“Gay.” “Straight. Big question mark.” “Gay with asterisk.” “Not Gay.” “So Gay.” “Gay.” “Gay.” “Gay.” “Straight but weird.”
Catapulting back to the maturity level and awkwardness of 6th grade, the girls gathered in Sandi and Priscilla’s room by invitation only. It was their 3rd night together as a group, but their first night in ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Slovakia
in a dorm room at a high school. So far, they were all bitching about the beds, the food, and the heat.
For people who could have easily been sent to the bush of Africa, it was actually downright posh to have hot showers and metal utensils. But that was besides the point. It was hot as hell and humid in the air condition-free country.
The cafeteria specialized in all things grey. Thank goodness for the shop and the pizza shop in town. It was worth the embarrassment and bravery necessary to attempt purchasing food items or ordering dinner in a Slovak establishment. It was not a friendly place for a bumbling American.
Sandi was, of course, establishing her position as the queen bee with Priscilla as her lovely, compliant assistant. No need to waste time or mince words. She was used to being in charge, being first, and being right. She had a foul mouth and was usually in a foul mood. For someone who had no tolerance of inconvenience, no aptitude or interest in foreign language, and a keen dislike of non-Americans, her choice to join the Peace Corps was a mystery.
Priscilla was pretty, quiet, and, at first glance, perfect. Her long red hair hung perfectly down her slim back. Her Ann Taylor clothes fit her perfectly. Why anyone would wear white jeans to a Peace Corps training camp was questionable, but she gave the impression that daddy would be sending her packages of whatever she desired, or paying the credit card bills for her purchases. She had a Texas
drawl and had perfected the combination hair toss/ giggle/ eye batting which Southern women were known for. Her most recent job at a “think tank” in DC, whatever the hell that meant, was all she talked about besides her “years” of living abroad.
I did the math. She lived in Ukraine (not THE Ukraine, but Ukraine, Priscilla corrected righteously because her family had emigrated from there and she knew all things Ukrainian) for four months, although Priscilla liked to stretch that out to 2 or more years depending on who she was trying to impress. She “lived” in Greece
with friends for 3 weeks, which also was exponentially longer to impress the ex-patriate crowd. Quickly, I determined that Priscilla met the criteria for the majority of the Republican party – if their lips were moving, that meant they were lying. As far as I was concerned, the criteria for determining if you lived abroad was that you received mail there.
Priscilla may have received plenty of male, but her embellished ex-pat past was transparent on a good day, and downright annoying on a hot Slovak summer day.
Another member of Team Texas was Della. Dawn LeMae was her real name, but she would never admit it to anyone. Although she was born and raised in Texas, she recently resided in Colorado
and worked in a titty bar as a hostess, not as a titty. She didn’t have much in that department anyway, but she felt that making the distinction between working in a gentleman’s club and working it in a gentleman’s club was important. Della mentioned that she had two Bachelor’s degrees, although the significance of this escaped everyone.
Maybe the first one was broken and she kept the gift receipt.
Cassandra was the comic relief of the whole group, and had no shame about discussing all things bathroom. She was constipated from the grey food and was becoming more and more distraught about it. She started making charts about the frequency and consistency of her movements and posting them on the cafeteria door. Corny, soft, absent, stuck. Brown, dark brown, butt pee. No detail left out.
Sandi made a list of the 21 guys who were in their Peace Corps group to determine who was eligible, who was gay, and who had to be investigated. So far, Jean, Wallie, and Bo were definitely gay, no asterisk. Oliver and Steven were the only straight, cute guys. There were lots of question marks, asterisks, and TBIs (to be investigated). Since everyone agreed that Steven was hot and not gay, Sandi decided he would be her boyfriend during this little adventure. It wasn’t a matter of if, but rather, when he would become her man. She thought it would probably be within a week; he seemed malleable.
