Friday, March 16, 2007

or surely they wouldn't have made such a big deal about it

I am not a superstitious person. And I am not really a scardy cat. I’m not afraid of heights. And I’m not afraid of spiders. Well, I take that back. I don’t like to look at large-ish hairy spiders. Something about a big bug with hair on it, icky. However, I wouldn’t call it a phobia, more of a personal preference. But there are two things in this world that I am kind of weird about. And you could probably call it a phobia. But I would call it “having an issue”.

1. A fear of German Shepherds. Especially if he or she is an unfamiliar dog.Yes, this dog lover has a fear of dogs, or a particular breed of dog. When I was about six or seven my dad and I took a walk around the block and a German Shepherd ran out of its yard and bit me in the back. I think this makes my “phobia” of German Shepherds realistic. And therefore not so much a phobia as a reasonable cause for fright and panic.

2. Down escalators.
I am okay with the up escalator. But it’s getting on an escalator that is heading down that makes me freeze up and freak out a bit. Sadly, escalators tend to be in public places. So, it’s a bit difficult to keep this a secret.

When I was a little girl my mom, brother, and I were shopping at Bacon’s department store in Louisville. I couldn’t have been much older than eight, because my brother was in a stroller. We were taking the elevator up to the second floor, no doubt to the children’s department, and I stepped onto an elevator with two or three women. I turned around to wait for Mom and Stephen and then watched the doors shut. Leaving my mother and my brother on the other side, and oh the look on my mother’s face as those doors closed. I know a sense of panic set in. But the nice women on the elevator assured me that we’d wait for Mom and Stephen on the second floor. As I stood with one of the women in the hosiery department the doors opened and we were reunited.

You can imagine that that was a rather traumatic experience. It may have contributed to my fear of down escalators. But otherwise, I am not sure when and where this issue began for me. Recently I realized that it seems to be getting worse. Not long ago my mother was over half-way to the first floor of Dillard’s before I could ever step off the second. It’s something about stepping onto a moving staircase and picturing myself tumbling down headfirst and landing with my feet pointing towards women’s gloves and my head, busted open, next to a shelf of Clinque Clarifying Lotion. It’s the whole, “Okay, go now. No. Go now. No. Go NOW. No. Go go go now? No. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Just go! I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t! Okay, I’m doing it. Now. Go. Do it! Go-okay-I’m on, I’m on. I’m on. That wasn’t so bad. I made it.” I just can’t over think it. But I don’t know how not to. It is a moving staircase.

Once upon a time I was in the Nashville Convention Center with Johnny G. and we were about to step on an up escalator. There was a mother with an infant in her arms and a small child at her feet a few steps above us. I watched with horror as the little boy’s legs separated as his two little feet were on different steps. He began to fall towards me and with some sort of David Beckham like move I brought my knees together and caught the greater part of his weight with my shins. Crisis averted. I righted the little boy onto one step and kind of held onto him until we all reached the top. His mother thanked me generously. I felt like a hero, The Hero of The Escalator Delicate! When I told my cousin, Eric, about this experience he commended me for my bravery, “considering your escalator issues and all.”

Yesterday my stomach dropped like an elevator with a broken cable when I discovered this picture of the Louisville cheerleaders in Rupp Arena before the U of L v. Stanford game on courier-journal.com.

I sent the picture to some of the people most aware of my "issue" that said, “Please tell me they didn’t go down the escalator that way.” And a few hours later I received an email from my mom that said, “I bet they did, or surely they wouldn't have made such a big deal about it. -M”

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

you know I just remembered that I have had in the past an "elevator issue" May be it is part genetic only confused genetics. I never have had a problem getting on but when I get to the end and look downI think How can I get off of this thing without my feet going under into the unknown where the elevator steps go. scary. Your imagry of ending up in the glove department and the clinque department is just down right funny. Shouldn't you be doing this writng stuff for a living.?Mom