The Imperfect Storm

There was a survey done once asking people about their greatest fear. The number one fear was public speaking. The number three fear is death. Jerry Seinfeld pointed out that means when attending a funeral people “would rather be in the coffin then delivering the eulogy.”

I have never understood this. Once on the F train, I heard a couple debating whether or not to see a movie and I inserted myself in the conversation to tell them about the documentary “The Cove”. I have no problem walking up to strangers and saying hi. When the magician asks for ‘assistance from the audience’ I don’t even wait for him to point at me, I just leap up onto the stage. When I was a volunteer at Northwest Film Forum I pioneered the idea of a “fun facts” presentation where I would introduce the film with trivia.

I have no problem with public speaking. If anything I adore it. Some of the most fun I’ve ever had was giving tours of KEXP studios in Seattle.

I also have a bizarre knack for attracting unusual circumstances.

I wasn’t really thinking about this one Friday afternoon when my friend Nancy called me and suggested we met up for happy hour appetizers and drinks. We decided to hit the Revolution Café at the Experience Music Project in the Seattle Center. We chatted, caught up then this woman who appeared with clothes and accessories and said “everyone dress up 80’s costume contest in 10 minutes.” I pulled on a gold lame shirt with shoulder pads, gave myself a sideways pony tail and slashed thick stripes magenta blush on my cheeks.

When it came time for judging, there was really nothing to distinguish me from the other contestants. Yes, I committed to the makeup in a way the other two hadn’t but I couldn’t count on that. So I did what I do best. I made a spectacle of myself.

I broke into the “Can’t Touch This” dance from the MC Hammer video of the same name. If you’ve ever seen me in a gay nightclub you know I can’t dance. I am an embarrassment to the art of dancing. But what I lack in rhythm I make up for in shamelessness. All the other two woman could do was stare in horror as I cabbage- patched my way across the room, off beat despite the fact there wasn’t any music.

I won. I received a $50 gift card to the Sonic Store (which of course I never used) and two tickets to the Seattle Storm game that very night!

Ugh.

One thing I take great pride in that many people do not quite understand about me is in the years I was imprisoned in Oak Harbor High School aka hell on earth, I NEVER ONCE attended a single sporting event. Nope, not one. No homecoming games, no away games. NOTHING. Which is saying something, considering Oak Harbor is the sort of hick town where the entire population showed up to high school games.

I had no desire to go to a basketball game then. I have no desire to see one…ever.

The woman was damn near panicking. I had to go! It would be such fun! I had to go! There was a contest there too! I could win!

I went back to the snacking and drinking with Nancy. She wouldn’t leave me alone.

“These games are so much fun!” Sigh. I told her I’d go just to get her to leave me alone.

Nancy and I chatted then she wanted to head home to her husband and dog. I started to leave, but then Nancy said “well why don’t you go? Just check it out if it’s boring you can leave.”

Oh what the hell.

I headed into the Coliseum (NO! I will not call it the Key Arena and you can’t make me!!!!).

I strolled around. That place really a microcosm of America, on the upper levels, where the seats are cheaper, there is pizza, beer, hot dogs. On the lower levels, where the seats cost a small fortune, you can get fresh sushi, Ivars Clam Chowder (sigh…) and microbrews. I should take a moment to point out that I still had my 80’s garb on. The gold lame blouse with the shoulder pads, magenta blush and sideways ponytail. I kept waiting for someone to ask me what I was up but no one did. Odd.

I went to found my seat as I casually headed down a small tunnel I saw the now dour faced woman who was begging me to go to the game glumly climbing the stairs. She saw me. Her face lit up.

She grabbed my hand and suddenly started dragging me behind her.

“Oh “she cried. “I was getting so scared!”

Scared?

We go flying past the lower level gourmet food courts, past the staggeringly overpriced merchandise booths, down stairs, through doors that stated ominously “NO ADMITTANCE BY GENERAL PUBLIC” Down a narrow hallway, BAM, into another even more narrow hallway while I struggled to keep up taking frantic baby steps in my strappy high heeled sandals, to another set of doors BAM! We were vomited directly onto the floor of basketball court, Seattle Storm taking on some other team just 20 ft away.

Ah crap.

“Okay” the woman says (why don’t I know her name by this point?) “Wait here, it will start in about 10 minutes” and she was off like a shot.

Um…what will begin in 10 minutes?

I started to feel a bit of panic, but then I stepped back and assessed the situation. Holy crap. I was ON THE FLOOR of the Coliseum. The Storm was barely 20 ft away. I was standing UNDER the bleachers. I had just barreled past giant signs telling me to keep out and I had permission to be there. I looked around at this exclusive area I had been granted access to and couldn’t help but wonder if it was supposed to smell like that.

That was when I noticed a tall red headed girl clad in Madonna garb circa 1987 watching the game. She must have felt my eyes on her because she turned around and smiled. Her name was Teresa and she couldn’t have been more than 19 despite the fact she was at least 6ft tall.

“Oh you’re here for the costume contest too! Liz said she was going to get the other contestants.”

I notice the woman I now knew as Liz approaching an older gentleman holding a hat, sunglasses and a white blazer the kind Sonny Crocket would have worn while tearing through the everglades while Glenn Fry played in the background.

It all made sense.

It was 80’s night here at the Seattle Storm. There was a costume contest to take place at the halftime show. It’s pretty hard to have a contest with only person. I was recruited from the Revolution Café. The gentleman was sitting in one of the lowest areas in the arena, the part reserved for people with season passes.

A horn sounded and the players left the court. Liz reappeared.

“Okay come this way” We walked across the court DIRECTLY UNDER THE HOOP (so cool) to an aisle. The gentlemen was sitting next to us, now looking as pathetic as Sonny Crocket would trying to pull off the Miami Vice look at 60 something.

“Okay you’ll be first,” Liz said motioning to Teresa. “We’ll introduce you and walk out maybe do a little dance and go stand near the S in Storm. Then you walk to the T” she pointed to me. “then Mr. Palmer go the O”

Mr. Palmer tipped his hat to Liz in that old school charmer kind of way that only Southern men and femme lesbians can get away with.

Doppler, the Seattle Storm mascot (no I don’t get it either) came out. The crowd was informed of where we sat (because our row would get a prize too) and to vote with their claps.

The prizes were half bad either. A gift certificate for a day spa. Brunch for two at the Space Needle. Now I really wanted to win.

Teresa went out first. I give her props because she had to go first. Basically she swung her hips and did a little spin. Still her outfit could play to the crowd. My gold lame shoulder padded blouse had seen better days. My magenta blush wasn’t going to read to the stands. I had to play this JUST right.

“And now please welcome Cameron!”

I just want you to know that from beginning to end this took MAYBE 10 minutes. And that includes Teresa’s and Mr. Palmer being introduced. My introduction to my taking my place on the T in Storm took 1 minute? Maybe 2?. I’m slowing this WAY down to explain it to you.

I spun onto the basketball court and immediately started doing the robot. The crowd reacted. I did a few spins and then attempted to moonwalk. That didn’t go so well but the crowd seemed to enjoy my attempt.

But hey I studied gymnastics as a child (until my breasts ballooned up to a C up in a single summer) so I decided to throw in a nice cartwheel.

I did a little jog as I would have to go backwards away from T in Storm to start on my right hand. I did a kick and put my right hand down. My legs went into the air. My left hand planted. A gentle rustle of fabric, a tickling sensation as my dress slid from my body and landed with a soft ‘whomp’ onto the heavily polished floor of the basketball court, completely obscuring my vision and exposing a torso that had seen neither the sun nor a gym since the first Bush administration to the 7,000 plus spectators.

Time seemed to stop.

While it is difficult to embarrass me it is NOT impossible, and unexpectedly flashing an arena is one way to accomplish this. It was certainly not the first time (nor would it be the last) I would in a state of undress in public, there are things to consider.

For all my lovers who have ever told me “all my other girlfriends wore matching bra and panty sets” women only do this in the courting stage, once we get past that the granny panties come out. On display was my gold and black leopard print bra and badly mismatched pastel flowered satin panties, along with my unshaved thighs with the vertical scars I acquired when distracted while playing the Kevin Bacon game I plunged thought the roof of a theater in 1994.

If there was one small mercy it was that I could not see the undoubtly horrified faces of the crowd. But as my legs quickly left the apex and began their inevitable descent another horror overcame me. While my black dress now hanging from my armpits and draped across my face meant when my feet clad in high heeled sandals came down I wouldn’t be able to see where I should put them down. They came down anyway, skittering across the floor and slamming my left knee into the ground.

A gasp from the crowd. I had a chance to get them back. A pity vote!

I sprang up into a triumphant V, my arms stretched to the sky, even as my knee caught fire and pleaded with me to sit down. The crowd screamed. I took a cue from the rock music and swung my hips to disguise the incredible pain I was in as I limped toward Teresa to take my place on the T, high fiving Doppler on my way.

Her face was twisted with concerned as she asked, “Are you okay?” I lied and said yes.

We turned our attention to Mr. Palmer now rising to take his little spin. The crowd sprung to its feet and exploded.

I heard Teresa sigh, and then she leaned in and whispered “we’re toast”.

It was so unfair. I guess Mr. Palmer was a regular at the games and beloved by the crowd by whatever standard sports fan apply to such things.

The whole “vote with your voice!” as Liz pointed to each of us was almost silly. Teresa and I both knew Mr. Palmer had it. I felt bad for Teresa, the only person in this group who actually MEANT to be part of this competition. But I felt worse for me, because I really wanted those gift certificates.

I danced off the court with Doppler almost supporting me, as much as he/she could because my knee was really starting to swell up.

I saw the team doctor, who iced me up and gave me Motrin and told me rest for a few days. She could have given a script for painkillers but no.

I tried to watch the game but it was REALLY boring. Lots of squeaking, lots of running. Okay time to go. I stepped out of the arena past the throngs of people limping on my sore knee, still clad in my gold lame shirt and my sideways ponytail, blinking in the pale grey of an overcast Seattle and realizing with amazement only 27 minutes had past since I walked in.