Napkins

Hanging out of my bra was a beautiful half wrinkled napkin. Not just any napkin, but the particular kind that is hard like a piece of notebook paper that when crumpled makes an atrocious noise that demands the attention of everyone in ear shot and perhaps even the next room as well.
Allow me to elaborate: my work supervisor makes me absolutely nuts.
Last year my roommate worked for our family studies advisor as his student worker. In the beginning she really enjoyed it and while sharing stories of what had happened that day left me feeling very envious of working for a professor especially for one that your major is in. At the end of the year, she had already said she wasn’t going to keep the job for the following year so I immediately jumped at the opportunity to fill the newly empty position. I remember that in the middle of telling her what I had done, got her job, she was telling me “good luck.”
The beginning of the school year started off with a bang and I remember feeling comfortable with my new job because I got along so well with the professor. I already had a good idea of what I was going to be doing and was able to get a nice jump start in my new job. As time went on, I remember finding myself being even more myself and sharing more opinions about classes, professors, etc. I even caught myself saying that I didn’t feel like I was working for a professor but a friend, such a huge difference when professors are usually old, grumpy and very set in their ways.
The work itself was enjoyable and I was being exposed to more family problems and actual interesting cases from a man who was actually a licensed family therapist. One of my favorite things about working for him was the fact that he was just as sarcastic and always asked for a student’s opinion on certain subject matters. I am never short of a blunt opinion especially when somebody wants to hear it, so I was thrilled at sharing my view point on any subject, whether I knew anything about it or not. What I had not expected was to actually befriend my professor.
Now let me get certain things straight, there is no more to this then a friendship and I don’t want to even insinuate anything else. There is a certain level of respect that is still obviously held because I am working for a professor. What makes this more of a friendship, kind of and even that work is being said with slight doubt because he still is a professor and acts as one does at times, is that he brings his self down to actually caring about his students. Because of his family studies background, this is obviously his area of expertise and is always jumping at the chance to analyze your problems along with tell you ten different case studies, statistics, and a personal story (if not three or four).He is always willing to discuss all types of issues and remains interested in what you have to say, not getting you out of the office so he can do work.
So how did I end up, three hours after I was done working for him today, sitting in his class with a crumpled noisy napkin half hanging out of my bra and making my boobs not only lopsided but deformed?
Well, he made the most utterly awkward comment. This morning when I was working for him, we attended the “Majors Fair” to represent family studies, hand out flyers, answer questions and basically interest students who would have not heard about the major/minor into making it their own. He had emailed me a couple days before hand telling me to dress up, and so I did. Also, with interacting with students, I was being friendly. Let me spell this out to you: I was dressed up being very nice to freshmen boys. In fact, the phrase I used with these two was “if you don’t take a flyer, you’ll break my heart.” To which they accept, but no one has a moment to even breath before my professor goes, “yeah and you don’t want to go and break this one’s heart or else she’ll break something of yours.”
I was mortified. Really. Yes. That just happened. I didn’t know how to react, but I’ll tell you how my body did: laugh. I turned away, laughing my head off, mortified. When I looked up, they were scampering away so fast they could barely keep their North face book bags straight on their back. What direction did they head in? Business. Where its cold hard fact with no girls dressed up or emotions or awkward professors making even awkward comments. I guess this answers the question of why there are absolutely no men in the family studies department.
And that wasn’t even the only comment he made. Oh no. He informed two other students- mind you, these are my friends who I have classes with and talk to most every day- that I was a man killer. Any duct tape to go over your mouth at this point would be phenomenal. I was flabbergasted.
When my work hours were up and I was leaving to go to class, I was still astonished that those comments came out of his mouth. Not just around students, but professors who I would like to have a good reputation with were standing scattered around. Being dressed up in the cold with runny nose, I grabbed a pathetic crappy no absorbent napkin and kept it in my hand until I left his office. Did I mention every time I leave his office I’m floored with whatever comment he says to me last (today was that my slip was showing and didn’t look good; last week: my feet were ugly- yes, to answer that question that formed in your mind- he did say that) along with scatter brained with the hundreds of details I must remember before I come to work for him the next day? I digress; I was running late, as always because I had “one more thing” to do for him before I left.
As I make my way to the bathroom, I find myself with Napkin in hand, no pockets because I’m dressed up and I’m not ready to get ride of the resistant piece of crap that has formed to the palm of my hand, so I quickly stuff it half way in my bra, use the bathroom and proceed on with my day. I immediately forgot about the Napkin, and proceed to go to class. A class in which, I called the professor out asking him what was actually going on and why it was important. Complete with lopsided boobs. The next class, Spanish, we had to roam around the room and face people with cards we hold up to our chests asking them to tell us the word in Spanish. Next, I had a complete conversation with a professional standing in the hallway while waiting to go to his class.
Half way through my class with my professor I work for, I sat there, remembered my blunder, and proceeded to turn a magnificent shade of dazzling red. I waited for the opportune moment, he turned around to write something on the board, and yes, with person to my left and sitting at the front of the class with people around me, I completely reached in and got the itchy piece of embarrassment out and threw it in my bag. And yes, it was the loudest crumpled napkin to be jerked from a bra anyone has ever heard in their life. Had the class not been all girls, minus the professor, I probably would have sat with a deformed boobs until I had found a serene and isolated place to remove this form of kitchen treachery. But I didn’t. It was all done in class.
Yes, but who laughed the hardest at this story? My roommate.

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