Trousers
I was going to write a long, thoughtful piece about the attire of the lower half of the human body. Initially, it was going to be titled, "Pants," but then I found out that the word pants has multiple meanings depending on the country in which it is used. Then, I was complemented on my trousers this morning, but not with a straight face. Someone overheard the crooked faced compliment, mistook it for an earnest declaration and began reciting the history of the use of the word, including the fact that trousers are for men and "slacks" is the term for women. Well, I digress and I cannot really top these fun facts. So, here's my real entry:
I was listening to Run DMC's Walk This Way as I pulled up to the parking garage entrance this morning in my Passat wagon. Before I reached the entrance, I noticed two of my colleagues, Stephanie and Jason, standing on the sidewalk chatting. I pulled over and rolled down my window. They both broke into uncontrollable laughter, Jason sputtering that I, white chick that I am, could not possibly be listening to Run DMC. Stephanie added that, not only was I a white chick listening to the rap music, but listening to it in a station wagon.
I do not drive a station wagon, although I have a fear that I do. I was reluctant to purchase the Passat wagon, wavering several times and eyeing the sedan because of the wagon's affinity to the station wagon trope. However, the functionality of the wagon was, in part, my justification for purchasing a new car. And, I think the Passat wagon is quite a different beast from the station wagon. Visions of my parents 1970s vintage Ford Country Squire haunted my imagination as I considered the purchase of the Passat wagon. When I was very young, I remember spending hours in the back of that station wagon as we travelled to my grandparent's house in Wyoming. The good thing about the 1970s was that my parents never strapped us in -- we had free run of the entire back fo the wagon. They'd put the seats down and we had a large enclosed area to contain our playing, complaining, bickering and constant "are we there yet?" questioning.
My parent's station wagon was my first car when I got my driver's license at 16. They had tired of the vehicle at this point and saved it especially for me. And, at the time, I was not complaining about driving a station wagon. I also wasn't too worried about being perceived as a grown-up. In fact, you could hide a lot of folks in that car when entering the drive-in movie theater (you had to pay by the head, not the car). Going to the drive-in movie theater was one of the few things for a teen to do in Bozeman, Montana. I was not allowed to go to the drive-in movies. I am not entirely certain of the justification of my mother's "no drive-in" rule, but it was harsh since that was the activity of choice for most of my peers on the weekends. I went anyway. I snuck a lot of kids in with me in the back of the station wagon. Ultimately, my mother found out I'd been going to the drive-in and she grounded me for about a year. Someone left an empty popcorn box in the back seat of the station wagon and my mother found it during one of her fact-finding missions in my car. I always got caught.
Once I snuck out of my house to go see the midnight movie, another big event in small-town Bozeman that all the other kids were doing that I was not allowed to do. I saw Woody Allen's Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask. My mother was sitting in the living room, waiting up for me when I got home. Grounded for another year.
Anyway, buying a wagon of any sort mobilized all of these problems with my youth and the fear that I might be an adult. I worry that only grown-ups buy new wagons. So, when Stephanie called my sporty Passat wagon a "station wagon," I almost started crying. But I laughed instead. And, for the record, this is what my car looks like :
Hardly the same as the Ford Country Squire :
(If you are wondering, there is an entire website devoted to the station wagon. That is where I got this photo. Stephanie told me about this during her relentless mockery of my current vehicle.)
Anyway, I parked my car and walked to the Academic Affairs office and, as I headed toward my own office, I encountered Stephanie and Jason hanging out in his office. Unsuspecting, I chatted and joked a bit more with them and then went into my office to begin my day of hard labor. Then, I received an email from Jason. Here are the contents of this email :
WORD