While still in high school, I took some college courses. I would spend half my day in high school and half at the local junior college. Though it was close to 10 years ago, this particular day is etched in my mind. It was Speech Class. I was sitting in my seat waiting for the rest of the students to arrive and for class to get started. Darlene, the most beautiful female student in the class, hands down, walked in. As usual she was dressed in the hottest, hippest of outfits. That day it happened to be a blue mini skirt, a short sleeved white blouse, a sweater, and a simple pair of flats.
She walked to a seat, one row in front of me. Then it happened. As she was placing her books on her desk, her pencils dropped to the ground! A hush fell over those in the immediate vicinity. She stared down at the pencils, frozen in terror. No one moved. No one spoke. It was as if we were all statues, unable to do anything but observe the tragedy unfolding in front of us.
The beautiful girl, the smartly dressed girl, the girl all the guys wanted and all the girls wanted to be, stood there, unable to act, incapable of performing the simplest of tasks. All the guys nearby, just waited and watched, trying to keep themselves from slobbering with anticipation. Her skirt was so mini, I didn’t see how she was going to pick up those pencils on her own. Any move to bend over or reach for the pencils would have her backside waving hello to all the onlookers.
She started to bend over, and stopped. She tried to squat down, keeping her knees together. She couldn’t do it. I could see what this moment was doing to her. Her face turned red, then began to fade to white. Sweat erupted from her brow. Her breathing became shallow and frantic. She was entering the realm of a full-on, panic attack. Her suffering was almost unbearable to watch. She kept trying different approaches, to the utter satisfaction of the hormone-driven guys in the crowd, but she could not reach her pencils without exposing herself to the crowd.