For
years I’ve been convinced that I’m on some reality show I don’t know about, a
la the Truman Show. It is the only explanation that makes sense for some
of the things, people and remarkable statements I encounter on a daily
basis. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t turn around slowly or gaze
slickly over someone’s head trying to spot the hidden camera. And, if
Ashton Kutcher – or his protégé, were to ever jump out from behind a car and
yell punk’d at me, I’d nod in understanding. I’d punch him in the face,
but his revelation would make perfect sense. In fact, if he doesn’t jump out soon
and proclaim that my entire life (dramatic? Yes.) has been a bad episode of
network programming, I’m going to freak out on someone, Jerry Maguire
style. (let’s play a game and see how many 90’s movies and television
references I throw out in this post. I’m not even ashamed, the 90’s was
probably the best decade in my lifetime for tv, movies and music. I
challenge you to disagree). But, in
an effort to try and describe the everyday occurrences that make me question
whether I’m taking crazy pills, I started keeping a sort of captains log to
document the insanity.
A
few weeks (or months – I lose track) ago I went on a blind date without really
knowing all that much about the suitor (clearly my parents did an appalling job
selling stranger danger to me). We met at a dive bar, which incidentally
is sort of my preference but in retrospect – a ballsy move by him. Half a
$3 drink in, I casually asked about his occupation – a question I personally
despise as being such a defining part of each of us, but an important question
nonetheless. He explained that he was in a sort of transitional phase, as
his last career – in radio - belonged to a dying medium. That made sense
to me so I asked when he had left that career. He responded – 9 years
ago. With. a. straight. face. I slowly turned around looking for
the camera but it was hidden pretty well. Seriously, dude? That’s
not a transition. That is it. This is now your
life. You’re a waiter who does improv on the side - like half
the people in this tragic city. Of course, compared to some of the other
shining stars I’ve been forced to share drinks with, this date (which got even
better/worse from here) hardly makes the list of notable bad dates. I
promise to compile another edition of my horrific dating adventures soon to
make you all feel better about your lives.
I’m
trying to think of a really good work story to truly illustrate life at a big firm. I could (and likely will) write a whole separate
post about taglines and phrases I’ve come to accept as actually meaning
something, when to any normal human being they don’t make sense. For
example, if you’ve never had to send a firm-wide email requesting “learning” on
a various subject, consider yourself lucky.
And, I get it, there are social order rules and hierarchy bullshit to
contend with, but I just can’t grasp how the 25 minutes it takes for me to try
and reconstruct an email your boss already drafted in their head and then quickly recited to you (and then
quadruple checking it for spelling and grammar areas) is an efficient use of
anybody’s time. But none of that is really hidden camera worthy. The best
hidden camera moment I’ve had in awhile was at 8:45 on a Friday night, after spending
the last 5 hrs trying to frantically get an assignment finished and running
into a partner’s office every hour only to get follow-up questions, whe asked
me “Did you plan on working tonight?” Umm, is that a trick
question? No, of course I didn’t plan on working tonight. It’s
Friday. And even though my Friday nights are shameful in comparison to
what they used to be, I certainly intended on at least having a glass of malbec
in my hand at this point, not a set of documents. But somehow that didn’t
seem like the right answer. The phrasing was so skilled that I couldn’t
even respond with anything points-worthy, like “I’m happy to stay” because it
didn’t matter. It was a factual question that was asked after the fact, so who
cares if I did or did not plan on working. At the end of the day (the end
of quite a long day in fact) you didn’t give me a choice in the matter and so
here I am. You’re welcome? After spending, what felt like an hour,
trying to construct the right response, I think I finally mumbled something
incoherent with a smile. I honestly am not even sure what I said.
It was a bit like Will Ferrell’s debate speech in Old School.
Last
week I boarded a remarkably empty subway car, a rarity in NYC. Faced with all this luxury seating, I took a seat
somewhere in the middle of the bench and opened my kindle cover. At the next stop, a middle aged woman got on
and sat directly next to me. Now, when I
said this was an empty subway car I was barely exaggerating. There were less than 10 people in the car,
all spread out and minding their own business.
Why someone would ignore one of those unwritten social rules that
everyone else seems to be aware of, I can’t imagine. Of course, because I’m so awkward I didn’t
move away. Instead I just completely tensed
up and looked like a deer in headlights trying to avoid turning my head to the
side and questioning her decision. Even
though I couldn’t comprehend why someone would insist on sharing my personal
space on the morning commute, it seemed getting up and moving down a spot would
seem like such a statement and god forbid I insult this stranger. So I just sat there silently until my stop.
2
months ago I was cursed with a middle seat on an airplane. I booked the seat late and didn’t exactly
have a lot of options. Now nobody likes
the middle seat, but I was prepared. It
was only a 3-hour flight and I was looking forward to a nap anyway. When I got to my seat, I had to crawl over a
large man, but that should basically be expected at this point. About 20 minutes (yes it took 20 minutes)
into the flight, the woman on my left reaches over me and taps the man to ask
if he’s comfortable. Umm, rude – why
haven’t you asked me if I’m comfortable?
After a few more moments it became apparent that I’m sandwiched between
a husband and wife. Why would you not
offer to switch seats so you can seat next to each other? But, alright, to each his own. I try to ignore the idiocy and put on my
headphones but the conversation over me continues. You have got to be kidding me. This nonsense culminated when they actually
shared a sandwich and some crumbs obviously found their way to my lap. Lovely.
Fear not though, the taps and questions eventually stopped when the man
fell asleep with his head pretty much on my shoulder. Longest 3-hour flight ever.
And
the list goes on. Like that time at the
bar when you ask the bartender for a yeungling and she tells you they don’t
serve yeungling but the person next to you is drinking yeungling and you just
don’t really don’t know where to go next. Or the times someone is
blatantly talking about you within earshot.
And generally not even someone you know.
Have you ever been at a restaurant or in line to get coffee and you hear
the people behind you talking about you? I’m not talking about that
paranoia that everyone has where they think people are talking about them and
in reality they are not even aware that you’re standing there because who are
you anyway? Nobody cares. I’m talking about those times when they are
legitimately judging (for better or worse) your hair or your outfit or even
just your order and using quite enough descriptive phrases to remove any doubt.
Talking behind someone’s back in front of them isn’t just tacky, it’s
stupid. Or how about when you walk into an empty restaurant and the
hostess asks if you have a reservation.
When you say no, they take a moment to survey the (empty) restaurant and
study their book before finally leading you to a table. All I’m saying is that there are moments
daily when I question whether there are hidden cameras and bad reality shows
wherever we go and part of me is expecting to see an image of me, or one of my
friends, playing the fool in some absurd set-up the next time I turn on the
television. I'm not starting a conspiracy theories conversation, it just seems staged awkward interactions are not even necessary since as far as I can tell, the uncomfortable "is this really happenning?" feeling occurs quite enough without any additional push from Hollywood.
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