Memoirs of a Fat Girl

The fifth floor janitor of the college I work at is deaf.

I don’t know his name but he’s a very nice man, always saying hello whenever we pass in the halls, and he never fails to unlock the classroom doors early for me when I have those abominable 8am shifts. He signs, gestures and lip reads to my speaking.

I’m not on the that floor as much this semester, and so our chance meetings are down to a minimal. A few days ago I went up to the fifth to enjoy my lunch in peace – it’s the quietest floor – when he passed me by, and said hello.

It was the first time we’d seen one another since April, and right off he made the hand symbol sign for excellent. You know, the one where you put your thumb and forefinger together to form a circle, and leave the other three fingers up. I didn’t know what was so excellent though, but nodded and gave him a thumbs up anyway.

Have you ever seen a man or sex-fixated teenager do that thing when describing a female figure? Two hands in the air, outlining a nice shape. He did that next. Aha. He was telling me I’d gotten smaller over the summer. I laughed and said, “Thank you.”

And then, he zipped his mouth shut with an inquisitive look. “Yes,” I replied, “I’ve been eating less. I haven’t stopped completely eating, though!”

He laughed, gave me the excellent symbol again, and went on his way.

Whoever said a random act of kindness, or in this case, a mere notice, couldn’t make a girl feel her very best?