Big Papa Was Keeping It Real

The summer between my sophomore and junior year of college, I helped a warehouse transition to bar codes by printing and sticking thousands of labels.

And as if being a small cog in that wheel wasn’t rewarding enough, I used the spoils to acquire a White 1989 Town Car. 

During my two fifteen minute breaks, I dedicated my mental focus to drafting the appropriate return trip to college.

I estimated this voyage from San Jose to south central Minnesota would need to cover at least 5,000 miles in two weeks, heading north along the west coast to Vancouver, east to Banff and as far north as Edmonton, then down to Winnipeg before crossing back into the US at Minnesota.

I had camped in Oregon, and Horseshoe Bay, British Columbia - where there was no swimming.

And after a long hike in Banff, the rest of the world deserved a long shower from me.  A hotel room to take it in would have been nice- but that hadn’t been factored into the financial itinerary of this sabbatical.

I walked into the lobby of a fancy resort like I literally stumbled out of the woods and asked the front desk if I would be able to pay to use the pool and shower facilities.

He said it would be $5.

I’m not sure if this transaction was legitimate.

I’m not sure if my $5 went in the till or his back pocket, but I went directly to the showers.

I found myself in a sprawling facility, with unfettered access to pools, hot tubs, a sauna, exercise equipment, and…

Tanning beds.

I’d never been in a tanning bed before.

Like the exercise equipment, never even thought to.

But here I was. And I needed to get my $5 worth.

The tanning beds were in private rooms with doors, but there was no attendant around to explain the process.

Having just left the hot tub, I was in my swimsuit, and I thought,

I’m probably not supposed to get in there in this wet swimsuit…

And that door is locked...

But this still seems immodest...

So before I pulled down the clamshell’s hood, I draped a hand towel across my waist.

I guess another thing I didn’t know about tanning beds is that they roast from both sides simultaneously- and maybe those places where the sun don’t shine are more quick to burn.

I also had no idea how long one stays in a tanning bed.

I had set the timer.

But when I got out and looked at myself, I didn’t look tan.

So I got back in.

It wasn’t until that night that I realized how bad I had burned my butt. It was cold in the tent, but my bottom honestly felt hot to the touch.

It was impossible to find a comfortable position in the sleeping bag, on my back or on my stomach.

I sat down the car the next morning and said, “Yee Ouch!”

And got back out.

I’ve still got 1,500 miles to go. 1,500 miles on my…

I can’t drive standing up.

Edmonton, Alberta, is known for being a pretty far north populated city.

It is also home to the West Edmonton Mall, the largest mall in North America. For some reason.

I was on that kick of collecting Hard Rock Cafe T-shirts at this stage in life, but looked at the food prices on the menu along with the cost of the shirts, and thought:

The point here is a shirt to prove that I was in Edmonton.

(This was essentially the 1997 equivalent of a selfie.)

The shirt is $18 already. People will assume I ate here, but no one needs to know.

But now I sure have a hankering for a burger.

I’m sure I can find something cheaper along the road.

Minding my own along the Edmonton beltway, focusing on signs of hamburgers, an ‘85 Cutlass Rust Bucket cut me off by what seemed like an impossible distance of non-contact. It then proceeded to weave in and out of traffic so abruptly that I could see the driver sway side to side through the rear window.

Through the same flat rear window bedecked with the title “Big Papa.”

In bubble letters.

I wondered where Big Papa needed to be in such a life threatening hustle.

But not for very long.

Several miles and about fifteen minutes later, I pulled around the Burger King to park, but rolled to a stop in disbelief…

                                                             The Big Papamobile!

So this is what it was all about.

And as I parked, who should saunter out of the dining establishment with a brown paper sack of spoils for the road?

                                                                     The Big Papa.

Straight out of central casting.

Velour jogging suit. Blue with white accents.

Flowing black locks in the back. Bald on top.

Clearly not one to push away from the dinner table hungry.

Gold chains- and the chest hair to match.

Hoop earring.

On opposite courses metaphorically and literally, like two ships passing in the night, Big Papa coming out of Burger King, and Pat Downey going in.

But quickly transitioning from Longfellow to Digital Underground, I was reminded of the Humpty Dance then, as always, when I set foot in a Burger King bathroom.

(It's a tradition I have.)

And whilst dining privately in the Burger King solarium amidst artificial cascading green ivy rooted in dusty bark chips, what I have in my head is a curious amalgam of Big Papa and Humpty Hump.

While I might try, he was the embodiment of Humptiness.

And I might be keen to lampoon Big Papa- his fashion, his persona, his personalized rear window...

But in rigid contemplation, Big Papa knew himself. That’s Socratic.

He had decided he was Big Papa, and that he certainly was.

He was rockin’ it.

But who am I? What am I rocking?

What was my motivation for tanning?

That hadn’t gone well.

I just spent $18 on a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt to give others the impression I had dined in exotic opulence, while in truth, here I was- eating off the Value Menu with the green ivy.

Fake green ivy.

Fake tan butt.

Fake Hard Rock experience.

All fake.

                                                         Big Papa was keeping it real.