SAA: Episode #33: Short Story

It's reached some kind of record-breaking hot temperatures here in the grand state of NC this week.  I've worn capris.  I've even worn shorts--and that's unusual.  I usually don't break the shorts out until July.

The reason why I wait until it's unbearably hot to wear shorts is because I don't like the reactions I get from people when I wear shorts.  I mean, most people are grown up enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, but there's always AT LEAST one rude person who makes some kind of rude comment EVERY summer...usually when there are several other people around to overhear it.  The comment ALWAYS goes something like this:

"GOOD LORD, CHILD!  YOU HAVE THE MOST FREAKISHLY HORRIFIC PALE-WHITE LEGS I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!!"

Yes.  Thank you, rude person.  Thank you so much for pointing out my ghastly/ghostly white legs.  I obviously wasn't aware of my insane paleness before you told me about it in front of several innocent bystanders.  I mean, after thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, staring at my pasty reflection day after day, I honestly didn't know I was pale.  So thanks.  Thanks for that.

But, no.  Rude person is usually not done.  Rude person often feels the need to give me advice.

"YOU NEED TO GET A TAN!  GO GET SOME SUN IMMEDIATELY!"

Yes.  Thank you, again, rude person.  Getting a tan!  Getting some sun!  Why didn't I think of that?  Oh!  That's right!  Because in the thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, I've learned that it's physically impossible for me to get a tan.  All I can hope for is painful sunburn, probable skin cancer, and the eventual sweet release of death.

Yay.  Sunshine.

Think I'm being overly sarcastic?  You try having third degree sunburn all over the majority of your back when you're seven years old.  That's the sickest I've ever been and hopefully will ever be.  I was in feverish pain for weeks.  I was delirious and kept talking to people who weren't there.  My shirts kept growing into my open sores and had to be painfully separated.  ...and every time I get even the slightest touch of sunburn (which can happen to me with only a few minutes of sun exposure), I relive it all.   So yes, as a matter of fact, I am good buddies with my SPF 85.  The sun and I have a very cautious relationship.  And I don't like it when people question that relationship.

 I guess it's not SO bad.  I have learned to accept peoples' reactions to my paleness over the years, but it's taken a while.  In middle school, I got picked on a lot.  Racism is horrible and stupid, and I'm not comparing my trivial plight to any real racial prejudice that anyone has had to endure.  But let me tell you--it's just plain WEIRD to get ridiculed for the color of my skin by other white people.  The other kids called me names...like "Casper Legs"...and wouldn't let me join in any of the tan-people games.  One girl even repeatedly told me that she hated me because I was "too dumb to know how to get a tan." 

Then in my early twenties, I worked in the One-Year-Old room at a summer preschool program.  One day I wore shorts, and the entire preschool staff (not exaggerating) took turns coming down to the One-Year-Old room just to see my pale legs.  I felt like the freak show.  Okay.  Apparently, I was the freak show.  Maybe I should start charging money.  "Step right up!  Five dollars!  Just five dollars and you can get a glimpse of the whitest legs on God's green earth!"

Okay, so I know there are other solutions.  There are self-tanners and stuff.  But apparently my melanin deficiency doesn't allow for a "natural" tan color from an "unnatural tanning" product.  Self-tanners (and I've tried more than a few kinds) all give me the gorgeous complexion of an Oompa Loompa.  Seriously, if I have a choice of being freakishly white or vividly orange, I'll just be pale, thank you very much.

And I could just wear long pants all the time, but when temperatures get up in the mid-90's, that's hard.  Just because I'm pale doesn't mean I should have to sweat all summer, right?  Right. 

So if you see me wearing shorts this summer, don't look at my legs.  AVERT YOUR EYES!  The garish whiteness might cause you permanent blindness. 

That's right.  Super-human paleness.  Just one of the super powers that Socially Awkward Girl provides!

Embarrablast from the Past Ep.# 9: Weird Waiters

I have about six months combined experience working in a restaurant. For three months, I was a hostess at one of those franchised sit down family type restaurants that also has pie. I gained weight working there. I also worked for three months as a pizza delivery girl. I think I actually lost some weight with that job. Pie is better than pizza. *MUST RESIST URGE TO GO ON FIVE PARAGRAPH RANT ABOUT HOW I DON'T LIKE IT WHEN SOMEONE REFERS TO A "PIZZA PIE."*

So, yes, I have worked in the food service industry *just* long enough to learn that there are some weird characters who work in restaurants. Most of these people are kept behind the scenes--in the kitchen--cooking your food. Occasionally, however, I've been eating establishments where they keep their crazies right out in the open. I guess the management figures that it provides atmosphere...or something. At any rate, I think I've had more than my fair share of awkward experiences with restaurant employees.

My first example comes from my high school years. I went out to Shoney's with my family for my birthday. I think I was 16. Well, suddenly, the Shoney Bear pops up. You know...guy (girl?) in a big ol' cartoon bear costume. Smiling. Always smiling.

Shoney Bear comes up to my table and just stands there. My parents were at the salad bar or something. Shoney Bear just stands. Stupid big cartoon bear eyes. Smiling.

My parents came back, yet the Shoney Bear stood. Finally, I was like, "Do I know you?"

Shoney Bear, smiling, very slowly shakes his head "no."

"Can I help you with something?"

Shoney Bear smiles. And nods. And smiles.

Then Shoney Bear sits next to me in the booth and gives me a hug. Then Shoney Bear got up and went to harass someone else. Still smiling.

I had nightmares for weeks.

The second incident came from my later teenage years. I was in college at this point. I also had about the worst attitude in the world. Let me set the stage for you. It was the summer after my freshman year of college, where I had developed this ridiculous and completely unhealthy crush on this guy who just really didn't LIKE like me at all. I was still basking in the depths of despair, and my friend was like, "Oh come spend the weekend with me." So I did. And a few other friends came, too. In that weekend, my friend started dating someone. Two others who were there started dating. The other guy who was there was in a relationship and I wasn't interested anyway.

So we went to a restaurant (sidenote: does anyone find the word "restaurant" ridiculously awkward to spell??) and I was in a mood. So the waiter comes up and seats all of us. There were six of us. Two couples, me and this other guy. The waiter's name was Greg. I remember that vividly, because as the evening progressed, so did my intense hatred of Greg.

First, he just assumed all of us were dating each other somehow, which really was a pretty fair assumption. When I explained that I would be paying for my food separately, that's when he began being a phenomenal jerk. He started making this big show of how everyone else was dating and I wasn't. Did he think he was being cute? Idk. I just thought he was being rude. And I still think that.

Well, eventually everyone ordered dessert. One couple ordered a dessert to share. The other couple ordered a dessert to share. The guy ordered a dessert just for himself. I didn't want anything, so I didn't order anything. When Greg brought out the desserts, each of them had two spoons. He set them all down on the table, then jerks one of the spoons out of one of the desserts, looked right at me and said, "Oops! We won't be needing THAT one!"

Then, when he brought everyone their checks, he came over to me and said, "Oh, it's all right." And he put his arm around me and rubbed my shoulder. I don't know how I refrained from punching him in the face.

Greg did not get a tip. If you know me, then you know that's pretty serious.

The last example happened about a year ago. I went to a restaurant with one of my friends. The waiter comes up to our table and sits down next to me in the booth. "Hi, my name is "Not Greg" and I'll be your server today. Our specials are...."

I just glared at him. Really? In what universe is it okay for a waiter to just come and casually sit down next to someone they don't know? "Not Greg" eventually stopped telling us about the specials long enough to pay attention to my reaction.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked.

I nodded. "Um, yes."

He stood up, did not apologize, and asked us what we wanted to drink. Then later, when he came back with our orders, he made this big deal about making ME sound like a jerk because I wouldn't let him sit next to me while taking my order.

He did get a tip...a minimal one...I mean, after all, he wasn't Greg.

I have probably had other weird restaurant employee experiences, but those are the big ones. A few months ago, I'm pretty sure I had Harry Potter for a waiter, but he wouldn't admit to anything.