SAA Ep. #69: I Can Has Normal Experience?

You know what I want?  Do you want to know what I want?  I mean, do you really, really want to know what it is that I want?  I'd better tell you what it is that I want before I bust into a Spice Girls' song.  Do you know what I want?  I mean besides a book contract...and a cookie that actually burns calories...and a brand new car that runs on laughter...and a million dollars...and the ability to fly...and a handsome husband with mad guitar skillz and an Australian and/or Scottish accent.  ...and a kitty....

I want to be able to run a simple errand like a normal person and have a normal experience.

That's all I want.

I mean, you'd think that awkward social experiences just naturally come with the territory when one has the alter-ego of "Socially Awkward Girl," but it's not like I go out looking for awkward social encounters.  Sometimes I experience awkwardness because I'm awkward, and sometimes it seems that awkward experiences just find me.

For instance, I had two socially awkward encounters the other day.  Both were while I was shopping for groceries, and as you might have read, shopping produces all sorts of opportunities for social awkwardness.  At least it does for me. 

The first awkward encounter was while shopping at an Aldi grocery store.   I've never shopped at this store before, but luckily, a friend had told me about the stores before I ventured out on my own.  Aldis are different because 1) you have to pay a quarter to use the shopping carts, which you are supposed to be able to get back after you return the cart, and 2) you have to bring your own shopping bag or purchase bags at the store.  I got in the store just fine.  I figured out how to put the quarter in the cart; I shopped; I paid for my groceries.  Aldi provides a little grocery bagging area so shoppers can bag their own groceries.  So I bagged my groceries and left the store. 

Then came the time to figure out how to get my quarter back.

I couldn't figure it out.  There seemed no logical way to make my quarter come back.  I asked a couple who were putting their groceries in their trunk.  They said, "Stick the little metal thing in the slot."  Okay.  So I go back to the carts, but I can't figure out which slot they were talking about.  I asked another woman who came up to get a cart.  She had no idea because it was her first Aldi experience, too.  Finally, this 10 year old kid saw that I was having trouble, and he came up and got my quarter back for me, all the while looking at me like I was the biggest moron in the world.  By that time, I was so embarrassed I kind of wish I'd just let the cart keep my quarter. 

That experience came about because 1) I'm socially awkward, 2) I was faced with a new experience, 3) I freak out easily when confronted with new experiences, and 4) I wasn't smart enough to have just run away and accepted the fact that I was never going to see that 25 cents again. 

The socially awkward encounter?  My fault.  Well, it was a little bit the shopping cart's fault for being confusing, but mostly, it was my fault.

The second awkward encounter?  I was shopping at Walmart, my home away from home, the place where I am so comfortable that people often confuse me for an employee.  I made my way to the candy aisle, which is a pretty hopping place.  It was so busy that I had to pull my (free and uncomplicated) shopping cart off to the side and wait for my turn to enter the glorious aisle of sugary confections.  I was talking to my mom on the phone, because for some odd reason I always have to call my mom while I'm at Walmart.  As I was chattering to my mom about my traumatic experience with the Aldi shopping cart, this old guy came up to my cart and tossed in a couple packs of candy bars.  Then he walked away.

In the next 0.5 seconds, several thoughts crossed my mind:
1) That guy didn't see me.  That guy totally thought this was just an empty cart where he could discard the stuff he didn't want!  Dude.  I'm invisible!
2) That guy is probably a secret agent.  He just tossed "chocolate" into my cart, thinking I was his connection.  Maybe his informant told him to look for a lady talking into her cell phone speaking the code phrase, "The shopping cart ate my quarter," and so he mistook me for who he was really supposed to meet.  Whoa.  I feel like Mater in Cars 2.  Whatever you do, do not eat the free pistachio ice cream....
3) By tossing chocolate into my cart, was the old guy telling me I look too skinny?  Maybe if I hadn't been on the phone, he might have shouted something like, "Eat some chocolate, you hippy!"
4) Was that guy trying to give me chocolate because he thinks I'm cute?  That's a little sketch.  He's probably old enough to be my grandfather.  Maybe he's confused and thought I was his granddaughter.  Maybe he's confused and thought I was his wife.  Maybe I should figure out if he needs a ride back to the nursing home.

It turns out, that last thought was closest to the truth, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

It took 0.5 seconds for those thoughts to go through my head, but all I managed to say was, "Um...Mom...uh..." and by that time, the old man was back.  He snatched the chocolate out of my cart and said, "Those aren't for you!"

I laughed and said, "So, Mom, this old guy was either really confused, or he was really trying to mess with me."  Another lady overheard and said, "No, his wife had been standing there a few minutes ago, he wasn't paying attention, and he thought you were her." 

Honest mistake, right?  No harm done, right?

Yeah, but it doesn't change the fact that I can't even buy white Tic Tacs without being bombarded with awkwardness.  In America, land of the free, you'd think a person could buy white Tic Tacs without having to deal with social awkwardness.  Right?  RIGHT?  Sigh.  Even when I'm minding my own business, doing absolutely nothing to create awkwardness, it still seems to find me.

Here's what I'm talking about:

Tonight, when the dad of the girls I watch got home, the first words out of his mouth were, "Ruth, have you seen your car?!?" 

Again, in 0.5 seconds, several thoughts went through my head:
1) A large monkey has taken residence in my automobile's hood.
2) Someone has painted my car orange for no apparent reason.
3) The bumper fell off
4) The door fell off.
5) It 'sploded.
6) It's flying.
7) It's dirty.
8) GASP!  It's clean!?!
9) It's invisible.
10) It turned into a piece of cheese and is being eaten by an R.O.U.S.

Well, as it turns out, what had actually happened was that I had a flat tire.  A flat tire that I had just gotten brand new 2 weeks prior. 

The dad helped me inflate my tire (I keep an air pump in my trunk--because tires and I aren't good happy friends), and I drove it straight to the place where I purchased my tire--and a warranty plan for said tire.

There were no problems with that.  I'd run over a screw at some point (or so they say--I suspect monkies and/or R.O.U.S.es are involved), and it was covered under warranty.  I paid nothing.  The catch?  I had to wait 2 hours to figure this out because the tire place was busy.  So I waited in the waiting area, which was occupied with several out-of-date magazines, a pot of coffee that might have been fresh three weeks ago, a too-loud tv blasting news that no one really cared about, and a dude that I'm going to refer to as...Dude.

So Dude was sitting a few chairs away, minding his own business.  I was minding my own business, too.  I had on my "spinster sweater," was reading my "don't talk to me" book, and wearing my best "I'm antisocial, leave me alone" facial expression.  Dude and I went a good 45 minutes without talking to one another, and that was fine with me.

Then, without any warning, Dude made contact.  "Excuse me?"

I looked up, not bothering to take off my "I'm antisocial, leave me alone" face.

"D'yalasusse?" he said.  Or that's what it sounded like.  I thought he was asking me if I had a tissue, but I wanted to make sure before handing him a pack of tissues.  I always come prepared.  I am a super-hero, after all.

"What?" I asked.

"Do you like sushi?" he asked, enunciating for the hard-of-hearing and/or slow-of-understanding.  I think I might fit both categories.

But I'm especially slow at understanding.  "I like California rolls," I said with a shrug.

"You wanna go get some sushi?" Dude said, raising an eyebrow.

I blinked.  You see, I'm about as oblivious as they get.  I didn't understand what he was asking me.  "Sushi?"

So Dude clarified.  "Do you want to go get some sushi with me?"

Oh. 

First, it's the married guy at the Walmart bakery, then it's Dude from the tire store.  I've been hit on by strangers twice in two months (three times if you count the old guy mistaking me for his wife and trying to give me chocolate...but let's not count him).  This kind of thing can only happen to me, and I'm the person who's probably the least emotionally/mentally equipped to handle it.  Lovely.

In 0.5 seconds, I narrowed down my options.  Fortunately, there were only two:
To eat raw fish with stranger Dude or not to eat raw fish with stranger Dude.  That is the question.

Dude had neither a Scottish nor an Australian accent, and while I am blissfully ignorant to whether or not he possesses mad guitar skillz, I quickly decided against eating raw fish with him.

"Um..." I began, panicking.  Then I did what any socially awkward super hero would do in such a situation. 

"No," I said quickly,  "But I appreciate the offer."  And I literally hid behind my book.  Only now I wasn't wearing my "I'm antisocial, leave me alone" face.  I was wearing my, "For the love of that chubby Michelin Man, would they please get done with Dude's tire issue so we won't have to sit in awkward post-I-shot-him-down silence anymore" face.

The tire gods read my facial expression with mercy and haste.  Dude left about ten minutes after our encounter, leaving me to ponder why why WHY CAN'T I HAVE A NORMAL EXPERIENCE LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING?

Because I'm Socially Awkward Girl.

That's why.

And I think my "I'm antisocial, leave me alone face" is broked.  I need to start wearing a fake wedding band again.