It never crossed my mind that I wasn’t a Mainer, until I’m told that I look like I’m from New Jersey.
I latch the delicate gold chain and adjust the Star of David so it glides down to the center of my neck. I shimmy into my dress clothes and walk out the door. I’m a hotel front desk gal in Maine’s hustle-bustle tourist mecca, Ogunquit, where the traffic is insane, the shops overpriced and the masses all have one common goal: beach sand between their toes.
I stand behind the counter. The mad rush peaks midmorning as guests waddle down into the lobby. They are lost souls in a world without continuous Internet access or cell phone coverage. So, they seek answers from the front desk. “How do I get to the beach?” “If you could choose between restaurant A and restaurant B, which one would you choose?”
A middle-aged couple in a porcelain Buick traveling up the New Jersey turnpike are having a fiery discussion about a boggling crossword. “Louis, what’s a nine letter world for land mass?”
“Oi, Sylvia it’s C.O.N.T.I.N.E.N.T.”
As the couple approaches the desk, they are surprised to see a young woman with an olive complexion and dark brown curly hair behind the counter.
They come closer to investigate.
Their first expectation of Maine plunges down the drain. The tourist guide is very deceiving, not every Mainer is fair with light hair.
They lean on the counter and drop their beach bags to their feet. “It’s wonderful to be away from the city. Maine is such a quiet place. Is our room ready?” I smile. I delve into the paperwork. The wife pitter- pats her long plum colored nails on the counter and inspects me as I swipe their credit card. I hand the husband the room keys. In a hushed voice, the husband said, “that’s a beautiful Star-of-David.” They both stoop in closer and ask. “Are you from Maine?”
No, I’m from Venus. “Of course I’m from Maine.”
They smile, and a twitch and tilt of their heads question my authenticity.
It didn’t dawn on them that Maine is a diverse place.
At first glance they think I eat lobster for breakfast, lunch and dinner, mingle with moose on a daily basis or indulge in country music while sipping on a Fresh Samantha.
Or maybe they were more surprised to find someone of their own faith.
Nevertheless, during the couple’s stay, whenever a life-threatening question stops their vacation, they ask for “Erin, Honey.”
If I didn’t wear my Star-of-David would I appear to be just a run-of-the-mill Mainer? Instead, the couple found a connection; they discovered it in a place assumed to be nothing like their own place.
We each can find our own place, but will find it in a place not expected, whether it is performing at Russell Hall, painting at Robie Andrews, juggling a soccer ball or lounging in a resident hall lobby.
So go ahead. Find your place at USM.