The best social situations are ones which require zero sociability. Or, at least, that’s my stance today. Honestly, I think this is a terrible perspective, but there must be some truth...otherwise, I wouldn’t have driven all the way (and when I say “all the way,” know that I mean approximately seven blocks) to Starbucks just to pop in my headphones and stare down my laptop. Once upon an academic lifetime, my speedy typing impressed passersby as they awaited their coffee fix. Little did they know, I was backspacing seventy percent of the time... Little do you know, no one notices that sort of thing. But humor me. Let me think that my presence here is beneficial to all.
I just opened a saved word document, and had to laugh at a short dialogue I’d recorded. We’ll call this another little gem that exhibits my socializing oddities. (There are so, so many gems...)
After a big family birthday dinner, my dad pulled a lug wrench out of his car trunk. Somehow, my upturned hand of protest was mistaken for a happy retrieval because Dad placed the wrench in my palm, saying, “Here ya go! This should do the trick with your car-jack if you have another flat!” I appreciate that he was doing the Dad Thing and taking care of me, but, I didn’t drive into town. I rode the train. And, as most train riders would agree, it looks just a tad bit sketchy when a passenger trudges through the aisle with her fingers locked around a lug wrench.
For my sister’s amusement before she dropped me off, I scrunched up my face and shook the wrench around in mock intimidation. Picture it now and you’ll see how effective I’d be at making friends this trip. I sat down on a train station bench in the Crooked I—Irving, for those who don’t know—and tried to look innocent. Needless to say, this was not accomplished. You cannot hide a lug wrench—believe me, I tried. My dad, bless him, also sent me on my merry way with a plastic bag of liquor-affiliated koozies. Even a girly skirt and an embarrassed expression can’t counteract that kind of questionable baggage.
When my train arrived, I desperately scoured the upper-deck for an individual who might not call security on me. I didn’t want to stand around long, as that would draw more attention to the white-girl weapon in my hand, so I motioned toward a tattooed and tired young guy. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Not at all,” he said.
“Thanks...Don’t mind my wrench...”
His eyes glanced my hand. He shrugged, “As long as you don’t beat me with it.”
I set the metal on the table between us. A white-flag gesture. An inconspicuous shrug. “I’ll try to hold back.”
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