LOST Chapter 18, Verse 7: Losing the Fight Against the Tank

Dear Space Travelers, I had an epiphany today. I can submit all these LOST post right now and have them timed to post at a certain time. This means that I can actually work ahead on the schedule. I'm not the most punctual person in the world, so the notion of being early with posts is kind of an alien one.

So here's the deal, I'm going to post up the last four LOST chapters and set them to post over the next few days. I decided I want to be finished with this part before New Years. I think I should do something special for that. Until then, here's another in the graduation series.

countdown: 3 days 9 hours 8 minutes

MEMORY #7: Losing the Fight Against the Tank

Through high school I was a tobacco educator in a student led program. We would go to local elementary schools and present to 5th graders about the dangers of smoking. In addition to that we would field question about middle school and high school in general. It was something I was very passionate about.

During my two years at my community college, I felt like something was missing, and that desire to get involved is probably what encouraged me to become so active on my university upon arrival.

I put on programming at our school which was need based, and much of what I did was related to wellness education. Later, I joined a group on campus which was specifically designed to address student needs in wellness education.

We were the campus source for said programming. This was more than just an organization though. We were paid for our work and were expected to stay updated on related topics.

We stayed informed because often we would have to field questions related to delicate topics. Examples included unplanned pregnancy, new medications like Gardisil, date rape, and depression (or other mental health related topics).

One of the specific service we provided was related to many of the campus greek houses. Many houses must complete some sort of educational programming to keep their charter. While some houses are enthusiastic about various programming, others seem to try and scrape by with doing just the minimum.

The day of my memory, was in the fall a few weeks before "Greek Week." Greek Week is for those unaware a week of programming put on campus to build community and display spirit for the various fraternities and sororities. It is custom to build a float. For some houses, this is a bigger deal than homecoming or any other large campus event.

The house that shall remain nameless requested that we present to their house on the topics of alcohol and safer sex. We arrived early, as we always did, and waited to be greeted by someone from the house. Nobody came. We decided to simply wait on the porch until we were addressed. We could not set up because we didn't know where we would be presenting.

As we sat on the porch we looked at their float. It was a large wooden tank built with moderate skill. It's paint was a 30 minute spray-paint job of olive green, black, and brown meant to resemble camouflage.

Then we noticed it. In bold yellow letters on the back read the phrase:

"Porch Monkey's for Life."

It was alarming. Being that we still had not been greeted, it was already awkward. Add to that the fact that I was the only non-black member of the group (other than my friend AJ, he was Indian, and a woman Christina). I could tell the other presenters were uncomfortable about going into the house to present, and other's were just upset.

After a considerable amount of time we were finally greeted by the VP of the house. He directed us to the dining hall and told us where we would be presenting.

We began the presentation with a crash course on condoms. We received boos from the crowd, and the girls in the group were whistled at or received cat calls. I was new to the team so I was in a support role at this presentation, but I found myself becoming more and more angry.

Later, we had volunteers from the house come forward and attempt many simple tasks while wearing special goggles. The goggles distort the user's vision in a way that the brain sometimes becomes confused and the user can loose balance. The main idea here being that the wearer is in a simulated loss of motor skills, much like if they were drunk.

Long story short, the volunteers were encouraged by the audience at large to be disruptive and rude.

By time it was over, I couldn't leave fast enough. Once outside, I felt like I could breathe easy knowing that not every other word I heard would be the word "fag."

I was upset. I told my supervisor. I told her that if she had to sign off on anything saying that they had completed the training to not sign it. I was insistent that they learn something.

I posted later a note on my facebook page describing like this my experience. the note raised a lot of controversy. I was called in by my supervisor and told I would lose my job if I didn't take it down. She had been bombarded with phone calls all day from the executive board of the fraternity in question. They like to use words like "alumni" and "powerful." My fellow educators sided with me and were appauled when they learned of our supervisor's ultimatum. I argued with her, but ultimately felt that I loved my job too much. I folded. I felt I had to pick my battles.

because of my note, I attracted a lot of heat and the entirety of the house began addressing me very aggressively. I learned that word of the tank with the "porch monkey" on the back of it had made it's way to their fraternity's national office, and that they didn't like the heat.

I was unapologetic, and after being forced to take the note down, I felt like the gloves were off. I found myself in public debate over the appropriateness of having such a thing on display.

Their defense was that their house had a large porch and that they had some time ago began calling themselves "porch monkeys." I distinctly remember them aggressively telling me how the house has "a black guy."

I tried to reason with them.
I tried to reason with my supervisor, but she signed off on their training.
I almost lost my job.

Sometime later, I learned that several years ago the same house had performed a skit in black face make-up at a Greek week event.

This is my story of defeat. I lost. I sometimes wish that I had not taken down the note, and just quit the job.

Some changes require more than just one person, I hope my former supervisor has the same regret that she didn't support me when the heat came down.

Oh and I guess I should mention it's Christmas or something... I'll begin by noting that I'm working tonight, so wherever you are, don't'cha come a complain'n to me, o-kay?

If I could be anywhere on Christmas doing anything, I think I'd be snowed in somewhere just looking out the window. I would not be trying to figure out a solution to the situation. I would simply be, and by "be", I mean it in the Beatles "Let it be" kind of way. I imagine myself with close friends, my cat(s) (from back in Missouri), and I'd just drift in and out of consciousness all day while listening to the music. The Kink's "Waterloo Sunset", Elliott Smith, Ella Fitzgerald, and Louie Armstrong come to mind. I'd watch the cats play with the balled up wrapping paper and drink peppermint tea.

Perhaps in 2009 Space Travelers.