A good friend reentered my life recently and that good friend’s name is Awkwardness. We go far back. It was a normal Wednesday night, as Wednesday nights usually are. I was in my room, arranging the pins on my bulletin board into various infantile, yet hilarious, images. It began simply enough. Lying diagonally on my bed beneath the board, I reached up and grabbed six pins. Two for eyes. Four for the mouth. Smiley face. You know, beginner push-pin art. But then I got creative. With charming curves I chiseled a banana. With crispy colours I cleaved out a rainbow bridge. And to top it all off, my masterpiece was a dragon. Well, it was half a dragon. I ran out of push-pins. But I swear, that half a dragon was pretty half awesome. It was at that moment my hunger overrode my childish imagination.
“Yo Evan!” my hypothalamus rapped. “It’s time for some food.”
And I agreed. My brain, which apparently sounds like a ‘80s hip-hop group, was right. I was pretty hungry, but had eaten a hearty soup just a couple hours before, leaving me in a weird food purgatory. To eat more or not to eat more? That was the question. I decided that since I usually skip breakfast, a king’s feast at night might serve the future of my stomach well, giving it some backup when it’s forced to face the trials and tribulations of a bagel-less morning, a croissant-free sunrise.
Now there was just one problem with my urge to pop into the residence convenience store: I was wearing pajamas. And to all my fellow pajama brothers and sisters, you know how hard it is to change from glorious pajamas into un-amazing jeans, or heaven forbid, comfort-crushing khakis. So I had to cross that barrier. I had to exchange the loose comfort of plaid nightwear for the worn wrinkles of firm denim. But I manned up, did the change and left for the store.
It all went pretty well. I ordered a BLT with cheese from the grill and an ice cream cookie sandwich. The grill usually takes about six minutes so I concocted the brilliant idea to leave the ice cream cookie sandwich in the freezer until the BLT-w-C was ready, leading the cashier to reward me with a confidence-boosting:
“Smart!”
It made me feel like a food genius, an Einstein of consumable goods. So I got my meal and went back to rez, riding the ego boost the whole way. I was two bites into the great sandwich when I realized I had forgotten to grab the ice cream cookie sandwich. All my added self-confidence flew out the window and started mocking me, ridiculing the ironic twist that my smart plan produced stupid results. Good thing I hadn’t changed back to pajamas yet as in that case I probably wouldn’t have gone back at all.
As I walked back to the store, I prepared my embarrassment speech.
“Oh, hey. Yeah, so, like, really, uh, stupid. I kind of, you know, forgot this. Thanks. Okay. Bye.”
As many low-syllable words as one needs to enter and leave while being sociable enough to laugh it off without drawing enough attention to be ridiculed. The perfect cocktail to reduce awkwardness.
So I walk into the store, thinking it would just be me and the cashier but the line had increased twenty-fold! Lines seem to only happen at bad times. They’re badness-enhancers. I grab my already purchased ice cream cookie sandwich and wait in the line of people who all seem to be buying Arizona Iced Tea in bulk. And as I near the on-deck customer position, I notice that the cashier is a different person. I was gone five minutes! So now I get up there and I’m panicking. The cashier already inputs the price:
“Swipe now please,” she says.
So now I’m explaining to her:
“Yes, well you see. I already actually bought this but I got a sandwich too but it wasn’t ready so I left this in the freezer to be picked up when the sandwich was ready but obviously I didn’t pick it *nervous laughter*.”
And I rambled and rambled, like any embarrassed crazy person would. I was basically telling the woman that I had paid for something in the freezer and that it was mine, with no proof whatsoever. How can that not be crazy? But with her shifty eyes, she motioned me and my dessert through, ending the two minutes of embarrassment in front of the other eight people in line, all probably amused by my ridiculous exploits.
And so became one of the many awkward moments to define my life, one that truly explains the essence of Evan Brow.
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