I somehow missed the little exchange taking place in the comments regarding Helga. So here it is you two! Her name is:
_ _ _ /_ _ _ _ _
Did you know it is nearly impossible to type a line when you are thinking of the letter?
Oompah Oompah Doompaty Doo......
Showing posts with label helga. Show all posts
Showing posts with label helga. Show all posts
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Willy Wonka is not the only person who scared me in the '70's.
When I was in middle school or junior high, I don't recall which, there was this girl. We'll call her Helga, for dramatic story telling purposes. Helga worked at a little burger joint called Burger 5. Helga used to make endless jokes at my expense each time I stopped by to eat. Looking back, I think she did this to everyone, but at the time I could not figure out why she hated me so much. She was a few years older, so I guess I thought she hated over-weight, plainly dressed girls that liked french fries. This ridicule lasted for years. Even after B5 closed, if I saw her anywhere, inevitably she would point and laugh at anything I was doing or wearing. I avoided her at all costs.
I had all but forgotten about Helga, until yesterday. Now, I have mentioned to a few close friends my somewhat ridiculous fascination with the spray on tan thing. No...I don't do it, my fascination lies with those that OVER- DO it. So, how ironic this next little event would prove to be!
As I drove down Water Street approaching the Spray Paint Tan place, my attention was assaulted by first- an orange glow, second - what looked to be a rooster sitting atop a woman's head (turns out it was the 80's mall-hair spray thing), and third - a very large woman dressed in tight black spandex leotards and a bright pink t-shirt. These were not separate people though - this hot mess was all taking place on ONE person. Yepp. It was Helga! I couldn't look away as she stuck her key into her Ford Explorer. When I got next to her - our eyes locked. She knew it was the fat kid who liked fries - and I knew it was the nasty girl behind the counter. There she was in all her spray-on, glow-tan glory!
Only now, it was very different. She seemed to cower somehow and looked quickly away from me in what I can only describe as embarrassment. For a moment, I felt sorry for her. My impression was that of someone struggling to hang on to the past. I think she might have been a very good looking lycra wearing, tan person with big hair in 1987. But now - she is simply clinging to that identity and in her mind it equates beauty and popularity somehow. (Yes, I got all of that in the 7 second drive by.)
I felt no satisfaction by seeing her this way though and I am grateful for that. But, before I walk away tonight, puffed up in my realization I have no ill wishes towards Helga for chipping away at my self esteem AND that I took zero pleasure in seeing her so uncomfortable in her own skin (no spray-on pun intended)...Here it is:
I had all but forgotten about Helga, until yesterday. Now, I have mentioned to a few close friends my somewhat ridiculous fascination with the spray on tan thing. No...I don't do it, my fascination lies with those that OVER- DO it. So, how ironic this next little event would prove to be!
As I drove down Water Street approaching the Spray Paint Tan place, my attention was assaulted by first- an orange glow, second - what looked to be a rooster sitting atop a woman's head (turns out it was the 80's mall-hair spray thing), and third - a very large woman dressed in tight black spandex leotards and a bright pink t-shirt. These were not separate people though - this hot mess was all taking place on ONE person. Yepp. It was Helga! I couldn't look away as she stuck her key into her Ford Explorer. When I got next to her - our eyes locked. She knew it was the fat kid who liked fries - and I knew it was the nasty girl behind the counter. There she was in all her spray-on, glow-tan glory!
Only now, it was very different. She seemed to cower somehow and looked quickly away from me in what I can only describe as embarrassment. For a moment, I felt sorry for her. My impression was that of someone struggling to hang on to the past. I think she might have been a very good looking lycra wearing, tan person with big hair in 1987. But now - she is simply clinging to that identity and in her mind it equates beauty and popularity somehow. (Yes, I got all of that in the 7 second drive by.)
I felt no satisfaction by seeing her this way though and I am grateful for that. But, before I walk away tonight, puffed up in my realization I have no ill wishes towards Helga for chipping away at my self esteem AND that I took zero pleasure in seeing her so uncomfortable in her own skin (no spray-on pun intended)...Here it is:
And that's all I got to say about that.
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