I have been nominated by my blogging friend, Mark Bialczak, to participate in the Five Photo Five Series Challenge.
When my boys were little, I took them on a road trip to New Orleans. This was when they were probably 3 and 4 years of age. They loved road trips in fact, they still do. They also loved getting annoying little toys out of vending machines, you know, bouncey balls, fake money, and pretty much anything pokey, which ultimately ended up on the floor for me to step on when the said item had lost its entertainment factor.
On this trip to New Orleans, they both acquired Sticky Hands. These are little gel like hands made out of some type of gelatinous material that is very sticky. I am not sure what the fascination with Sticky Hands is all about – all one does with them is fling them on to objects, they stick there, and then one takes them off and flings them on something else. These Sticky Hands are like really long, amazingly tenacious globs of mucus, made to be flung about (sounds like great fun, right?)
My youngest flung his Sticky Hands everywhere. On the day in question, we went on a tour through the cemetery (yes, the one in which the Voodoo Queen is buried), he flung it at things all the way through the French Quarter and all the way back to the hotel – the Sticky Hands were thrown, and stuck on things and thrown again. By the time we arrived at the hotel, his once bright pink Sticky Hand was a dull puce, grey and granular from all the dirt it had picked up from each object it had been flung at and stuck to.
The hotel was brand spanking new. In the massive foyer, with the high ceilings, the smell of fresh, clean paint still lingered in the air and mixed with expensive scent of perfume from the elegant ladies who had previously passed through. We were all pretty tired, worn out from our marathon adventure through New Orleans. Despite my admonishment about NOT throwing the Sticky Hand anymore, my youngest flung that Sticky Hand up into the air. And, as if in slow motion, with me bellowing a useless ‘Noooooo’ the Sticky Hand flew up into the air, high into the air. We watched in horror, as that grey Sticky Hand began its descent. It didn’t fall directly straight to the ground, it made a little jaunt, and ever so nicely adhered itself about 20 feet up against the pristine, newly painted butter-cream colored walls. That is where it stayed. A long pendulous, pedunculated mass of grey gelatinous material that swung back and forth, ever so gently with the breeze from the ceiling fans.
The three of us stood there, with our necks craned back, staring at the grey Sticky Hand, swinging in the breeze. The Concierge, whose desk was directly opposite from the wall which was now adulterated by this gooey mass of disgusting material, had arisen from his desk and was also staring at it. I put my hand to my mouth, speechless at the sight of this stringy mass. Even my boys were quiet, as we stared at this atrocity. When I was able to regain my composure, I apologized profusely to the Concierge. The Concierge was so gracious and said something like “Accidents happen” but we knew this was no accident. He said “Not to worry” and shuffled us off to our rooms.
The next morning, we came down to the foyer, and did a sideways glance up at that wall. The Sticky Hand had been removed, and all that was left was a Rorschach shaped grease stain. I wonder to this day, if they were able to completely eradicate the remnants of that Sticky Hand.
Here’s how this challenge works: You post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph that shares your insight or inspiration of or from the image. Sorry, my entry today wasn’t a paragraph, but the story had to be told.
Upon submitting each entry, I am supposed to nominate a blogging friend to participate. I nominate my blogging friend at Whole.