MY LIFE IN SPANDEX

      Michael Aliosi

My thong was killing me. And I still had another two hours of standing   barefoot on the hard linoleum department store floor. Doing my best to see through the white mesh, I looked around, no one was in sight other than my assistant who was snapping her gum and molesting an autograph card; perfect opportunity.
        Casually as possible I started to wander from my sanctioned five-foot area. For some unknown reason (okay it's a known reason -stupidity) I was once again set up in an awkward location. Next to the children's clothing, understandably, yet right next to women's lingerie. In fact, if I stretched out my arm too far, my hand would come back with a store brand, 42 DD, tan bra hanging on it. Ignoring this fact, I continued my stroll behind the tiny dresses on the rack behind me. Another quick, hazy look, no one was around. A perfect opportunity to reach behind and try to yank the thong down just a bit. With spandex covering your fingers it isn't always easy to grip things. So it took three solid tries and a few wiggles of my butt to grasp the annoying wad of cloth. One gentle pull alleviated the pressure. As I sighed with relief, a voice startled me.
        “Having some problems there?” said a lady older than my own grandmother holding an item of lingerie that I never wanted to picture anyone over fifty wearing. I was busted.
        “All part of the job ma'am! Superheroes like me might not have the most comfortable of outfits but they are efficient for crime fighting!” I said in my best heroic joking voice hoping to get a laugh. Instead I got a blank nod as the woman held the see-thru item up to her plump body. Yes, this is the real life of a superhero.


        Back on the horribly hard floor (you really start to appreciate carpeting when you have to stand barefoot for four hours at a time on hard surfaces) I felt a bit embarrassed when a little kid off in the distance, no higher than my knee, spotted me in mid-stride and froze. His head tilted on his miniature frame, wondering if I was real. So to prove I was, I waved and said, “Hey pal, come on over here. I'll get you an autograph!” He jumped a bit but I felt it was still safe to approach him. After a while you get a sixth-sense of which kids will freak out and which ones won't. Grabbing an autograph card and marker from my useless, store-appointed assistant, I carefully walked toward the child as a superhero might, holding out the card as a peace offering. This is yet another trick you learn as a superhero — how much a bribe can calm a child. Hand them something colorful and they'll forget they are terrified of you. Ten feet away, things still good. “What's your name buddy?” No answer. I look for his Mom for some help; a reassuring mother is key in situations like this. Of course, she was too busy ignoring her child and instead looking at the $5.99 purses. Five feet away and, Houston we have a problem. His eyebrows were arching in fear. It was too late, it was all over.
        “MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The scream wailed out of his tiny mullet hairdo wearing head like a lion's roar. Amazingly, his mother (who actually had the same mullet) turned to her kid and approached us. For a split second I thought she was going to save me and tell little Billy Bob or whatever his name might be, that it was okay. I was wrong.
        “Oh, don't be scared. It's just a man wearing a costume. He's not real, he's make believe.” It was the dreaded line, the line that breaks the hearts of all superheroes. Being told we are not real, what is this world coming too? Scooping up her kid, she didn't even bother taking the autograph card I was so graciously trying to give him. Instead, she threw him in the cart like a sack of potatoes, stared into my mesh covered eyes and said “You ought to know better than to go around scaring kids like that…why don't you get a real job” before wheeling away leaving her delicate purse selecting duties for another day.
        I trudged back to my designated section with her words ringing in my head “why don't you get a real job” over and over again. Part of me wanted to turn around and start an argument with her. What does she know? She's wearing a coffee stained T-shirt shopping in Arkansas at three in the afternoon. Me? I was flown here, put up in the best hotel in town, paid well and I was, well, I was…a guy wearing spandex. Maybe she was right? Maybe at twenty-five I should start looking for a real job?
Back in my roped off section (you know to keep the crowds back) it took everything I had to keep my chest high and head up. I was going to hold myself like a real superhero, even if there was no one around. I refuse to break character! I'm proud of my job; at least I kept trying to tell myself that.
        “What time is it?” I asked my assistant, who was now attempting origami with my autograph cards. She told me it was three-ten and asked if I wanted a break. I told her “No, I'm a superhero, we don't need breaks! Do you think the bad guys let us take breaks when we are fighting it out on a roof top?” She didn't find my dedication to my craft impressive, or even funny for that matter.
        Less then three hours to go, I told myself, feeling more and more like the man in the Iron Mask. After years of wearing the skin-tight bodysuit, I have gotten use to it. But when you end up standing for hours on your feet, having nothing to do, nothing to even look at, your mind starts to rot. It starts to make up itches that aren't there. Your nose starts to ache from being crushed. You start to blink more, for your lashes actually touch the mesh eyeholes every time you blink. You get thirsty, for there is no way to take the suit off in public for a sip of water. Going to the bathroom? Forget about it! In my head I started to curse the store manager for not getting me a more competent assistant. At least then I could be having a conversation that didn't consist of “You couldn't pay me enough to wear something like that in public.” I was miserable. And I knew what was coming next. I only hoped that some kids would show up soon and stop me from arguing with myself in my head. But it was too late.
        What am I doing with my life? I'm a writer. Why am I wearing spandex standing, next to women's lingerie in a Wal-Mart in Arkansas? I should be writing right now, I should be making money off of my creativity, not discreetly picking the thong out of my ass behind a rack of clothing. I have had book signings at Barnes & Noble for crying out loud, I shouldn't have to dress up like someone else for them to want to meet me, I'm somebody dang it! Then the routine banter in my head turns to the reality of things. Yes Michael, you may have written things but no one knows who you are yet and you have made about forty cents from your writing. Some day you'll be a famous author but for now, you must make money. And being a superhero pays the bills while giving you the freedom to write. Ah yes, that is why I'm doing this. Then comes the ego boosting. Yes, you're in Hicksville today where no one cares about you, but think about what you have done this week alone for crying out loud! You just flew in from closing the New York Stock Exchange yesterday on national TV! The day before that you were in Washington D.C. doing a private party for Senators! And tomorrow you fly to Canada to do a weeklong tour where you know there will be thousands of people in line for you…err I mean for him.
        After patting myself on the back I was feeling a little bit better, yet I still had more than two-hours to stand there like an idiot waiting for more kids to show up. Looking down one isle I hoped for something exciting to happen. Maybe the store would get robbed and I could stop them. Talk about making the news… Real Life Superhero Saves the Day, For Real! It would be a huge media event. Hell—it'd give me a great story to write about some day. But sadly there were no bad guys in sight, just zombie shoppers pulling items off of shelves that they didn't really need. Then off to my left I heard a scream! Could this be it? Finally! “Oh my God!” Spinning my head around I struck a pose, ready to take on the hapless burglar; though I didn't see a masked man or even a shoplifter. Instead I saw two blonde, seven-year-old twins both wearing T-shirts blazing the hero I was portraying and running full speed at me. Their smiling mother was following behind with her shopping cart. Crouching down I prepared myself for the attack of hugs I received. “You're the coolest!” “We watch you every day!” After giving high fives to them and getting their names, their mother finally arrived. “I told you guys I had a big surprise for you today!” She said, pleased with herself for having been able to keep the secret.
        The three of us talked for several minutes about "his" movies and how many toys and other hero-related items they owned. Looking at the two hyper kids fighting for my attention, I could see in their identical blue eyes how much they really believed I was the hero they watched everyday. When I offered them autograph cards, you would have thought I was giving them a million dollars each. They could hardly stop looking at the baseball card sized cards long enough to pose for a picture, in which they both did classic superhero poses, like myself. Putting away her camera the mother asked me “Could you tell Thomas how important it is to take his medicine? Tim doesn't need the medicine, so Thomas thinks he shouldn't either, but I try to tell him he needs to take it.” Crouching down to Thomas I quickly made up a story about how when I —well, the hero — was young, I got really sick and wouldn't have gotten better if I hadn't taken my medicine. “And if I didn't get better then, you know what? I wouldn't be able to stop all the bad guys like I do.” After elaborating a bit more, I asked Thomas if he would promise me to take his medicine whenever his mother told him to. He agreed and I looked up to see his mother smiling. Then I added “And I'll be calling your mother to make sure you do take it!” The idea of a superhero actually calling their mother made both of them light up with even bigger smiles.
        “Well boys, is there anything else you would like to say to me before we leave?” Without hesitation the two once again latched themselves onto my legs for a huge hug. “I love you,” the two said in unison before letting go.
        Watching them walk away I couldn't help but smile. I didn't save a life or change the world, but I did make some kids happy and hopefully helped make a mother's job a bit easier.  That was enough to get me through the next two hours.  Even if my thong was riding up again.
        

MICHAEL ALIOSI, for over eight years  was the official face, or more so, the face behind the mask for a very well-known superhero, along with other characters as well, in over fifteen different countries and in most states. He has appeared in dozens of television spots and high-profile appearances, such as opening and closing the NYSE, parties at the US Capital for the senators, sharing the stage at the Pentagon with Donald Rumsfeld and performing at NASA. Michael has made his way through the world in spandex!
        On the writing side, Michael is the author of the novels Fifty Handfuls and Mr. Bluestick.  With a background in filmmaking he has written and directed several highly acclaimed short films. Michael has also written over a dozen, live-action superhero shows that play throughout the country.  Please visit the author's website, Author Mike,
to learn more about his spandex wearing life and his writing.