by Jessica Anya Blau
In Vladimir Nabokov's short story, "Signs and Symbols" the narrator says of one character that, "Living did mean accepting the loss of one joy after another, not even joys in her case--mere possibilities of improvement." I have always found that line to be profoundly depressing and if you're reading this, I wish with all my heart that your life is not an acceptance of the loss of one joy after another.
My own life, I have realized, can partially be characterized by the acceptance of one embarrassment after another. I have decided to chronicle these embarrassments (the list will never end as long as I am alive and participating in the world) starting with the Blue Ribbon for the Most Embarrassing Thing Ever:
My first husband and I had just moved to Toronto from the Bay Area. We were renting a basement apartment with no kitchen. We used the window sills, where the winter temperature hovered around 20 degrees, to keep milk and juice, and ate all our meals out. I had no friends, no job and nowhere to go. I spent a lot of time reading in the apartment and a lot of time walking around and looking at things.
And then I joined a gym. It was a yuppie place near our apartment with lots of good-looking twenty and thirty-somethings who thought they were cool because they were at that point in life where they had just started to make a lot of money but didn't yet have kids, dogs, ageing parents and the things that remind you that you are not really that cool and that the world around you needs hard work and not cool. My husband and I were young enough and dumb enough to think that we were cool, too.
The first day at the gym I went to a yoga class where I stretched and twisted and roped up my very limber body with the thought that no one in Toronto could possibly be as flexible as someone from California. In short, I was showing off.
After the class, I followed the other yoga students into the locker room where they proceeded to take off their clothes and step naked into the hot tub (it was a single sex locker hot tub). I took off my clothes, too, and also stepped into the hot tub even though I've never really liked hot tubs. They're too hot for me. I like warm tubs.
About ninety seconds into the soak, I began to feel light headed. I sat on the edge of the tub for a moment, then stepped out and started to walk toward the bathroom, as I was feeling a little queasy. Before I could make it to the bathroom I unexpectedly hurled a shooting stream of vomit onto the gym floor. As the vomit was coming out I could feel my vision shutting down, like a computer screen turning off.
I passed out on the vomit on the floor.
This little episode is the Blue Ribbon of embarrassment because it combines the three most humiliating human events into one tidy, pool of shame. It has, 1. Public nudity. 2. The externalization of a body fluid in public. And 3. Passing out in public. To have done them simultaneously, and then to have so perfectly lain my body atop the vomit was, in my opinion, quite a spectacular feat.
I called the gym the next day and cancelled the membership. And then we joined the Y.
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