Blame Shame Game

Lunch was very satisfying, in fact quite delicious, but I really had to get going. This was the first day of class, and I wasn’t quite sure which building it was to be held in, since the campus was new and I had only recently been hired to teach a section as a new instructor. So I would first have to stop by the English department to get the particulars, the building, the room number, etc. I knew that the class was scheduled for twelve noon, and that was about all---except that this new job was extremely important to me and my young family.

The campus was on the other side of town and there was no way to avoid the usual heavy morning traffic. Should I call the department first to get the information I needed or just head out and hope for the best? My car was parked a few blocks away, and I would have to get gas first because the gauge was broken, and if I ran out of gas on the way---stuck in a city line of traffic with no hope of moving and horns blasting and blaring all around me---that would be truly disastrous. Why had I played it so close? And this wasn’t the first time I had been in a predicament like this. Everyone seemed to know that there had been another first day of class in my brief history as an English instructor when students waited for a half-hour for me, their brand-new no-show teacher, before going en masse to the Dean’s office to complain. Was I incapable of learning something so important to me? What kind of excuse could I possibly come up with to explain this absurd and shameful repeat performance?

I paid the check and looked at my watch: I had only four minutes! to walk to my car, stop for gas, drive across town, stop at the office to find out where the class was being held and get there either by foot or by car, depending. Blame and shame rose in my craw like undigested lunch. How could I possibly not have planned carefully for this important day? And on top of everything else I realized that I had another huge problem, for I saw that I was completely naked as I walked out of the restaurant. I could see my pale thighs, my belly, everything, and although no one seemed to notice or care, obviously finding some clothes to cover my body was the first thing to take care of. But that meant I would have even less time to accomplish what was already impossible, to get to class only reasonably late.

Being stark naked didn’t seem to be my fault exactly, the way all the rest of it was. And I would have to agree with everyone who heaped blame upon me in the future, which was an absurdity in that I would have no defender whatsoever, even myself, the ultimate no-contest. The self-loathing was acute and bitter, even if it was not overpowering. It was not enough to wake me into a higher reality, but I think it came damned close.