I'm an awkward person. Once people get to know me, they say I'm quite a nice gal. I make silly comments. Sometimes they're witty, but more often than not, I wholeheartedly regret ever opening my mouth. I curse my parents for teaching me to talk, and wonder how anyone ever stuck around long enough to actually get to know me.
I've always talked fast. My sister and I can have a full conversation in seconds, and grown humans stand agog at how we can understand each other at such pace. It can come in handy, for getting your word into an argument, or sounding like you're in a rush and need to get away from someone. But the problem with talking fast is that you need to be able to think fast too. Or else, what comes out of your mouth is usually unfiltered rhubarb that makes you cringe with every fibre of your being.
Too many times have I been on the verge of falling asleep, when my brain suddenly gives me a swift kick. "Remember that time when that lady asked if you'd like to buy her huge ceramic Buddah? And you said "God no! That kind of thing isn't my taste at all!" Remember her hurt look? Remember your red face? You absolute moron. Goodnight."
It happens to everyone, I know. But most use them as anecdotes, proudly telling people of the time they had a lapse in their usual great conversation technique. I, however, seem to have these moments on a semi daily basis. Sometimes, I can limit them to bi-weekly, but only if I stay inside for a lot of the week.
Quite recently, I went to the doctors (not for chronic awkwardness, although I really should) and rather made a fool of myself. I usually have a female doctor, and we have a little small talk and chit chat. I say my usual stupid things, but women seem more forgiving of this, either that or they're not fully listening, and I seem to get away with it. This time, however, it was a male doctor. And he had no time for my inane ramblings, and made no bones about it. Firstly, when I had a telephone consultation with him about my deaf ear, I made faux pas number one.
"I'll fit you in at 10 for a look."
I didn't hear him fully, and asked him to repeat what he'd said.
"I'll fit you in at 10."
"Thank you. See, that's how bad my ears are."
There was a slight pause, as we both tried to comprehend what I'd just said.
"10. Goodbye."
And that was the end of that. I'd known the guy for 1 minute and 25 seconds and already he knew that I was not cut out for interacting with other humans. I knew he thought I'd set the joke up by asking him to repeat it, but I honestly hadn't. I just tried to lighten the mood and it backfired.
So 10am came, and he called me in to his office. He had a look at my ears and I tried everything I could to avoid sentences with more than 3 syllables. Then, I had to talk to him about something else - renewing my contraceptive pill.
"I'll need to weigh you."
"Oh, ok. But just know that these boots are really heavy, like a stone each, and my phone is in my pocket. It has a really big screen so that'll add up..."
Why did I say more than three syllables?! Why did I open my mouth? Why did I ever leave the house? My brain banked the exchange for bedtime, as I cringed internally. It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd have just done a polite laugh, but he didn't. He stared at me blankly, also wondering why I ever left the house.
"So, the contraceptive pill. You do know there are side-effects? Have you ever considered getting your partner sterilised?"
"Only when he's really annoying me."
It had happened. All awkward exchanges that had gone before were forgotten. This was now in top spot as Stupidest Thing I've Ever Said. He looked at me blankly, for a second, wondering if I was joking. He was caught off guard, expecting a simple "yes" or "no". They hadn't trained him for this at medical school. He probably also wondered how any man could put up with me for so long for me to ever need the contraceptive pill. Luckily, that was the end of the appointment, and I could drag myself home to wallow in embarrassment.
Some people might be reading this and wondering what all of the fuss is about. So I said some stupid things occasionally. Big deal. It wasn't even that bad. But that's the problem, it isn't an occasional thing. It's every time I meet someone new. I try to make jokes and fail completely, making myself look like an absolute imbecile. I avoid all social interaction if I can. I refuse to call companies out of fear I'll say something stupid enough to have my service cancelled. I try not to make eye contact with fellow parents in the school yard, in case I accidentally call their kid ugly or something. When I really must speak to another member of the human race, I over analyse every last detail of the conversation to find fault and judge myself. And this just happened.
I got home from being out for an hour or so to find my parcel had ended up next door. Having lived here only a month, I didn't know the neighbours. I hadn't even seen them before, so I had nothing to go on in terms of small talk. All I knew is they had a cat. And I know this because it sits outside their house. That's it.
So I muster up every bit of courage I have, and take Ava, to go and knock next door. It's OK when I have a kid with me. I can talk through them. Or get them to do the talking. Either way, it feels safer. Anyway, I knocked. No answer. Praise be. I breathed a sigh of relief and scuttled off home.
7pm rolls around. I've just taken my make-up off, and gotten into the most baggy, and most unsightly, pyjamas I own. I've pinned my fringe up because it gets in the way of my eyes when I'm reading the kids' bedtime story. There is a hole in my sock. Basically, I look like a hobo that's broken in. There is a knock at the door. I remember instantly about the parcel. It must be the neighbour. I haven't met them yet, and first impressions count. I don't want them to think me uncouth, or else they might think I'm ok with things like afternoon bonfires and leaving the shared gate open. I can't not answer, I'm standing near the window. He's seen me. Fuck. I answer the door and immediately start talking. Bad idea.
"Hiya. Is that my parcel?"
It's obviously my parcel. He didn't bring his own parcel round to show me.
"Er, yes. Here you go."
And that, dear reader, is where the conversation should have ended. A "thank you" and closing the door would have meant I could go inside with my head held high that I finally managed a relatively normal first impression. But it didn't end there. I noticed his cat had followed him to my front door, and was mewing loudly.
"Can I ask...?" I started, already wishing I hadn't. "What his, err, it's, name is? Is it a girl or boy? Only I love cats."
Well done Jenn. Not only do you look like a bad Bridget Jones cosplay, you have now confirmed that you are in fact a crazy cat lady too.
"Oh, it's Arsene."
"Arsene? As in Wenger."
Stop talking. Stop talking now.
"No, Orson. As in Orson Welles."
"Oh that's good, I can't stand Arsenal."
He looked confused. He was either an Arsenal fan, and was insulted, or he had never heard of Arsene Wenger.
"Oh. Erm. Ok. The other black and white one that hangs around is Dylan, as in Thomas."
And that's when something else happened. I spoke again. I wanted to sound as sophisticated and in-the-know on literature as this guy, and wanted to say "Aha, a good choice of name. My son is called Dylan Thomas. Big fan." Or something similar, that didn't make me sound like a gimboid. But what happened instead was awful. An unnaturally Yorkshire accent came out of my face.
"That's me lads' name an'all!"
Dying inside, I tried to explain my interest in his cats that didn't make me sound crazy.
"It's just that my daughter, she loves cats, and she always likes to say hello to this one when we see him around the path."
Cheap shot, ok, I blamed the child. But it's true, she does say hello to him every time we see him, and I was interested to learn his name. The neighbour seemed to go home happy that he'd done a nice thing by bringing our parcel round. I'm still not sure whether I'm overanalysing the horridness of the exchange, or if he thought nothing of it and went about his evening without ever considering that I blushed the colour of sunset as soon as I had closed the door.
So today I have learned many things.
1. Do not overanalyse. You will send yourself mad.
2. Don't try to be funny, unless you have proof that you actually are.
3. Stop talking. Stop talking.
4. If you can't manage the first 3, stay inside forever and unplug the phone.
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