and 2) the van is pretty sound proof from the outside.

8:37am – I restart the car, and it works! Relief washes over me and I begin driving away.

8:37am (30 sec later) – That feeling of dread overtakes me when I realize that again the car engine has died. I pull over to side, in a panic state a-gain. I rummage through my purse (again) hoping that my cell phone will magically appear. I should know better. If it doesn’t work for food in the fridge, it won’t work for a cell phone in my purse. This time I begin praying hard and fast that I don’t have to get out of this car, in the pouring rain to knock on a stranger’s door to use their phone.

8:41am – I try to restart the car and guess what?! I turns on. O-K! I get to the highway and wait till the road is absolutely clear. I turn onto the highway.

8:41am (5 sec later) – I pull over to the side at Hukilau beach in defeat. The car engine has died, it’s pouring rain, did I mention I’m in my pajamas, and the nearest sighting of humanity are campers at Hukilau beach breaking down their camp in the rain.

8:45am – I decide that all my pride goes out the window today. I find a shirt on the floor of the van. Throw it on, hoping that it would buffer my morning look and get out the van and start walking over to the camp site.

8:50am – I secure a cell phone from the nice campers that feel sorry for me or figure they can’t get rid of this weirdo unless give in to my request. I dial my husband’s number as fast as I can. My husband answers and I explain my whole dilemma. We figure out a plan and make some more phone calls to people who could help me. My friend’s daughter says she will be right over. I make a mental note to send a text to my friend who’s on vacation, thanking her for leaving her daughter behind just to help me. As I wait for her to come to my rescue, I realize that my silver lining is that at least nobody knows me at the campsite.

8:51am – My silver lining has been erased because an old college friend sees me and says hi and asks if I need any help. I internally squirm and says that help is on the way.

9:00am to 9:30am – I’m rescued, taken home, I change, head back to pick up my husband and then drive over to where we left the van.

9:30am – My husband restarts the car, drives it around the parking lot and exclaims there is nothing wrong with the van.

9:31am – We are hooking up towing cable because 5 seconds on the highway the car dies. We only tow it from Hukilau to the Cackle Fresh Outlet (which is only 100 ft away from each other.

9:40am – My husband and I start to walk, in the rain from the Cackle Fresh Outlet to Napa Auto Parts. That’s about 1.5 miles away. 10 minutes into our walk, friends of ours see us, take pity and drive us to our destination.

To end this sad, pathetic story, our van had to be towed to the shop and is now fixed. Moral of the story, don’t leave home in your pajamas or without your cell phone, because Murphy’s Law always wins!

Standing on Your Teacher’s Desk (I don’t recommend it)

I was looking through old photos and came across this one. This is me at my high school graduation. Gotta love the white uniform we had going on. I think they still wear it there. See that big green patch there. Well, only certain people got to wear that patch. When you wore it, you were known as a pre-fect. Someone who enforced the rules among the student body. I think about it now, and I’m sure many people probably hated me because of that. In my defense, I don’t think I ever “enforced the rules” with anyone. So I’m not sure why I was made a prefect. I think it was the school’s way of making us their minions.

Graduation (Nov. 5th, 1993)

Anyways, I don’t share that with you because I want to show off. I’m sharing it with you because one year, when I was a “rule enforcer”, I had decided to stand on my teacher’s desk. Yeah. Not something that I should have been doing, whether I was a prefect or not.

I was in the 8th grade, and came into English class in the morning. Everyone was congregating with their various circle of friends, just chit-chatting. Someone then informed us that our teacher was out sick and there was no sub (yet). So, we all just relaxed and started playing around, getting loud I’m sure. Next thing you know, I decide to let loose and stand on my teacher’s desk. To this day, I’m not sure why. I simply don’t remember. I just remember thinking, “how about I stand on the teacher’s desk”. Not one of my finer moments, and it just got worse from there.

As I was on the desk, I straightened myself up, and the next thing I knew, there was a loud bang! I thought I had hit my head good on the ceiling maybe (I’m 5ft 7 BTW). I put my hand on my left temple because boy did it hurt! I glimpsed up at my classmates, all of whom had a look of horror on their faces. I thought, oh the shame. Such disappointment in their prefect, they must have thought. I let them down. I then looked down at the teacher’s desk, and could see huge drops of blood furiously dripping from where I had my hands on my temple. I removed my hands to look at them and they were covered in blood. I looked back up, this time to see the principal standing there in the doorway, mouth dropped open. She had come to check on us, to see if we were behaving. Obviously, some of us weren’t.

I remember her rushing over to me and several people helping me down from my stage of embarrassment. Another teacher had come and they whisked me off to the school health room. The nurse looked at it and said to take me to the hospital. I knew then that I must be in real trouble. Let me explain that the hospital in a 3rd World or developing country is not of the same standards as say the USA. We only went if it was necessary because it was kinda scary.

Next thing I knew, I was laying on a stretcher in the ER, still holding a cloth to my forehead, waiting for the doc to stitch me up. By this point, I was told that I had hit my head on the ceiling fan that was above my teacher’s desk. It had been on when it hit me. Got me right on the hairline. While waiting for the doc, my parents walked in. My dad chuckled, shook his head, pointed out the prefect badge and said, “What kind of prefect are you?” That was about as much sympathy as I got that day, along with 5 stitches and a moment that I never lived down for a loooooooong time. See Tongans are merciless when it comes to teasing, it’s in their nature. You can’t take it personal though, because it’s all in good fun. Every time I walked down the hall I was given a salute. They used their left hand of course.

So, if you’ve ever thought of standing on your teacher’s desk – don’t do it. Bad things will happen.