#beinghelped

[thatwasprettyawkward]

The Dentist

Few things are more awkward than trying to make conversation with someone whose two fists are jammed inside your mouth, their face in your face, while you breathe on them and drool.  You would think this was a signal that we just shouldn’t talk, but as we know, humans find silence very awkward. So many dentists and dental assistants still make conversation with you while they’re wading through your mouth-hole. You are expected to answer, because let’s face it, we wouldn’t want to be rude!

But the most awkward thing for me is that I don’t know what to do with my tongue. I never know where my tongue is in relation to their instruments and what they’re trying to see. I always seem to put it over the tooth that they are trying to clean. It’s not like I have a large tongue or anything. I just have no hand-eye-tongue coordination. Not to mention that my tongue has a somewhat embarrassing reflex. Like a moth to a flame, it automatically gravitates towards whatever is put in my mouth. It’s just curious and is checking things out. And I have to consciously keep it from happening. ”Can you move your tongue?!” Dentist kept having to ask. “Sowwy.” Again, tongue in the way. “Can I have you move your tongue again?” “Sowwy.” And over and over like this, the whole time. No, Dentist, I am not trying to be suggestive and fellate your instruments, I just cannot for the life of me keep my oral fixation under control.

[thatwasprettyawkward]

Ordering

I feel many layers of awkward during your standard business transaction. There’s the ordering, the small talk, the moment after you get your receipt, and the waiting. It is forced interaction with someone you don’t know. If you’re getting food, don’t even get me started on eating it there. That’s just out of the question. Where would I look the whole time while? Do you expect me to sit there, chewing, while staring into space? Or do I zero in on one person while I’m sitting there chewing?

I am wholly incapable of any type of thinking on my feet. Us awkward folks, we are good at making decisions while blanketed in footie pajamas our living room, surrounded by the loving support of our captive pets who are staring adoringly at us, with zero pressure from the outside world and ample time to weigh all options. We are much too vulnerable out in the real world, with taxis honking and dogs barking and guys yelling in East Coast accents and errant pieces of trash distracting us.

Today I went to an adorable European bakery for breakfast and ended up ordering the exact opposite of what I had intended.

Inner brain, which gets muffled a lot in the outside world, is yelling: “Order something savory! Order something savory!”

The bakery lady casually rattles off the Danish selection: “Cheese cherry blueberry coconut apple cinnamon”

“WAIT. WAIT WAIT WAIT.” says I, “Did you say ‘blueberry coconut’?” Now, there is only one savory option she rattled off, but the fact that my husband likes coconut has shrouded my thinking.

“No, we have blueberry Danishes and coconut Danishes – separately.”

Entire world is thrown into a state of turmoil.

Inner brain is yelling: “MFFDFKLD! FDLKF!!!” If I could hear it, it would say, “Order cheese or coconut! Or both! These are the things that you and your husband Like and Choose to Eat. You should order what you Like as opposed to something Else Altogether.”

“I’ll have the blueberry!” says I. Not a one person is satisfied.

[thatwasprettyawkward]

Tipping

Tipping is incredibly awkward for me, and for many people - in fact, some people are talking about doing away with tipping altogether, because it's unfair who gets better tips (the answer is: blond ladies. For real). 

Restaurants are easy, I just do 20% if they're good, and I have plenty of time to make that decision. Bell hops, massage therapists, and hair stylists ignite a panic in me unlike any other. Faced with the person in front of me, and the fast decision of how worthy I deem them, I ultimately just empty my wallet and run away. I'll come back to my husband sheepishly, mouthing the words to him: "I accidentally gave them alll my moneyyyy." He doesn't let me tip anymore. 

[thatwasprettyawkward]

Bathroom attendants

Nothing is more ridiculous, in this economy, than a bathroom attendant. Let's take one of the more private activities and insert an overly-dressed person to be RIGHT THERE when you step out of the stall to hand you a towel to dry your hands with, since hand towels are just soooo difficult to reach. If that weren't awkward enough, there's tipping situation to deal with. You feel obligated to tip them since you weren't tricky enough to evade the hand towel they handed you. Next time they try to hand me a towel, I'm going to pull away like a small child and say, "No!" and run away.

[thatwasprettyawkward]

Small talk

Me: So, do you like Guster?

Barista: I do, yes.

Me: I could tell by that Guster t-shirt you're wearing there.

Barista: Yup. I do like Guster. That's me! Love Guster.

Me: I have a friend who is like, obsessed with Guster. He just loves Guster. That's all I really know about the band, actually.

Barista: Oh, really.

Me: Yeah. He even NAMED his dog Guster.

Barista: Oh, wow. I would say I'm not that obsessed with Guster.

Me: Yeah. Well, that's all the stories I have about Guster on this Thursday morning. [big pointing-at-him gesture while I walk away, only to stand five feet away and wait for my coffee]

[thatwasprettyawkward]

That moment after getting your receipt

That moment after the cashier gives you your receipt lasts an eternity for awkward people. All that needs to go down is for you to put your receipt, credit card, and/or change back into the proper place in your pocketbook. But the problem is, the cashier has already said “have a nice day!" Now he is just standing there looking at you while you fumble with your shit, pennies flying everywhere, and you can’t seem to remember where anything goes, and your fingers have decided not to work. Half the time I end up carrying fistfuls of cash, wincing and holding my breath, until I get outside the door. Then I always get robbed.

[thatwasprettyawkward]

Cain't hyandle my shiat saindrome

Being awkward is feeling clumsy in the world outside of your brain. It's not that you have low self-esteem, necessarily; in fact, I think I'm pretty swell. It's like you are a fish, and the inside of your brain is like being in your natural habitat, underwater. Things are all shiny and brilliant on the inside. But then words can get warbled and strange by the time they make it out of the water. (In this metaphor, which you probably thought was about a fish being out of water, the fish is actually a talking fish, and he is trying to talk out of the water to his friend in the sky, who is a bird. Duh!) 

It doesn't help that, instead of avoiding navigation of this strange new world (like many introverts do - hence the shyness), I plunge full force into it, going to parties and letting my strange mouth run wild in the center of the room. In fact, I am a publicist! I have to perform several types of communication all at the same time - emailing, texting, and talking to people - at the SAME TIME. What I am doing in PR is a question that I ask myself quite often, and the answer is: "The same thing that the mentally-disordered are doing in Psychology and the eating-disordered are doing in Nutrition: learning."

Because my brain isn't good at handling all these different avenues of communication at once, I occasionally short circuit. And it can be really, really funny. I'll be in the middle of a conversation, and staggeringly new words, expressions, and volume levels will tumble out of my mouth like word soup. Really spicy, exotic word soup. Probably like a tortilla soup of some sort, but with really random things mixed in.

Exhibit A: talking to my husband, quite recently. Everyone keeps asking me, since I just had a baby, if I have postpartum depression. It's really good that doctors, nurses, friends and family just like to check. So I says to my husband the other day, "I don't have postpartum depression, I just have CAIN'T HYANDLE MY SHIAT SYAANDROME." [Ahem. Can't-handle-my-shit-syndrome.] Notice the all caps here, because for whatever reason, this newly-accented expression was somewhat yelled at him. The accent, which we can gauge from other experiences, is a kind of nasal Southern creole. 

Exhibit B: being helped at the burrito place I work for. I get to the front of the line, and I ultimately panic at the feeling of having to communicate my needs so quickly in such a busy place. "I would like a chickennnurrito, please."

Such verbal surprises can actually be a hilarious and welcome addition to any serious conversation, and they become beloved inside jokes between me and my husband. Me, struggling with getting a jar open. Husband: "Are you suffering from Cain't hyandle my shiat saindrome?" It's not as much fun, however, when it happens around strangers, because strangers don't make fun of you, which is almost more awkward. 

Luckily, I'm used to this, and know not to panic. (OMG. Do you think I've been having strokes this whole time? OMG. NEW THING TO PANIC ABOUT! Gotta go)

[thatwasprettyawkward]

Shoes

Me: [shopping for cute baby girl clothes]

Sales lady, walking past me: Cute!...[pointing to something around my lower half]

Me: [thinking she's talking about the adorable baby clothes I've picked out] I KNOW!

Sales lady: ...shoes.