If we heed the old maxim, "April showers bring May flowers," the occasional cold, gray days that seem to hang in limbo between mist and rain should not surprise us. Yet, with the remnants of winter still clinging to the weather forecast, our complexions seem unable to shake the pale, winter dullness.
This, your Honor, is my defense.
One week of Spring Break was not enough to leave me with a bronze glow for the rest of the semester, so one look in the mirror last Saturday was enough to convince me.
"All right, I give in," I said when my roommates once again urged me to join them on a trip to the tanning salon.
Being a native Floridian, it is against my religion to pay for a tan, let alone sit in a small, coffin-like structure to achieve it. While I'm at home, all I need is a 15-minute walk around the neighborhood to give my skin a healthy dose of UV rays. But the sun in Virginia, the Great White North, is not quite as strong. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I almost did not make it through the first five minutes of the ordeal. Even before I reached the tanning bed, I nearly lost my nerve when I laid eyes on the receptionist behind the desk. She looked suspiciously similar to Magda from the movie "There's Something About Mary." I had visions of walking out the door with parched leather skin and the deep, raspy voice of a lifetime smoker. I neither smoke nor expected to inhale any that day, but the character of Magda is not complete without the voice.
I encountered another obstacle when I tried to write her a $4 check for my 15 minutes of tanning.
No checks accepted, she said. Apparently, they run on a strict "cash-for-cancer" system.
Once I finally made it into Room 2 and carefully shut the door behind me, I was faced with my destiny for the afternoon - the tanning machine. I cautiously turned the dial, not sure if light would explode from the bed or my mother would appear out of thin air to chastise me.
Since neither happened, I climbed into the bed underneath the strange purple glow of the tanning lamps. I suddenly felt trapped inside a poor episode of "Star Trek," as the light surrounded me and the buzz of the fan at my feet resembled a low, terrifying hiss. I searched for the reasons why anyone would subject herself to such cruel and unusual punishment all for the sake of bronze skin.
I felt more like the subject of an alien experiment than a sun goddess. Despite this uneasiness, I realized I had 14 more minutes to endure and should just close my eyes and try to relax. I reached for the small, green plastic glasses that were supposed to protect my eyes from the light and placed them on the bridge of my nose. Now it was official: I looked like a moron, sitting there inside a machine that resembled a coffin more than a bed, with silly little glasses covering my eyes. The rest of my body was going to be bombarded with carcinogenic UV-rays, but at least my eyelids would be protected.
With this peace of mind, I drifted in and out of sleep over the course of the next few minutes. I dreamed of Dr. Spock bending over me with an alien companion, contemplating the removal of my cranium to facilitate his experiments.
At this point, I was fairly certain the light was frying my brain instead of my skin.
After 15 minutes, the lights went off and the purple glow vanished from the room, leaving the soft yellow walls and small wicker chair looking quite normal. I stepped out slowly and admired my skin. I still looked like Casper's sister.
I wanted my $4 refunded. However, one of my roommates consoled me by saying, "It takes about an hour for the tan to show up. Don't worry."
Two hours later, she changed her tone. "Sometimes it takes a little longer. Maybe three hours."
The next day, I still saw no change. Instead of writing it off as a learning experience and accepting my pale skin, I did the most idiotic thing possible: I went back.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please keep in mind the possibility that my brain actually was removed the last time I went tanning, thus prohibiting rational thought on the following Monday.
I summoned my courage, took the University Transit Service bus to the Barracks Road Shopping Center, and handed over $5 for 20 minutes of tanning.
I selected a towel and a pair of glasses from the rack like an old pro, set the dial on the bed and napped easily for 20 minutes. Keeping the one-to-three-hour rule in mind, I paid no attention to my still-pale skin as I made my way back to Grounds.
To make a long story short, I suffered through a shower that night as the water pounded my burned skin. Sitting down was nearly unthinkable, and pats on the back caused excruciating pain all through my shoulders. Now on Day 3 of post-tan trauma, I feel slightly better, though I now prefer simply to wave goodbye to my roommates as they go tanning, rather than join them. I don't think it's an experience I'll mourn too deeply. The weather will warm soon enough, and I can read outdoors and get a tan the natural way.
And if I still miss an aspect of the tanning experience, Blockbuster always has copies of old "Star Trek" movies.
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