Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
I have always had this romantic notion of being a construction flagger. That after “just one day of training”, I too could become certified. I think of a beautiful day in the middle of Wyoming, mountains in the background and a cool breeze. Standing out on the roadside with my bright yellow or orange vest, and stopping traffic for a good 20-30 minute chat. Just think of the people I would meet? Tourists from all over. Every one of the locals…..
And the reality? The smell of the tar, mad drivers in a hurry to get somewhere, crummy weather, an aching back, and sheer boredom because people refused to roll down their windows. But the colors would still be cool. Like a little kid who wants to be a fireman, I suppose I just want to wear the uniform. Those Cyndi Lauper colors.
You do remember her, don’t you? So 80s. “Electric” fried blond hair. Sang the pop song, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” I remember back in the early 80s when my favorite outfit was a blinding bright yellow shirt that I wore tucked in tight jeans, low pumps (black of course), a huge black belt that had cut out blinding orange stars glued all over it, and dangling big earrings that perfectly matched the shirt. As an early twenty something, I loved that outfit until the washing machine sucked the yellow life right out of the shirt. It was all just so Cyndi.
And tonight I find myself oddly in the same colors; only I am in sports gear. I am on a boat with 7 other rowers and a coxswain who is our Romanian-born coach, a tiny woman with a big microphone that lets her keep total command of the boat. She screams complex commands, “Aft, three quarter slide in two. Pressure on starboard. Ready. Row!” And with her command, I peer into the darkness, to watch the oar from the person in front of me
. I must hit the water exactly at the same time, I must slide my seat ¾ of the way down the boat, and I must twist the blades in and out of the water. And I must do exactly what the person in front of me does, no exception. If they miss the water and speed up the stroke, I must speed up. If they dive the oars too deep and come out slow, I must also slow down.
We take one awkward stroke and then we begin to smooth out. “Front! Set the boat please! Set the boat!” she screams, “Number 3, together! You must be together!” I am number 3 and so I focus just a bit more, trying to dip my oar with precision. “Way ‘nough, way ‘nough,” she barks and we all stop. We all hold our oars straight out and the boat is briefly in balance. For a moment, we feel stable.
We turn the boat around with an awkward move that reminds me of a garbage truck maneuvering the streets of New York. I pretend to hear the backing noise. The front half of the boat rows forward and the back other side rows backward, while everyone else continues to balance the boat by holding the oars perfectly straight. With a few awkward yanks (and us all still learning to trust that we will not end up in the water), we turn around. And again, everybody but the coxswain is headed backwards down the river. 
We continue along, and even reach a speed that I find alarming. I must keep my oars in tune or I will throw off the entire boat, maybe even flip us over. We squeak under several bridges and soon we are back at the boathouse.
I imagine my tiny Romanian coach turning into Cyndi, with our long narrow dock as the stage. We are blinded by the stage lights. Everyone from the boat begins to sing and dance like we are starring in our own Broadway performance. We are all wearing bright yellow rowing jackets, and our coach is in a mini skirt.
“The phone rings, in the middle of the night, my father yells whatya gonna do with your life, …. Oh girls just wanna have fun. That’s all they really want. When the working day is done.”
My coach screams, “Way, ‘nough!” interrupting the show. I can hardly see her but I know the dock is getting closer. I just laugh as I feel us hit the dock, and I wait to see if the blinding stage lights are going to turn on. Then we can all start to sing and dance.
