Thirteen Seconds of Breathlessness
It was time to switch shoulders again. The immediate relief from lifting the laptop tote off my left shoulder flooded through me before being halted by the renewed pain in my right shoulder. Walking through the revolving doors, I realized three things: one, this laptop only portable in the most generous sense of the word, and I wasn’t feeling generous; two, I must have weak shoulders; three, I would never again stay in a hotel this far away from the convention center.
Registration desk: fourth floor. Elevator: out of order. Are you kidding me? I climbed aboard the escalator to the second floor lobby, a roiling sea of dingy button-downs and plastic-enrobed nametags. Across the lobby, in the midst of which was a bar already serving a good number of conference attendees – it’s 2:00 in the afternoon, people! – I spied the next flight of stairs. Head down, avoiding eye contact, praying no one I didn’t recognize would recognize me, I fought my way over low carpeting and under chandeliers, only to be ultimately thwarted by a quartet of middle-aged women admiring one another’s complimentary canvas book bags, all of which were identical.
“Well, I’m going to use mine at the grocery store…”
I excused myself and forced my way through the center of the pack, taking stairs two at a time. The next flight was completely clear, and I fairly hurdled up half of it before my toe slipped off a step and my face and other delicate areas were smashed into very thinly carpeted wood. I walked the rest.
As I gingerly stepped toward the registration tables, overflowing with gift bags and other signs of corporate publishing sponsorship, I wondered if the facial swelling I could already feel would affect my presentation. Flexing my jaw in what could have easily been interpreted as an orangutan impersonation, I got in line and looked at my watch: 2:20.
“Welcome to the 74th annual convention of the college colloquium on conferencing.”
Looking in my bag for my confirmation sheet, I replied, “Hi, um, I was supposed to be on a panel five minutes ago, so…”
Seated before me, plastic nametag sheath in one hand and conference program in the other, was the Most Beautiful Girl I Had Ever Seen. And she was smiling.
“Well then, we’d better get you moving, huh? What’s your name? I’ll put your nametag together while you look through the program and find out what room you were supposed to be in five minutes ago.”
I stared dumbly as she held out the program, still smiling. I could have drowned in that smile. Shaking my head as if a fly had landed on it, I took the offered guidebook and opened my mouth as if to fill the space between us with charming witticisms. Instead, my awkward silence and her expectant silence collided in a silent collision of wordlessness.
Her smile transformed into an even more attractive grin. “So, um… name?”
“Right!” I shook my head again. “It’s, uh, Joseph. Ellis Joseph.”
“Ellis Joseph or Joseph Ellis?” She had the greatest eyebrows I’d ever seen. I don’t even notice eyebrows.
“Ellis Joseph, actually. Everybody thinks it’s supposed to be the other way around but… ya know, it’s not…”
“Well, Ellis, here’s your name tag.” She extended the badge to me; I, again, stood motionless. “So, you better get going, right?”
I smiled. Smiling hurt, but I did it anyway. After a period of time that was, in retrospect, entirely too long, I responded, “Right!” in a voice that was entirely too enthusiastic.
She nodded back politely.
I stumbled away from the registration area towards the Lincoln Ballroom, section 4B, throwing glances behind me like breadcrumbs. I had to find my way back to her eventually.