(no subject)
With the recent talk of CFUD and college applications, and Kon mentioning this event, I present to you one of my college essays. The prompt was about a situation in which me and another person had a difference of perspective which lead to a misunderstanding.
I once groped Christopher Reeve in a post office.
As I see it, the event was not merely influenced by the fact that Mr. Reeve and I had different perspectives, but actually only existed because of this. Had Christopher Reeve and I seen eye-to-eye, I never would have come to grab at his backside.
If someone has to take responsibility for the event, then it is me. Christopher Reeve was, in this case, an innocent bystander. Taking into account our distinct perspectives, however, I believe that I was completely justified in my actions.
To show this, we must first establish several facts. Although this was in 1988, before Mr. Reeve’s accident, he had no security around him. Neither did he have a helpful neon sign displaying him as "Christopher Reeve" or his backside as "Man of Steel’s Buns of Steel." [For this painfully awesome phrase, I have to thank my father, who is obviously just as bad a person as I am.] Third, he was wearing jeans.
I will start with my perspective, which I should know. (We must recall fact one, however: because it is 1988, I am two years old. Hence, the event is somewhat foggy in my mind.) The scene opens when my father and I enter the post office. My father and I (my father tells me) are waiting in line. I (I conjecture) am distracted, perhaps by some kind of shiny, post-office object. At some point, I notice that I cannot see my father. This is (no doubt) a cause of some alarm for me. I look for him. Spying his legs, I go for them.
We will now switch to Christopher Reeve’s perspective, to heighten dramatic tension. Christopher Reeve is (I can only assume) sending a package or letter or buying stamps. While we cannot know if he thought of stamps or fighting crime as he stood in line, we can guess with some confidence that his thoughts quickly become, roughly, "What on earth is tugging on my pants?"
What on earth is tugging on his pants, as you have probably guessed, is yours truly. As we established in fact three, Mr. Reeve is wearing jeans. As fate would have it, so is my father. Christopher Reeve is also standing directly in front of us in line (unless my father is a liar). We have also established that I am two years old, and thus, in my attempt to get the attention of the man I assume to be my father, the highest I can reach is his bottom.
I actually remember some of my feelings of terror upon the realization that these were not the pants I was looking for. Had I been older, I probably would have been comforted that his being Superman was almost as good as being my father. As it was, I just felt betrayed by the fact that not every man in the world wearing jeans was my father. (My father says that he himself was, at that time, behind us being very amused.)
As I hope this breakdown has shown, this encounter stemmed entirely from the differences between Christopher Reeve’s perspective and my own. Had Christopher Reeve been my father, as I thought, no gropes would have occurred. So I rescind my earlier statement. It was all Christopher Reeve’s fault.
I once groped Christopher Reeve in a post office.
As I see it, the event was not merely influenced by the fact that Mr. Reeve and I had different perspectives, but actually only existed because of this. Had Christopher Reeve and I seen eye-to-eye, I never would have come to grab at his backside.
If someone has to take responsibility for the event, then it is me. Christopher Reeve was, in this case, an innocent bystander. Taking into account our distinct perspectives, however, I believe that I was completely justified in my actions.
To show this, we must first establish several facts. Although this was in 1988, before Mr. Reeve’s accident, he had no security around him. Neither did he have a helpful neon sign displaying him as "Christopher Reeve" or his backside as "Man of Steel’s Buns of Steel." [For this painfully awesome phrase, I have to thank my father, who is obviously just as bad a person as I am.] Third, he was wearing jeans.
I will start with my perspective, which I should know. (We must recall fact one, however: because it is 1988, I am two years old. Hence, the event is somewhat foggy in my mind.) The scene opens when my father and I enter the post office. My father and I (my father tells me) are waiting in line. I (I conjecture) am distracted, perhaps by some kind of shiny, post-office object. At some point, I notice that I cannot see my father. This is (no doubt) a cause of some alarm for me. I look for him. Spying his legs, I go for them.
We will now switch to Christopher Reeve’s perspective, to heighten dramatic tension. Christopher Reeve is (I can only assume) sending a package or letter or buying stamps. While we cannot know if he thought of stamps or fighting crime as he stood in line, we can guess with some confidence that his thoughts quickly become, roughly, "What on earth is tugging on my pants?"
What on earth is tugging on his pants, as you have probably guessed, is yours truly. As we established in fact three, Mr. Reeve is wearing jeans. As fate would have it, so is my father. Christopher Reeve is also standing directly in front of us in line (unless my father is a liar). We have also established that I am two years old, and thus, in my attempt to get the attention of the man I assume to be my father, the highest I can reach is his bottom.
I actually remember some of my feelings of terror upon the realization that these were not the pants I was looking for. Had I been older, I probably would have been comforted that his being Superman was almost as good as being my father. As it was, I just felt betrayed by the fact that not every man in the world wearing jeans was my father. (My father says that he himself was, at that time, behind us being very amused.)
As I hope this breakdown has shown, this encounter stemmed entirely from the differences between Christopher Reeve’s perspective and my own. Had Christopher Reeve been my father, as I thought, no gropes would have occurred. So I rescind my earlier statement. It was all Christopher Reeve’s fault.