parades.

I have only ever been in two parades.

For some of you, this might seem like quite a lot, actually. But considering the amount of times I have performed in front of people, I think that is a rather low number of parades.

My first parade was a job. A paying job. But in hindsight, I am sure that whatever paycheck I got was not nearly enough to recompense the horror of it. First of all, it was in Atlantic City. And as if that isn’t bad enough, let’s get more specific and talk about how it was in a casino. You know, one of those places that has no windows. Hmmm, what else generally has no windows?

Oh right, a jail.

But there are no windows and no clocks in casinos–nothing to let on to the fact that you’ve been there all day, that the day has come and gone and the only thing you’ve managed to do is lose some of your retirement and pay way too much money for food that is passable at best.

Now my particular job was to simply dress as a showgirl, stand in the lobby of the hotel and smile and wave. Unless it was quarter till the hour–then I hopped on a little cart at the tail end of the parade that looped around the main floor of the casino and continued to smile and wave from there.

See, standing in a showgirl costume isn’t the worst thing in the world–or at least it isn’t for me. I’d done it before, you know. But I soon realized that doing it on a stage with lights and many many feet between myself and an audience was a totally different thing from standing in the lobby of a casino. Cause people would get really close. Talk to me. And sometimes stare. Which, I know–I mean, most people who wear costumes in public give off the impression that they want to be stared at–but this was different. And I know they all say that–that it’s different this time–but well, this was a legit job and listen, I just didn’t want to be stared at, okay?

Okay.

But the thing that really made me hate my life that day was the headdress. It hurt so so so so very badly. It pulled on every hair follicle on my head (I do hope hair follicle gets tagged, which is why I am going to say hair follicle once more!). It also felt like some kind of terrible and undeserved punishment for my neck, it hurt that much.

And because of that headdress, I made sure to take the ten minute breaks that my supervisor had told me to take. I took them every hour, just like she said. Until her supervisor came up to the dressing room and saw me sitting down, headdress sitting on the floor behind me, and informed me that she didn’t pay me to sit in my dressing room.

I told her about the breaks, but she was more interested in getting my headdress back on and getting my back to the lobby where I belonged and where that headdress made life miserable.

All this to say, it totally sucked. And I will never work in a casino again. Or be a showgirl sans an actual stage or production number.

Oh, but my second parade was fantastic. It was just a few days ago, on Judah’s birthday. I got to beat a drum and follow the feminine version of the Pied Piper, I think.

See?

Me and the little kids who are not adults had a blast. I didn’t even mind so much when their various rhythm sections got a little off.