I always wanted to be on the David Letterman show, but I just couldn’t come up with a really cool stupid human trick. Therefore, I put big holes in my ears so I could show America how I can put my fingers through my earlobes, as well as a burning cigarette, pool sticks, or whatever. Well, at least that is one reason. Fact: I have stretched earlobes, also known as big holes in my ears, about the diameter of an inch. Before I go any further, I would like to clear something up for everyone. Yes, it hurt. It hurt badly. Why people constantly ask me if it hurt, I will never know. Does stretching the flesh sound like it feels good? Take for instance the torture devices used back in the medieval ages. One device in particular was designed to stretch human flesh by pulling apart the extremities, and subsequently, stretching the flesh to the verge of tearing and thus virtually dismembering the body. Of course, that was then, and this is now. Nowadays, individuals pay piercers to voluntarily stick needles in places that weren’t meant for holes. Moreover, people are also paying to have these holes stretched. However, just because something is voluntary doesn’t mean that pain is not involved. Stretching skin is exactly as painful as it sounds. It’s torture. The repetitive question then is why. Why do I have big holes in my ears? Well, that cosmic question is one that even my mother constantly contemplates. Obviously, she doesn’t approve of my enlarged earlobes, or anything else pierced or painted on my body.

Mom: “Corie, did the holes in you ears get bigger?”
Me: “No, Mom, they’re the same size that they have been for the past two years.”
Mom: “Can you put those solid things in when I see you? The holes look gross.”
Me: “No, Mom, I told you that I lost my plugs surfing. You can buy me another pair if you really want to.”
Mom: “Still, it’s disgusting. They make me sick.”
Me: “Sorry. What do you want me to do? They are there. They have been there for almost five years. Oh, well.”
Mom: “No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend. Who would want to take you to meet their parents with ears like that?”
Me: “I told you already, I’m waiting to find a cool guy with big holes in his ears, too. Then it will be easier for you to babysit our kids. You can just lace a rope through their ears and tie them to a tree. Besides, what child wouldn’t listen to you if you had them in the Vulcan lobe grip?”

Essentially, you have to realize the fact that I love messing with people. In which case, my ears have granted me many humorous encounters with many gullible people. Plus, my lobes serve as excellent icebreakers. For example, when I first meet people they usually meet my earlobes before me. Therefore, I’m unaccustomed to the awkward silence that accompanies meeting new people, since my ears usually start an initial conversation. Subsequently, my mother is not into my humorous conversation facilitators. I think she is still under the misconception that she can publicly embarrass me into fixing them. Hmm. What do you think?

Grocery clerk: “Wow, are those big holes in you ears?”
Me: “No, they are pictures of the back of my neck, glued onto really big ear rings.”
Mom: “They’re disgusting, huh?”
Grocery clerk: “How did you do that, anyway?”
Me: “Well, a few years ago my friends and I were out cow tipping, when we accidentally found ourselves in a pasture with a mad bull. We ran, of course, but we had to jump over a barbed wire fence. When I tried to shimmy over, one of my earlobes hooked onto the barbed wire. I had to move quickly and when I pulled, the wire ripped a big hole in my ear. After it healed, I thought it looked cool, so I decided to put a big hole in the other ear as well.”
Grocery clerk: “Really, that happened?”
My mother just rolled her eyes.
Me: “No, I’m just joking. My mom gets upset when I tell people the real reason. I think she’s a little embarrassed by me.”
Mom: “Ha, I guess you could say that.”
Me: “Actually, what happened was that I was involved in this high-speed car pursuit by the cops, when all of the sudden, the police opened fire on our car, which happened to be the one they were chasing. Anyway, one of the bullets came through the back window and shot right through my ear. Man. I was lucky. It was going to cost around $300 to get plastic surgery, but I’m broke, and my buddy went to jail. I just went ahead and shot myself in the other ear so I didn’t look unbalanced. Boy, was I glad when stretching earlobes became a trend.”

Basically, I think life is too short to be serious all of the time. Therefore, I find life much more enjoyable by humoring myself throughout the day as much as possible. It’s not that I’m laughing at the expense of others, because I try to share this humor, especially with my mother. However, I think it might be a lost cause. She just doesn’t find any humor in my big earlobes, but I still try. Besides, wasn’t it she who told me to never judge a book by its cover?

I love it when people really believe that the customer is always right. Sure, that’s what retailers would want their consumer base to think. It’s good for business. Don’t get me wrong. There are retailers out there who are sincere and provide good customer service. There are companies that make exceptionally friendly customer service their main objective. The idea is that it keeps the customers happy and happy customers are repeat customers. The company that I work for stresses exceptionally friendly customer service. While that in itself is commendable, it has pitfalls. The world is not perfect, and not all customers are easy to please. Some of them are downright rude and just plain ignorant. I’ve been in the retail business for two years, and it never ceases to amaze me the mix of customers that come in. It’s becoming easier to tell which customers will give you a hard time. After a while, one learns not to take a customer’s rudeness personally because some people are just not happy with their personal lives and try to bring you down with them. Before I was promoted to a customer service representative, I worked on the sales floor. I had my share of abusive customers, from those who leave heaps of clothing on the fitting room floor (I sometimes wonder what their homes look like) to those who argue all-knowingly on how I’m supposed to do my job. The most horrible experience that I’ve had with an irate customer was a little over a year ago. She wasn’t really my customer, but the “new girl” who was helping her was getting rattled and didn’t know how to handle her. She came and got me. The customer was returning a pair of Polo jeans (obviously worn) without a receipt or tags. Even without a receipt, we can take the merchandise as long as we carry the same style. However, we didn’t and I tried to explain to her our company policy. We argued over this for 20 minutes until she was screaming at the top of her lungs.

Then she attacked me personally:
Customer: “You’re not the manager. Why should I listen to someone as young as you? I’m 35. Mr. Hechts doesn’t even care about you. I bet you don’t get paid well, but you care so much about a measly pair of jeans.”
Me: “Ma’am, that’s totally out of line.”
The customer was still screaming, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to assert myself. She had no right to belittle me like that.
Me: “Excuse me ma’am! For your information, I don’t really care what you think. Besides, Mr. Hechts will be so happy that I’m an honest, hard-working employee who will not put up with abusive customers like you, even if they paid me ten times what I’m earning.”
That made her even more upset, especially when I told her that she shouldn’t worry because I would be graduating from college soon and she would never have to deal with me again. She threatened to have me fired. I was so angry, but I tried to stay calm. I even offered my name on a piece of paper so she wouldn’t misspell it when she wrote a complaint. When my manager heard about it, she supported me. Several months later, I was promoted to customer service rep. Imagine my apprehension in taking a promotion which would be the embodiment of everything retail ought to be. I imagined meaner, more demanding, angrier customers. I’m baffled that because of my new position, I get more respect than the sales associates.

“Tuck and roll, Grandma, tuck and roll!” Do you remember that commercial? The attractive dark-haired male driving his cliched moth-eaten grandmother to the doctor’s office. He needs to rush back and finish his video game so he pushes her out of the car while approaching the doctor’s office, yelling at her to tuck and roll. It is definitely one of the best commercials of the millennium. So I decided, involuntarily, to re-enact this tuck and roll concept and I have the scar to prove it. I was late for a particularly important event and decided to run in my dress and tennies. (Don’t ask me what I was doing wearing sneakers and a dress together.) As I approached a stack of steps, I decided to leap instead of sanely run down them. Well, surely enough I am not wonder-woman and my graceful leap turned into a chaotic plunge. I tucked and rolled. So there I am lying on the ground, blood running down my arm, my leg twisted under me and do you know what the first thing that came to mind was? It wasn’t the pain or the rip in my dress, it was me praying that not a soul saw my plummet to the ground. I lay there a second and then slowly lifted my head. I looked all around and thankfully, no one had witnessed my clumsiness. Then it hits me while I continue running, “God, I’m an idiot!” I have probably broken my arm and all I can think about is that it would be completely humiliating if someone had seen me “eat it.” Well, if that is not enough my shallowness began to consume me. I actually started to think of really clever stories about the injury on my arm and how it occurred. If you have me in any classes, I’m sure you have heard my rather creative narratives.

There was one about how I saved a little child from a Mac truck. “God, parents these days need to pay more attention to their kids when they are playing in the street.” Another story was that I dodged an angry crowd of senior citizens at the mall who were protesting an Eminem CD release. “Old people!” You know college students aren’t as gullible as perceived. Not one person believed me, and let me tell you I was more than convincing. So I had to swallow my pride and confess to my gawkiness. I think that nowadays we are starting to care too much about what other people think. I should have just sucked it up and told the embarrassing truth, but I didn’t. We can constantly deny that we care what others think, but you know we are only kidding ourselves. Think about it, if we really didn’t care what others thought we wouldn’t shower and primp ourselves because you know when you were little you hated bathing. You would rather have ripped a Band-Aid from your dry skin then soaked it in the bathtub while bathing. As we began to grow older, we realized stinky people were socially unacceptable. So then you started to bathe more and the next thing you know it just somehow worked itself into your everyday routine. Now don’t misinterpret what I’m saying. I don’t want to walk around campus reeking, I love showering. We just care too much about what others think and that equals us showering, buying acne cream and $20 bottles of foundation, spending hours in front of the mirror because we have an Alfalfa hairdo, and oh yes, brushing our teeth four times a day. Yeah, I was a dirty little kid, nappy hair, stinky breath, mud stains on my skin. Perhaps that is why I am so hygienically freakish today. Society as a whole just worries too much about others scrutinizing them. We need to honestly get over it. So if you are a person that pathologically lies to escape mortification, realize that embarrassments are a fact of life. Be proud of your klutzy moments, gosh darn it! I fell down some stairs. I rock!