Trauma Comes in Many Forms

Here is a new and interesting feature on my blog...a Guest Writer. Some may know him as a snarky commenter that tormented my pal ElanFlux...others know him as Chris. Either way, he and I jointly experienced something the other night that was so disturbing that I let him take the lead on describing it. But fear not, I shall have the last word to correct/add anything that was incorrect/missed.

And now...I give you Chris...

Trauma comes in many forms. Sometimes it takes the form of a natural disaster, Pompeii, Mt. St. Helens. Sometimes, it comes in unnatural forms; car wrecks, slips on ice, or emotional trauma caused by nasty break-ups or gossip.

Wednesday night, I was subjected to a trauma that can only be rivaled by a lone Sherpa stuck on Mt. Everest, left to freeze to death. It is a trauma that is only spoken about in whispers. I believe the “street term” is “ Plumbers Crack”. I am not aware of a legal definition or even a medical term, though there should be one. I was in a meeting, a support group if you will (I’m letting the irony go) when out of the blue, I was forced to stare at this approximate 3-4 inch crack of someone’s ass that looked like a crack in the sidewalk. My upbringing kicked in and said to me, “Ignore it.” However, this became an exercise in futility, as the expansion quickly took on a life of its own. The San Andreas Fault could not have been more of a distraction. I can’t recall who noticed it first, myself or my friend Carolyn. What I do know is that both of us were held hostage for the next hour by this crack of power. I felt like Patty Hearst and the crack came to symbolically represent the Symbionese Liberation Army.

I leaned over to Carolyn and said the word “Infinity” seemed to sum up what was happening here.

As the ass owner shifted in his chair, I swear the crack seemed to be trying to communicate with us, almost directing us, telling us secrets, begging us to explore the labyrinth of confusion, of ecstasy.

A sudden thought occurred to me, I needed to…..had to put my pinky in there and see what happened. I told Carolyn of my covert mission where I was about to send my pinky. Carolyn was shaking like she was having a seizure. Tears were in her eyes (people thought she was moved by the speaker).

My pinky made a symbolic move towards the secret cave and I pretended to smell it. I offered a whiff to Carolyn who at this point almost had to be removed from the room.

Now my insanity that was being directed by the almighty gap, the life taker that was now more famous than the crack in the Liberty Bell. I couldn’t take it any longer. My pinky must be thrust into something….anything. I asked Carolyn’s permission to lift her pant leg and thrust my finger into her sock…..ahhhhh, sweet relief.

I’m not sure what lessons can be taken from this. I left the meeting and had an overwhelming craving for a hotdog in an oversize bun. Go figure.

Well said, Chris. I think his tale adaquately conveyed the situation. However, I was not the lone person with tears in their eyes. We were BOTH heaving and shaking as quietly as possible after the damnable "infinity" comment. We were also adjusting, contorting ourselves so that part of the chair covered the trainwreck of crack before us. Chris put his book up strategically so that even if he did look, he couldn't see it.

And the most important thing that was left out is how hairy this crack was. It was hairy.

Note to My Mother: I'm hoping that this tale will shed some light on my hysterics during band concerts. I usually expected to be grounded after concerts for my bad behavior. But was it all my fault? As I waited patiently, trombone in hand, all someone had to do was say something funny and I'd be laughing...then talking. Ok, so it doesn't explain the excessive talking at inappropriate times...but I think it lets me off the hook a little...kind of shows a vulnerability. :)