Good. So now you can listen to me rant without fear of backache. Lucky you.
Sometimes it becomes painfully apparent to me that I’m terrible at social interaction. I actually suck at being human. It’s not a great feeling.
I can’t even say it’s the big things, because it isn’t. It’s the tiny spasms of socialising which I find most difficult. Like holding doors open for people.
I’ve been known to purposely dawdle, fumbling in my bag for something which isn’t there, to distance myself from others in the hope that this social clashing will be avoided. My problem is that I feel bad letting a door slam close when I know someone is approaching- regardless of how far away the are- so I’m one of those people who reach a door and will hold it open. And hold it open. And hold it open for that horribly, hair pricklingly, long passing of time. Awkward times all around for when person B actually reaches me.
Fortunately I’ve become accostomed to door-opening. I’m now a pro- need a door propped ajar? I am your girl, your human-sized doorstop.
But what about other little social faux-pas’ I struggle with?
Like packing bags at the shopping till. It can’t just be me, surely, surely other people know this episode:
Le you: *Mumble*
Beep. Beep. Beep. And then suddenly. BeepBeepBeepBeep.
Your grocery goods are flying at you. Your fumbling fingers are trying their best but there’s just. No. Time.
Cashier: That’s £XX.XX in total.
Le you: *Still packing* fjrwifj!
Le everyone else behind you in the queue: Eyeroll. Glare. Sigh. Stare.
These trips make me sad. I just want to buy my Carte D’or and leeks without judgement and without having them hurled at my stomache as they’re passed through. Geez.
And in the spirit of awkward encouters which occur in supermarket settings, I end this post with a little flash fiction. There is swearing. A lot of lovely swearing. You have been warned.
Don’t see me. Please don’t see me. If you see me I’ll actually die. Yes, I will. I’ll collapse right here and squirm around for a bit so people think I’m having a seizure and crowd around me in awe. And then I’ll roll away. Like a ninja.
What is he even doing here? I totally had him pegged as a Sainsburys’s boy. Or Waitrose. Eating organic wheat and stuff. That’s where he should be; on the other side of town. Far, far away.
Is that…Yes. His basket is bloody full of Tesco value noodles. And our version of Dolmio. What a disappointment.
I’m sorry. Just to elaborate; WHY IS HE HERE? IT’S 2AM ON A SATURDAY.
But it’s okay. Stay cool. He’s absorbed in the sexy universe of Lynx showergel and deoderant now. I hope he doesn’t pick Pulse. That stuff stinks of puberty. Eugh.
Right, if he just stays there and doesn’t m-DON’T MOVE-Fuck. Right. If he stays there and doesn’t move, I can finish stacking this lot and run away. I can hide until he goes. In a hole. A nice dark hole where nothing bad ever happens.
Thiscouldbeworse. It’s not like I’m all crap looking in a really shitty fitting uniform with my hair scraped back into some lanky ponytail and unpacking sanitary products. OH WAIT.
And by sanitary products, I mean tampons. Lots and lots of tampons.
Pick up the pace. Come onnnn, just a few more on the shelf and then-
“Oh!” Oh! I’m so surprised to see you here. LOOK AT MY EXPRESSION OF SHOCK. “Hi Dean.”
Dean. You’re too ridiculously hot to have such a stupid name.
“Hey. I didn’t know you worked here.”
Please don’t have this conversation with me.
“Yeah, aha.” Did I just gurgle? “Just on the weekends, a little extra cash, you know.”
HE IS LOOKING AT THE TAMPONS. SAY SOMETHING. SAY SOMETHING NOW.
“I like noodles.” …. “And sauce. With noodles.”
“Huh? Oh! Yeah. I’m stocking up, they’re better than the posh ones.”
Well that’s nice. Conversation flowed for all of fifteen seconds. I’m so fucking smooth.
“Well, I’d better get back to…”
I gesture at the crate of delightfully feminine products. Please go away. LET ME JUST DIE ALREADY.
“Oh, yeah. Guess they won’t stack themselves.”
“Aha,” Gosh Dean you’re so funny. Isn’t my gurgle adorable? It’s for you. Because you’re so fucking funny and I want you to know that I get your sense of humour. We have something in common. “Well you never know. These days they do all sorts of things, you know, all advanced and stuff.” I grab a purple pack from the shelf. “These ones are even scented, haha.”
Josie. Yes, inner voice? Would you like to take the tampons away from his face? I would, thank you.
You have every right to look scared. I’m just going to end this conversation now and let you escape with your life and your foodie goods.
“Haha, Yeah.” Put the tampons back. Good girl. “Well I’ll see you.”
Already walking away. Nice.
“Yeah. See you in class.”
Ahahaha. No you fucking won’t. Because I’m going to die now. Has anyone ever died of tampons to the head? No? Well there’s a first time for everything and all that. Please excuse me whilst I pound my face into them anyway.
*Very awkward teenager.