I'm Just a Tool

I'm on stage. I'm in a play. It's horrible, but that hardly matters. What does matter is my costume. It's at my feet. Not a part of it, not some of it, all of it, at my feet.

FORTY MINUTES EARLIER. I'm standing there in my costume with my dad and my step mom. She is smoothing down my costume and babbling on about how she's sure I'll do just fine. Not as well as some of the real actors, the serious drama students, but fine, just fine. She thanks me again for allowing her to make my costume. It, she assures me will help me stand out tonight. My dad says, "break a leg son," and wanders off, sure that an old friend is just out of sight. I make my excuses and start to head back stage, not wanting to be left alone with Sheila, my step mom, when she calls me back. "Sorry," she tells me, she's spotted a loose thread. She pulls on it as she turns me away from her, makes a few adjustments and then pats my shoulder and tells me to go on, that I am now ready to be a star!

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER. Sheila marries my dad. She is only 8 years older than I am. A fairly trite story really. College professor falls for one of his students. Mom and Dad divorced two years ago. Mom has recently moved to Paris to find herself or at least to get out of here. I'm welcome to join her anytime, except for the whole finishing High School, getting a summer job and going to college thing.

Dad teaches Economics. Sheila switched from business to psychology and is currently a grad student at the University. She is teaching a class and doing research focusing on embarrassment and humiliation relating to individual and group dynamics.

Ever since she moved in, I sometimes get the feeling that I'm just experiment fodder to her.

I have since graduated from High School and I am wrapping up my first year at Community College. Because of a scheduling snafu, I ended up in a drama class that puts on a play at the end of the year.

Which brings us back to right now.

I'm on stage, pretty much naked. My first instinct is to cover myself, that is, my private parts. So I do. As the gasps and tittering begin, I realize that while this was a good first instinct, it is doing little to solve my problem. Then things sort of go into slow motion. I see Dad and Sheila about six rows back. Dad looks confused, like he's trying to figure out if I'm on script. Sheila is smiling at me, looking right at me pulling a long piece of thread through her thumb and forefinger. As a thought starts to form in my mind I am suddenly startled by whistling, catcalls and shrieks of laughter.

At this point I remember that I am naked on stage. Quickly I place one foot and then the other back into the costume and yank it up as I turn my back on the audience. Small problem. In my panic I have placed both feet into one pant leg. This causes the sewn in underwear (I hadn't even pondered why she'd done that) to tear a bit and it also keeps me from pulling my pants or pant as it were, any higher than the bottom of my butt cheek. So there I am, mooning the audience, as I half hopped half "penguin walked" myself off the stage.

After just standing there and watching my struggle, my fellow cast members tried to go on with the show, laughing through their lines and stealing glances off stage.

I was greeted offstage by a chorus of laughter and some very sincere applause. Only one person did not seem amused, our director/drama instructor. She was a large, intimidating woman, who took her drama very seriously, and found no humor in anything that took away from the play. She instructed the four girls on crew to help me get back into my costume. I had a line in the next scene and "if I wanted to graduate and/or live, I'd better be out there to deliver it." And then she was off to do damage control somewhere else.

The girls quickly got to it, pulling me out of the costume, leaving me standing there completely naked.

Now as those of you that have ever worked on a play know, the actors and crew don't always get along and that was certainly the case here.

"The underwear has got to go," one of them said. "It can't be fixed. If only we had more time," she said, melodramatically throwing her arm over her forehead. With that, she took a pair of scissors and cut them out. And the shirt, which had somehow split down the back along the seam, hung limply off to the right and the left. Rip, rip, and the shirt was gone as well. What had been a sort of pirates outfit, was now reduced to a pair of pants that was really just a bed sheet that had been cut into a pattern using elastic at the ankles and waist, although the waistband had obviously given out. The crew gave me a wide, girl's belt to keep them up. While no longer naked, I did not feel a whole lot better.

The drama teacher came back, took one look at me and just rolled her eyes. "Girls, have him ready to go back out on my signal, it'll just be a few more minutes" and with that she scurried closer to the stage. One of the girls whispered to one of the others who let out a laugh loud enough to draw a dirty look from the drama teacher. The four girls then huddled, stifling their laughter as best they could.

"Okay," one of them said to me, "you heard her, we have to have you ready." With that we moved as one behind the drama teacher. Hearing the actors, I could tell we were getting close to the time I would need to go back on stage and utter my line. Three of the girls stood directly in front of me blocking me from the drama teacher. The fourth girl standing directly behind me pulled me to her and started to caress and gently grope me. I let out a little yelp drawing the ire of the drama teacher yet again. As she turned back towards the stage, the girl started up again, rubbing her breasts against my back, caressing my butt, my hips, inching ever forward. I never stood a chance. Just as my erection pushed forward on the flimsy sheet, the drama teacher said "GO," and the three girls parted as the fourth one pushed me on stage.

And there I was, trying to hide behind somebody, anybody as the audience again gasped at my predicament. I looked out at row six. Dad was gone; Sheila was smiling, beaming really, looking at me, and then looking at the audience, taking note of their reaction.

And then it was time for me to say my line. My line, oh God, my line. A couple of the cast members were already laughing, knowing what was coming. But what could I do, so I just said it, "Aye Cap'n, the thought of all that treasure gets me very excited, very excited indeed."

As I stood there, the whole auditorium convulsing with laughter, I couldn't help but notice that even Ms. Leonard, the drama teacher, had a smile on her face.

***

When I came out of the dressing room Shelia was waiting for me. When I asked her where dad was, she explained that they had arrived separately and that he had left right after my first unfortunate event. She made sure to emphasize the word "first."

A couple of girls came up to me and started to say something and then just started laughing and walked away.

I asked Sheila if we could leave, but she insisted we stick around. "This is great stuff," she kept saying. "See, if that had just been one girl, she probably would have been more sympathetic, you know, 'chin up, better luck next time,' but two or more and the more selfish, primal self is exposed."

"Yeah," I said, "I got that in spades backstage."

"Ooh," she said, "you'll have to fill me in on that later."

"No, I don't have to," I said. "This is all your fault, I'm not really interested in helping you learn from my humiliation."

She laughed a little. "Okay, I admit I might have helped your little wardrobe malfunction along, but in my wildest dreams I was hoping that your costume would fall to your knees and you'd quickly pull it back up. The rest was all you; you're a natural."

"Why," I said, "why would you do that!?"

"C'mon," she said, ignoring my question, "let's get you home. Besides, there is something I want to talk to you about."

As we pulled out of the school parking lot, she replayed the whole evenings events for me, from a clinical viewpoint—still humiliating. Then she broached the subject she had alluded to earlier.

"Listen," she said, "I know you're having trouble finding work this summer, why don't you work for me?"

I laughed. "Right, like fetch you coffee and stuff?"

"Well, not exactly," she said.

I sat there quietly for a minute and then it hit me. "Are you crazy?" I yelled. "You want me to go through another night like tonight?"

"Quite a few of them actually. Look, it is my job to study situations like tonight. In reality, they are few and far between. I can and do try to set them up in a lab or controlled environment, but even that rarely works. But tonight, tonight I saw that you are a natural."

"You said that before, why do you keep calling me a natural? You made that happen! There was nothing 'natural' about it!!"

"Yes, I was the catalyst but look at what happened afterward. YOU made it worse. And backstage, I'm betting no one rushed to your aid, right? Even your teacher didn't really protect you, did she? No, because you're easy to humiliate. You're FUN to humiliate. You're a nice normal guy. If you were pathetic, most people would feel sorry for you and work to lessen your humiliation. If you were stunningly handsome and popular most people would help you to curry favor. If you were one mean bastard, most people would help you just to stay on your good side or to be sure you didn't take revenge on them later. But you, well, what's the down side? If it's you, it's not them. If they come to your aid and spoil someone else's fun, they may be setting themselves up as the next target. Nobody wants to take that chance.

And this is why I need you. When I try to set up a situation, it often fails because people can't assess the risk factor. Will they help or will they sit back and enjoy someone else's embarrassment. Take the risk out and I can really start to learn about people's motives and humiliation in its purest form."

I sat there taking this all in. I am a nice guy. I would consider many of the people in that play friends and the girls on crew, while not friends, are people I have certainly gotten along with. As we pulled into our driveway, I realized that a lot of what she said made sense, but that didn't mean I had to help her. "Thanks for the lecture," I said, "but I'm not one of your students and I'm sure as hell not going to work for you!"

With that I slammed the car door shut and walked into the house.

The play was performed a few more times, but mercifully I was replaced. I'm told that my one line continued to get a big laugh though. The school year ended and summer break began.

One Friday night a few weeks later, a big party was planned. Everyone would be getting together to get drunk, blow off steam, complain about their summer jobs (if they had one) and get drunk (it bears repeating).

My best friend Nick and I were going and he came by to pick me up. Sheila stopped me at the front door as I was heading out.

"What are you and 'double loser' doing tonight?" That was her pet name for Nick. I of course was "loser," so in a way I guess my nickname was a compliment.

"The usual," I answered. "Shoot up some heroin, jet over to Vegas and hang with super models."

"You're not thinking of going to that party are you?"

My mouth dropped. How did she...and then I remembered. Her little sister Patti, while six years younger than Sheila was only two years older than I was. Just back from college, there was a good chance that she would have known about this party and might even be going. Patti and Shelia were close, which made me dislike her on principle.

A horn honked. Nick was telling me to come on. No way he was going to subject himself to "another round of Sheila" if he didn't have to.

"It's too soon," she said. "In an environment like that you're just asking for trouble."

"Really, I'm okay," I said, tugging at my clothes. "You didn't make this shirt did you? Pants feel okay. Without your help I'll be fine!"

"Call me if you need a ride tonight," she sighed.

"I've got Nick."

"For now," she said, shaking her head.

The party was going great. Oh sure I was taking some heat for my "performance" but it's power seemed to be diminishing. As a matter of fact, I seemed more popular than ever.

Take that Sheila!

Coincidentally, Nick and I were talking about Sheila, about what a bitch she was, when my night suddenly took a turn for the worse. Roger Johnson, who I recognized from one of my classes, suddenly appeared before us. "Which one of you is the dramatasist?"

"The what?" I asked, sincerely confused.

"He was in the play," Nick said, pointing to me, understanding the question and its implications.

Roger looked at me and smiled. "Take a walk with me."

"Sure," I said, "mind if my friend comes?"

"That's okay," Nick said, "I'm good here. I'm ah going to go get another beer." He then looked down at his full cup and took a long swig as he walked away.

"Here's the thing," Roger started, "I was sitting over there with Sara, my girl, and a bunch of her friends. They are all going on and on about your performance and how funny it was and how they were all so glad to have been there. Now see, this is starting to piss off Sara because she wasn't there. She wasn't there, because I had convinced her not to go to the play. So not only is she pissed off, but she's pissed off at me! So I'm sitting there and I'm thinking no way I'm getting laid tonight. So now I'm pissed off. And then it hits me. The solution to my problem." And here he stops, grabs me by the shoulder and stares right into my eyes. "What we need, what I must have," he says, "is what I think you theater people call an encore performance."

My first thought was RUN. Roger, brighter than I had given him credit for, anticipated this and strengthened his grip on my shoulder. I'm sorry to say that this was enough to keep me in place, but even if I could have wrenched free, two of his buddies had come over as if on cue.

"Look guys, I said, I'd really rather not do th.." and that was that. The three were on me, pulling, yanking, unbuttoning and tossing. And then I was naked. Roger's pals each grabbed an arm and he swept up both my feet and we were off, headed back towards the party. One of the first people I saw, and it was difficult to see as I was swung to and fro, was Nick, returning from his "beer run." He saw the commotion and smiled, until he realized the naked sap was me. Then he frowned, did a 180 and walked quickly away.

I had no time to dwell on this as we were beginning to draw attention. People were following in our wake asking what was going on. Then I saw Patti, standing with a group of girls all laughing and pointing at my latest predicament. She gave me a little wave.

Finally, we got to Sara and her friends and I was placed down right in front of her, like some kind of offering, which I guess I was. Sara laughed and clapped. Roger smiled. How nice for him.

And then we just stood there. I decided that if I just played it cool, I might be able to...just...walk away. And that's what I started to do, until Mary Cooper, who I had known since second grade said "make him say his line."

Suddenly my escape route closed up as people laughed and chanted "say the line, say the line. I hesitated and someone smacked my ass and said "say it."

But before I could utter my infamous line, a new chant rose up, "spank him again, spank him again." And so I was, by Tom Allen, my best friend in junior high, by Ellen Connor a girl I dated my sophomore year of high school and Marci Smith who lived three houses down from me. Everyone was trying to get in on the act. I felt like a pinball and was thinking 'tilt' already!

And then we were all interrupted by a short burst of Police Sirens.

As they sometimes do when we have our "park parties," the Police come by make a little noise and order us to disperse. We then scatter only to regroup an hour or so later, if it's worth it. In this way, they thin the herd without ever having to get out of their cruisers.

We all scatter. At first I run towards the parking lot, hoping to find Nick. Then I remember that I am naked and veer towards the place where my clothes are, that is, where my clothes were. I know they were here, because I find my wallet and coins strewn on the grass and, thank God, my cell phone.

I pick it up and call Nick. It goes straight to voice mail. I rack my brain trying to think who else I can call and say "hey I'm naked in the park can you come pick me up."

Just then my phone rings, scaring the crap out of me! I look at the display and shake my head. I take a deep breath and answer, "Hello Sheila."

"Hi Hon, how's the party?"

"Great," I sigh, not even bothering to feign any sense of normalcy.

"Well," she says, "Why don't I just come by and pick you up."

"No," I say as I rest my forehead on the nearest tree, "I'm doing fine."

"Yeah right," she said, "I'll see you soon." And then after a brief pause... "and, of course, I'll bring you some clothes."

Patti had sent her pictures. That's how Sheila knew to call me.

When she pulled up, I couldn't help but notice she was driving Dad's car, a two-seater. No place for me to hide. I opened the passenger door. No clothes.

"Where are they," I asked.

"They're in the trunk. Get in."

"Give me my clothes!"

She smiled at me, said "Good Night," and drove off.

She was back a minute later. I hoped in.

"What do I have to do to get through to you young man," she asked.

"Oh please," I said, "don't talk to me like you're a parent. Besides, this is all.."

"Don't tell me this is my fault! I warned you about this!"

"Yeah well..." and then I just got silent. I can't believe I had almost just mumbled, yeah well you started it.

"Have you thought anymore about working for me this summer?"

"That's just not going to happen," I said.

"Listen," she said, "you need a job, and who do you think is going to hire you at this point?"

She was right, of course, but there had to be another way. I told her I had some prospects. It was a lie and she knew it was a lie. She sighed, made a quick u-turn and then drove in silence until she pulled up in front of an apartment complex.

"Okay," she said, "get out." And with that she popped open the trunk.

"What? Why? Where are we?"

"Get out and I'll tell you," she said.

Having learned at least one thing tonight, I did as she asked.

She honked the horn twice. "This is where Patti and some of her friends are living this summer. The honking clued them in that you have turned me down yet again and are standing here naked, so you might want to grab the bag out of the trunk before they get down here."

With that, she started a slow roll so I quickly grabbed the only bag in the trunk before Sheila roared off. It felt suspiciously light, but before I could really process that, I heard a crowd coming my way, so I quickly reached in and pulled out -- my pirate pants.

I had just gotten them on when I heard Patti call out.

"Well look who it is. Nice outfit."

I swear I was more humiliated that someone might think that I chose to wear this than I actually was for wearing it. Still, we're talking about the difference between 9.5 and 10 on a 10 point humiliation scale.

The waist-band was still non existent, so I had to use one hand to hold the pants up.

"Is this your little brother?" another girl asked Patti.

"Well I guess he is for tonight," she said musing up my hair.

Trying to flatten my hair back down with one hand while holding up my pants with the other, made me look about twelve.

As it turns out, I was crashing a late night pool/keg party. For the first time in hours, I actually had more clothes on than most of the people around me.