I think in all, I volunteered there for three camps, and it was a lot of fun. I was the “tuck lady,” which meant I was the much-loved person who showed up in the afternoon and sold them candy. Good times.
For this I got a T-shirt, and that navy blue shirt was the only one I opted to bring with me to Jakarta. Honestly, the selection was kind of slim. Since I made (or, let’s be more specific – had made) three quilts made up of T-shirts (for those keeping score: a hockey one, an FSU one and a Hard Rock one – and no, I will not be purchasing a HR shirt ever again, even though I now am in need of a T-shirt and live within a few miles of one) my selection wasn’t the best.
Honestly, I have very few T-shirts at this juncture. I wasn’t about to bring the newest one, which is a Bobby Bowden appreciation shirt. (Kind of demonstrates how long it’s been since I bought anything new, doesn’t it?) That one is long-sleeved anyway. And I can’t didn’t want an easily-stained white one, while ruled out the only other FSU shirt I had.
So anyway, the HMI T-shirt made the cut. I figured it’d last the 6-12 months I’m here.
And perhaps it will, but not on my watch.
I’d been wearing the shirt every single day when I worked out. The navy looks just so great with the shorts, which are also navy. I look like some kind of color crayon.
Anyway, post-workout, I’d either rinse it or actually wash it with soap, and then hang it over the balcony to dry. Then, when I got back to work at night, I’d do my nightly routine: head to the balcony door, pull the stuff of the railing, close and lock the door, pull down the blinds, hit the AC on, strip and jump into the shower. I swear, sweat comes easy here.
One day, walking to work, I was surprised at how nice the weather was. I mean, it was darn balmy – even pleasant. A nice breeze blowing and everything. I tried to prop my back door open to let it in. That didn’t work, but it was still so nice I decided I’d even wear jeans to work instead of the usual Columbia pants. I love the jeans, but usually it’s just too darn hot to walk to work in them.
So I headed off to work, jeans, Chacos and whatever the heck shirt I had on, and left the stuff on the line. What a nice walk, too. Just probably the best weather day I’d had since I arrived.
Even the way back was nice – no humidity, no rats.
But when I got back home and started the routine, I realized there was no HMI shirt to be found. Stuff has dropped before, but on my side of the rail. There’s a little ledge on the other side, but my shirt wasn’t there. Mchat. It was gone.
I guess the wind blew it from its little 8th floor perch. I kind of intended to look, but once I thought about what I might find, it turned me off a little. Think about it. I’m in a residential section, and had it fallen, it would either be swooped up and taken to a better place or left to die alone, run over by motorcycles, discarded food items, rats and liquid things I prefer not to think about. (Public peeing is big here.)
So now I’m down a shirt and having to work out in one of the two tank tops I brought. Not ideal, considering the culture here, but I’m dealing with it until I find an appropriate (code for “cheap but not lewd”) T-shirt. Another not-so-ideal deal with the tank is that when I wash it every day, it tends to stretch. I have serious issues with it staying on my shoulders.
Obviously it’s a slow news day when it’s all about kamikaze T-shirts, but that’s not the only clothing item I’m down: I finally sacrificed my tennis shoes to the Jakarta street gods.
They were really wearing down, with holes in the back where my orthotics stabbed them and the tread on the bottom was pretty much trashed.
Poor little things. They weren’t even a year old, really – bought to work at the ranch only last July or something. Or maybe I bought them for the Y, which would put them at a year.
But whatever, Zippy hated them and threatened to burn them even before I came here, so they kind of knew they were on their last legs. Does that cliché work for shoes?
Currently, Jakarta is having its 484th anniversary and lots of places are having sales. I’d been stalking the only tennis shoe place in my nearby mall for about a week and thought I found some likely replacements, but once I actually brought socks to try on potential candidates, I learned that they didn’t have any in my size.
So I went to the department store-ish place there and found a couple more options. Neither was overly attractive, but since I had taken the oldies for their last walk and left them on the side of the road, I didn’t have a lot of options. I guess it never occurred to me my size would be hard to find in a non-tacky item.
Once the sales guy and I were on the same page as to the size – for some reason, the other guy told him I wanted a 43, and I wanted a 40 – I did find a pair. It’s a little too white for me, but I figure that’ll likely change as soon as I start to wear them on the streets.
They’re mid-cut little Reeboks, white with red trim. It’s not blood red, but it’s not pink or fuchsia, either. Or maybe the red pales because the white is so white.
They’re OK, I guess. I’ve been wearing them a couple of times in the mornings. I do still have another pair – the one I found at camp. They’re all right, too, but they are pretty ugly and a little small. I can either walk to work in them or wear them to work out, but I can’t do both in the same day.
Other than food and household items, that’s really the first purchase I’ve made here. I’d kind of hoped it’d be a little more exciting – I really do want some of the batik shirts – but it hasn’t panned out just yet.
Perhaps the quest for a new T-shirt will be a little more exciting, but I’m not holding my breath. This is me we’re talking about: possibly one of the most boring people ever.
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