Elevator Confessions

I love elevator rides. No, it's not the word of the day scrolling by on the 3 inch screen. In fact, most elevator rides are quite uneventful. Nevertheless, I love elevator rides because it's a gamble. And, like any gamble most of the time you lose - stuck between the dude with a fragrance of B.O. so strong it leaves you wondering whether it's the result of his overactive sweat gland or his unwashed spandex and the lady whose carrying 8 bags of assorted who knows what that prompts you to regretfully say "can I help you with that?" only to realize after she says yes that's she's actually parked in the garage down the street and now you get to hear about her highly contagious skin condition while you hold the boxes her skin just sluffed off onto. But, like any gamble there is the payoff - maybe a celebrity sighting, overhearing gossip involving your boss passing out in the garage parking lot or bumping into that hot person in the building you've been pseudo stalking in hopes that she might fall on the way out of the elevator and hit her head hard enough to actually say yes when you ask her out.

Today, like everyday, I took the elevator gamble. Really, I think it's fair to say I have no choice. Sure, I could bust up the 17 flights of stairs and breath heavily at my desk for 5 minutes while my boss makes the inevitably stop by for a heart to heart about my failure to properly use TPS reports. Needless to say, that's a risk I'm not prepared to take. Anyhow, back to the daily gamble.

I entered said elevator and noted a dude in a pinstripe suit who was going to the top floor of the elevator bank (i.e., nowhere near my workspace). I wouldn't have otherwise recalled the suit other than the fact that it immediately kicked off the song in my head "Stayin' Alive." I don't know why. It was flashy, I suppose. But, I can tell you this - it would not have made John Trovolta proud. He has standards that not just any polyester suit will meet even with slimming pinstripes. Anyhow, after the doors closed, he immediately broke the seal of elevator silence - a move that should only be broken for the occasional off-handed quip. Much to my disdain there was no quip but he was off-handed, whatever that means.

"So, how long you worked there, he says." Um, four months, I establish quickly. "Oh, I see. That sounds about right." Sounds about right? Why does that sound right? Mind racing. "I saw you several times a few months back but hadn't seen you in a while and it's good seeing you again." Timeout. I think it's important to establish that I have no idea who this guy is at this point. Just as I'm about to redirect the conversation to the word of the day the elevator doors open to my floor and at that moment I realize I better exit carefully as I'm a head injury away from having to explain to my wife how I ended up going out to dinner with the John Travolta lookalike.

Awkward-isms

Did you know?

1% of the World's Population has an IQ greater than 150.
7% of Women have visible facial hair growth that could be modified into some sort of stylish facial accoutrement such as a handlebar stache.
13% of Men think Birkenstock sandals should be worn with wool socks
27% of World's Population owns a fanny pack with at least two side zippers and an expansion zipper.

These are telling statistics. These are also made up. But, dang, don't they feel real? Look around. Okay, maybe I'm off by like +/- 1% (take that national poll o' polls). Anyhow, one statistic that has to be accurate is this: 90% of awkward people specialize in metaphor mixing.

Here's a perfect example of a mixed metaphor from a friend who I will call Robin (thanks, Robin for the contribution!)

"I was in a bank executive meeting where my boss (second in command to the CEO) was discussing a difficult situation involving the CEO when he said, "i can really feel his pickle." Obviously he was mixing "i can feel his pain" with "he's in a pickle."

But, wait, why is metaphor mixing so awkward? It's not the mere fact that a metaphor was mixed but the reaction that follows. It starts with a prolonged silence combined with an utter look of confusion. I call this the standing coma. There's an occasional blink of the eye and a pool of saliva that accumulates but nothing that would give any indication of functional motor skills. This is followed by a change of direction related to either the weather or the weekend that passed or is approaching. Extreme Awkwards will toss in a witty joke which they saw on the likes of Dora the Explorer - hey, it worked on the 2 yr old.

When in this situation I offer one solution - Ask questions. Ask lots of questions. For example, ask said awkward how his pickle felt? I guarantee you'll be satisfied with anything that follows.

A Cautionary Tale

I wish this was a fictional story. It's not. It happened....to me. And with that, let me just cut to the chase. There are public ball shavers living among us in dark lit 24 Hour Fitness community showers and now in front of community mirrors at the Allstar Fitness men's locker room. Gone are the days when a man can enter a gym locker room without fear of seeing a razor trimming Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. Or, as they say, Manscaping.

Today was unlike any other day, or so I thought. I gleefully escaped from the grind of cube life for a lunch time spinning workout like I've done so many times. The class was good, not great, but nonetheless I left feeling motivated. Little did I know what I was about to see. I entered the men's locker room and readied myself for a quick shower. As I turned toward the community mirrors, I noted a completely nude man participating in a full above the chest shave (i.e., face and dome). I had an obvious reaction that any right-minded person would have:

(1) Is it really necessary to stand void of any protective garment (e.g., towel) shaving one's face and head in any public establishment? No. I will make exceptions for the ladies just trying to make a living. No exception granted for the dudes.

(2) Is it really necessary to shave one's dome while at the gym? No. You get in and you get out (that's what she said).

That being said, having experienced prior awkward gym moments, I noted that it could be worse - he could be shaving his balls. Sadly, it got worse.

I quickly wrapped my shower and begin preparing myself, both mentally and with clothes, for my return trip to work. That's when it happened. Out of my peripheral vision, I noted that the man took a quick glance back in my direction (I could feel his eyes on me like I was being starred down by an offender from his van) and then lowered the razor from his head. The rest is, well, vomit inducing. Hopefully, I thought, I was losing my mind, but I glanced over at the dude preparing himself next to me for affirmation. A head nod latter confirmed my fears. Speechless and slightly queasy the man whom I just shared a confirming head nod says: "I think there are better places to do that."

And so, I leave you with those words of wisdom...."there are better places to do that."

May God have mercy on his balls.

Welcome

Maybe it was my career decision that sealed my fate. I'm an accountant although I prefer to tell new acquantances I'm "a businessperson." It creates a sense of intrigue - "Oh, a businessperson? What exactly does that mean?" Nothing. It's a reflex mechanism - a way to prolong the inevitable tax question that's been burning in their head like a bad (as if there could be a good) genital condition (insert: your own adventure).

Or, maybe I was just born with an extra gene. Or, even better: a mutated gene. Sadly, though, it's not one that would land me on the cover of some comic book with vein-popping muscles busting through my business casual Nordstrom Rack dress shirt. I don't see Christain Bale lining up for this role. Maybe Christopher Mintz Plasse (who? McLovin in Superbad. Keep up with me). He would nail this part.

Simply, I see awkward people (read: without Sixth Sense inflection - it's played out people). I see them everywhere. EVERYWHERE. On street corners, the workplace and, sigh, bathrooms. Lots and lots of bathrooms. And, let's be clear here - I don't have a bowel or urinary tract issue. I'm not out globe trotting on some sort of preverted bathroom tour. I'll leave that up to the professionals (paging George Michael). In fact, I would go as far as to say I travel in a very limited bathroom circuit. To say it in SAT term, a bug zapper is to, well, bugs, as bathrooms are to awkard people. And that is why this blog must exist.

This blog is a community out reach project. A place where people can go to read about awkardness and know they're not alone. There were be ramblings. There will be tangents. People will be exposed. And, people that expose themselves will, well, be exposed further.