"Hey!!! Smokey The Bear!!!" (Another HTP Production)Sep 10 '01 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Why was this loudmouth guy calling me "Smokey The Bear?" Was it because I'm as cuddly as a teddy bear?
INTRO: I came across this category asking me what a bladder was in relation to sports and sporting goods. So. . . What exactly IS a bladder in that respect? Since one definition of it is a sac that helps certain fish to breathe, could the bladder they refer to have to do with the sport of fishing? Another definition of a bladder is something inflated inside of a football--meaning that a bladder could also be related to that sport. But what is a sport? One definition says that it's recreation. Another associates it with sex. Therefore--with or without sex--a date could be considered a sport, since it's a form of recreation. And that's the direction I'm going to be going with the subject of bladders (mine and others). So climb into my time-machine and go back to February of 1971. . . It was the second semester of my senior year of high school, and my folks had donated to help support the widows and children of cops killed in the line of duty. In return, they were given a couple of tickets to the upcoming Policemen's Ball, which would be held in a factory in Edgewood (a little village just-west-of-and-blended-into Anderson) that had to do with water and sewage treatment. Since Gary and I also enjoyed the Big Band style of music, my folks decided to give the tickets to us as an early Valentine's Day present. The night of the dance, I was all dressed up in a dark, satiny, above-the-knees dress with dainty paisley print all over it. I wore (as I recall) navy-blue pantyhose with it and either some dress boots or else some low-heeled pumps. I'm pretty sure that it was the boots. My long hair was styled in a dressy-yet-simple fashion, and I wore just a hint of make-up. If one word could be used to describe my appearance that night, it would be "wholesome." Off we drove to the dance. It was a bitterly-cold night, and we had to park a ways from the building. Gary got out of the car to go around and help me out of the car. The minute he opened his door to get out, the coldness came in, making my bladder let out a silent Banshee scream! "Gary? Could we go to a filling station or something? I've got to pee." He was reluctant to lose the parking space and suggested that I squat down by the car and let it all out. This would definitely not be an easy task, because I was not only wearing pantyhose but I was also all bundled up in winter outer garments. Gary told me to do it quickly, and he'd keep watch to make sure that nobody drove up. "Damn!" he exclaimed before I was able to even start taking down my pantyhose. I could see the car lights, too, so I knew why he was upset. Even way out where we were, there were people arriving even later than we'd arrived, and there was no privacy to be found. Gary told me that it really wasn't that far to the building and that he'd try to keep me warm and keep my mind off of my problem. We walked towards the building, and Gary hugged me next to him to keep me warm while engaging in all kinds of small-talk! Finally!!! We had arrived, and I was still dry!!! An eighteen year old bladder can tough it out for a whole lot longer than one that has been around over 30 years more. Now, it was time to find the bathroom. This was a factory that had mostly male workers, so there were mostly male restrooms. For that night, at least one of them had been converted into a ladies' room with only the urinal a dead giveaway that it really wasn't. Gary told me where he'd be waiting for me when I returned, and I went and got into line. I finally advanced in the line to where I was actually all the way inside the restroom. One woman there who was a few years older lit up a cigarette. Now, I didn't smoke and would advise anyone not to start up--or, if they already had, to break the habit. Even so, I was just goofing around rather than being preachy when I said to her, "Better not light that thing in here or you might cause a fire. It's so crowded that, if that happened, we couldn't get back out the door and would have to escape by flushing ourselves down the john!" She, or another lady, mentioned that you could tell this was really a men's room because of the urinal, and I told them that, when I was little, I tried to pee standing up one time and ended up peeing all over the floor. All in all, it was just a lot of small-talk to be friendly and keep our minds off of our pressing needs. The smoking lady went in first, and I was either next or else a couple more away. By the time I was out of there, she was gone. I met Gary up on this observation deck where we looked down at the main floor of the factory which had been turned into a ballroom. "Look at them down there!" Gary commented in disgust. "It's just like Sodom and Gomorrah. They're all weaving back and forth and drunk!" He asked me if I were sure I wanted to go down there. I told him that I did--that I really didn't think they were all drunk, because this was a respectable dance. I mentioned that there was even a couple from church who had been to past balls and told me how much fun it would be for Gary and me. So we walked into the makeshift ballroom. "Hey!!! Smokey The Bear!!!" a guy sitting at a near-by table brayed. "Have you put out any forest fires lately?" He and his friends all began laughing loudly. I had no idea that they were even talking to me. "Hey!" Gary exclaimed as we walked on towards the small dance floor beyond the rows and rows of long tables where people dressed to the nines were seated and paper cups and coolers appeared here and there on the tables. "Why was that guy calling you Smokey The Bear?" Up to that point, I didn't even realize that he was. Gary told me that the guy was making fun of me for some reason and asked me if I had gotten into any unusual conversations with anyone when I was waiting for the restroom. I remembered the joke I cracked about not smoking in the bathroom, and Gary told me that it was no wonder that the group was acting this way with my preaching at the woman not to smoke. When I tried to explain to him that I wasn't preaching, he told me that he knew it--but that it probably came across to her that way because I was so innocent-looking. We danced for awhile until we got thirsty. Then, we headed out of the ballroom to get a couple of cans of soft drinks out of the machine in the break room. Going past that one table was the only way to enter and leave. As we went by, the guy--drunker than ever--hollered, "Hey!!! Smokey The Bear!!!" again while pointing his finger in the air at nothing in particular. Again, giggles and guffaws from him and his party. "Yeah! That's me!" I shot back. Gary gave me a dirty look. We went out and had some pop. After we had finished, Gary asked me if I were sure I wanted to go back in there. Of course, I did! I think this bear business was bothering him a lot more than it was bothering me. "H-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-y! Smokey The Bear!" the guy bellowed as we walked past. "YEAH!" I hollered back at him--and Gary pulled on my arm to get me away from there. We danced awhile more. Then, the band took a break. By this time, the room was as smoky as a speakeasy, and we were about the only sober ones there. "I think it's time to go," Gary told me firmly. "Now, don't go talking to that drunk as we go past!" "Aw, Gary! He just wants to have fun!" We passed the table for a final time. "H-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eyeeeeee! Smokey Th' Beahr!" By now he was pointing, weaving, reeling, and uttering what seemed to be his favorite words at least a couple of octaves higher and a few decibels louder. "Yeah! That's me! Good Ol' Smokey The Bear!!! Good-night!" I waved at them as we left the room, and Gary looked as if he'd like to kill me. I stopped in the restroom one more time in preparation for the trip home--before which Gary instructed me not to talk to another soul. "Just do what you have to do and get out of there!" So I did. Then, we left. This was a night I'd never forget--and I doubt that Gary has, either!  |
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