Free Style Soccer Goes Qiana

My traveling schedule has started to pick up, and this past weekend I found myself yet again in Charlotte. Being that I like to kill many birds with one stone, I lined up a birthday party attendance, a visit to the Concrete2Green futsal center and a few important conversations with my mentors.

During a drive on Saturday morning, one of my mentors began telling me a story. She recalled how, in the midst of admiring other accomplished colleagues, she found herself unrealistically comparing her list of accomplishments to those who had more experience than herself.

I remember thinking to myself the irony of hearing this story when, several hours later, I was asked to participate in a freestyle soccer exhibition at the annual Slam Jam at Grayson Park. I expressed my hesitation to participate as I reflected on the tens of people that I have met who have grown up all of their lives doing jaw dropping tricks with the ball.

I resolved in my mind that if this experience was meant for my “freestyle colleagues” then they would be at Grayson Park and not me. With that note, I joined in on the exhibition. The juggling jitters were there nonetheless, but as I continued with my touches on the ball, they disappeared as I flipped the ball from the side of my samba sole to my knee. I may be in the early stages of my free style development. However, showcasing my “free style wizardry” at Slam Jam was quite a coming out event!

Breakfast At Betty's

This Damsel Needs a Disguise

I am at a loss when it comes to cars. In the event I need car maintenance, I take my car to the dealership when the maintenance light comes on. As far as repair, I defer to anyone with more driving experience than me. Sometimes I get a quick answer. Other times, like this past Sunday, my mama directs me to the nearest auto parts store.

The front headlight on my car was out, and I wanted to get a good deal. Now, this wasn’t the first time I had to replace a light. The last time it was one of the lights in the back. However, as I looked at the extra bulb in my glove compartment, I was reminded that, even if this was the right size, I didn’t know the first thing about taking the cover off.

There was no time to waste. I headed to Pep Boys, and began my usual routine of wandering around with my “tried and true” damsel in distress look. The first salesperson, who approached me, was a lady, and she was unfazed by my look of confusion.

“What’s the make and model of your car?” she asked flatly. I told her and she rattled off a four digit number, pointed to an aisle on the left and walked off. Definitely, she was a lady who seemed like she could fix anything on her car.

And just when I thought my act fell flat—a store manager appeared. “Victory is mine,” I thought.

“Are you finding everything that you need?” he asked. With a moment of hesitation, I rambled off the headlight number and told him my inability to locate it. The manager quickly located up the bulb package. I asked him if someone could help me install it because I “just don’t understand how to do it.” He replied, “You never know how to do it!”

I gasped.

In that moment, my mind went dark. I didn’t know what to say. I have never been called out on my damsel in distress act (and for the record I don’t bring it out often).

I innocently asked, “Was it my hair that gave me away?”

The manager laughed and said, “Next time you should wear a hat and dark glasses. Don’t worry. I will install the light for you.”

[Insert sigh of relief here] I did get my desired result, but not without embarrassment. In the future if I pull a damsel in distress again, I am going to need a disguise—straight hair…