"The Chaperone"

Undoubtedly, you have made that common error of mistakenly calling a woman "sir."


Maybe you have even committed the cardinal sin of assuming a woman is pregnant when she isn't.

These are areas that I am surprisingly good at avoiding.. If I am unclear on the gender I emphasize the non-specific pronoun.


hello YOU.
YOU have a nice day.

It's awkward but my other options being what?

Hello Human.
Enjoy Your day, Person

I will err on the side of caution every time.

Short of a woman crowning, I'll make no reference to the bump in her midsection.

That's what makes the following so god damn inexplicable. I'm quick witted. I'm proud of my ability to talk my way out of and around life's pitfalls.

The fact that I managed to so thoroughly fuck up is something for which I have no explanation some 15 years later

Once I left Kalamazoo to go to school at Central. Michigan, I rarely came back. I immersed myself fully in college life. During summer semester's at CMU, I was lucky enough to have a job working the front desk at summer camps. The job was easy and afforded a lot of free time with a good degree of public interaction.

CMU is the yearly host of the Michigan Summer Special Olympics.
This was by far my favorite conference. The excitement in the air was palpable and the interaction with the athletes was rewarding beyond words. You saw college freshman moved to tears and collegiate athletes humbled by the genuine excitement and effort put forth by the Olympians.

I cannot express strongly enough how much I loved the experience and how touched I was to witness it firsthand.

That's what makes all this so ironic and terrible.

I was working my job amid the buzz and movement of the first afternoon of events when I was approached by a particularly energetic young man.

I pretended to be lost in "All Quiet on The Western Front,"

It was a measured strategy. I had learned to let the athletes approach and engage me as shyness was a common trait.

I seem to recall the kid referring to some of the other athletes as "crazy bastards" and seem to remember him talking to himself but this could really be a rationalization for what was to transpire.


Gradually, the kid meandered my way


"Hey."

I looked up and smiled brightly

"Hi there, how are you?!?!"

I engaged but carefully, not wanting to scare him off.

There was a pause as I let him make the next move

"Ya workin' hard or hardly workin'?"


OK! Here we go! I was at the doorstep and invited in. I made a grandiose production of putting the book mark in my page and setting the book down with a purposeful thud. In doing so, letting our fine fellow know that important as it was, this classic piece of literature was not as important as our interaction.

With all the condescending vigor I could muster I said,

"I'm just reading this book so I guess I'm hardly working but how about you?"

Raising my voice now:

"DID YOU WORK HARD TODAY?! DID YOU WIN A MEDAL?!"

The man responded with corresponding volume, not from condescension but righteous indignation,

"HEY MAN! I'M A CHAPERONE!"


Well.



Fuck.



Me.


In a flash, a thousand responses and scenarios played out in my giant, stupid, head.

The human mind, when in the throes of sheer panic, moves stunningly quickly.

REAL TIME plays out much slower.

The suddenly furious – and as it turns out not at all mentally impaired man – is now demanding with his eyes some sort of explanation that will make it better


What could I POSSIBLY say?

Oh, excuse me, I believed you to be mentally impaired...

Gee, after observing your actions I assumed you to have some sort of condition. Terribly sorry..

In a series of horrible decisions, I made the only one I could.

I did nothing.

Once the nausea passed and the cold sweat brought the sickening realization that he was not going anywhere, i tucked my tail firmly between my legs

I stared ahead, silent, and blinked a few times

In a complete 180 from my grandiose gestures that started this self-created cluster-fuck, I meekly picked up the book and stared intently at its pages, hoping in vain if I stared hard enough I would be transported from the man's fiery gaze to the actual Western Front of World War One where I would be mercifully and justifiably machine gunned.