There are just some days these particular memories flood back before me in rapid succession.

The school janitor

It was 6th grade, after school in the playground.  A friend came running up to me, excited and wanting me to come see what the other girls had seen.  It seemed weird to me that she had such a sense of urgency in her voice.  Three of my friends were with our long time school janitor.  He seemed old to me, almost like a grandfather.  One of the girls was on his lap.  They were taking turns.  He looked up at me and smiled that familiar smile.  "Would you like a turn?"  Uncertain as to what they were doing or seeing, I got a sense that something was wrong with this.  They told me we all had to keep a secret about what the janitor was saying and showing to them.  Their urgency for secrecy frightened me.  As the janitor was motioning for me to come closer to see what was in his lap, I turned and ran.

Less than a week later, the janitor was gone.  One of the girls told her parents.  I felt sad for the janitor at first.  He had always seemed like such a nice, friendly old man.  The sadness came from learning that he was doing something bad and harmful; something I never could have imagined then.  It gave me a heavy pit in my stomach.  For the first time.

The man on the side of the road

It was a beautiful day and I was invited to my girl friend's house to have dinner and spend the night.  I rode my bike everywere in 8th grade, within a certain distance of our house and it would take me about twenty-five minutes to ride to Mary Jean's.  It was around four in the afternoon in springtime, so still plenty of light to get there well before dinner.  After turning onto her street there was a car parked off to the side of the road where there were no houses.  As I rode closer, a man stepped out into the street from the front of the car, pants open, displaying a very pink body part; one I hadn't ever seen before this incident.  I looked past him, ignored his shabby grin and kept on riding a little faster till I got to my friend's house.  I never mentioned it to her or to anyone, but could never get that sight out of my mind.

Flying high over the Atlantic

A mere twenty-one years old and flying the very friendly skies of TWA, another memory maker was made while serving beverages to a Boeing 707 full of tipsy passengers on a charter flight to Istanbul.  As you may know, everything is "inclusive" on charter flights, so all the food you can eat, booze you can drink and non-stop partying in the narrow isles for over seven hours was the order of the day.  A flight attendant's nightmare.  Or so I thought.  After the second round of drinks was served I noticed a call button had been deployed from a red faced man in Row 23, (let's say) and sitting on the isle.  Making my way back to his seat I noticed he was fidgetting with his pants, maybe a stuck zipper?  His smile got bigger as I grew closer.  And, there it was, 'alive' and in living color!  My legs never slowed down a tick as I headed straight for the back of the plane and picked up the intercom to the cockpit (oddly).  Within seconds, the captain came back to have a little chat with the offending passenger, who was basically 'read his rights' as a passenger on this plane and would be turned over to the authorities in Istanbul upon arrival (if he didn't knock it off)!   I didn't go near the 'perv' for the duration of the flight.  Luckily for all of us, he passed out and slept the rest of the way.

Another kind of "flasher"

She was Swedish and drop dead gorgeous.  We sat on the jump seat in the back of the plane on our way to Zurich.  I quickly noted that she was staring at me, head to toe and found that mildly disturbing.  When her hand rested on my upper thigh during take off I froze inside, wondering what to do.  I just pretended I didn't notice and quickly got up to begin my duties when the seat belt sign was turned off.  During the flight she looked at me with those flirty blue eyes that undressed me with every passing in the isle.  No woman has ever looked at me like this before.  I continued to ignore her, which seemed to interest her even more. 

After arriving at our hotel, checking in and retrieving our room keys to head off to our individual rooms (thank God for single rooms when flying international),  I walked quickly to my room.  Her's was directly across from mine (damn) and she hesitated at the door.  She seemed to be fumbling with all the stuff in her arms; jacket, hand bag, a stack of newspapers and magazines, when suddenly she dropped one magazine while looking directly into my startled eyes.  The colorful pages were open to women having sex with other women!  Oh my God (was all I could think in the moment) and I quickly opened and closed my door (and my mouth), leaving her to gather all her things in the hallway.  Nobody ever taught me about 'these kind of girls' in Catholic School.  Never!  That was in the late 60's, however and I was apparently very sheltered up until my flying days.  Oh my!  Times sure have changed!  There are likely more women I'd let kiss me now, than men!  That would sure get my husband's attention (and delight?).

Oh, and on our way back to New York the next day she completely ignored me, much to my relief.  A blessing in disguise.  I never flew with her again.

Now that I am all grown up (sort of), I am painfully aware that "flashers" graduated to much more dangerous  types, in many cases.  I guess I can count myself lucky that none of them did more than to expose their proud packages to me.  Still, very creepy recollections of days gone by and the images that remain forever.

Side Bar:  As we used to say about TWA:  "Try Walking Across!"