One day we hope that we’ll learn to be a little less socially awkward, a bit smoother, and more like functioning adults. But we’re not holding our breath for it to happen anytime soon. So sit back and enjoy our weekly dose of LD writer awkwardness. We don’t seem to be showing any signs of running out of material anytime soon.
KIRSTIE: “Friends With The Lice Lady”
My last dating experience ended horribly. I got lice. Twice. The only thing I got out of my time with that guy was the reassurance that men are idiots and… lice. Needless to say, we don’t talk anymore. However, I did see him about a week ago and did the awkward, side-hug. “Hey. How are you? Good. Been a while. Yup.” Since then, my head had been itching, due to paranoia I’m sure, but I thought I should check. I went back to The Lice Place (Yup. These places exist, y’all) and had the lady do a head check to make sure I’m clear. (I’m lice-free, in case you were wondering.) She walked into the waiting room and saw me, and her face lit up with the glee of old friends meeting once again: “HEY GIRL! So good to see you again! We hardly get repeat customers! Come on back!” And that’s when it hit me. I’m friends with the lice lady. I’m FRIENDS with the lice technician. I have gotten lice so many times in the last three months (from the SAME douchey dude) that the WOMAN AT THE LICE PLACE SAYS “HEY GIRL!” TO ME. While she’s lovely, and their services have been super helpful, I can’t help but hold my lice-free head in shame when I think about how chummy I am with the lice lady.
ERIN: “Chivalry And Cat Litter”
I had let my trash pile up for a particularly long time before I took it out this week, and man, it was gross. There was week-old pancake batter, cat litter, and other things that were starting to smell. It was so foul I didn’t even want to hold the bottom of the heavy bag as I took it out to the dumpster. As I start walking up, some older gentleman was walking away with his empty trash can. I get about 15 feet from the dumpster when my bag breaks, spilling batter-covered garbage everywhere. I am simultaneously disgusted and freaking out about how to get the garbage from the parking lot to the dumpster, when the man who was walking away comes over and starts using a box to scoop MY trash into HIS trash can. I tied the bottom of my bag and we got it all to the dumpster, but he was doing the far more intimate-with-my-trash job. It was extremely nice and I thanked him profusely, but God, I was embarrassed. I think the most awkward part is that I tried to explain to him my trash was so gross because of the pancake batter, when we clearly left a sizeable pile of litter in the parking lot.
KATIE: “Y’all Come Back Now, Ya Hear?”
I spent my birthday weekend in a delightful cottage by the James River in southern Virginia. On one side of the river lay Williamsburg and civilization, and the other a sleepy little town where the first restaurant you come across is a Ham Shop. Not surprisingly I chose the quiet side, but with that decision came a distinct lack of dining options. After trying three suggested restaurants (all closed) we finally found one that was miraculously open at 7 p.m. on a Friday night. Upon arriving, we rapidly discovered we were the only people in this huge restaurant. We were seated in a banquet sized dining room all by ourselves, and the staff (and whole family) were shocked to have patrons. First, Mama walked over to seat us, then the daughter waited on us, asking, “Are y’all the ones who called? We had a good ol’ laugh at the thought of needing reservations!” Her adorable 4-year-old son came over to show us his Air Jordans, and when his mama came back she asked, “Did you really drive three whole hours to come here?” Later in the meal (after we’d gorged ourselves on the best fried chicken that has ever existed), Grandma walked up and asked, “Y’all the ones from Maryland?” “No ma’am, Northern Virginia.” “And you came here? You’re not just passing through?” she asked, again with the tone of surprise. After pecan pie to die for and a bill about half the size it should be, the daughter and our waitress came back and said, “Well if you drove three whole hours you should at least get a tour of the place!” And then she proceeded to give us a tour of the whole damn building, from the supply closet to the cluttered and hot “conference room” and even the his-and-hers bathrooms, adding in, “I know it’s weird to show bathrooms on a tour, but they’re just so clean and I love them!” After having the unlit tiki torches pointed out to us through the darkened windows and meeting the uncle who cooked the infamous fried chicken, we were finally free to leave. But as we walked out the door our waitress hollered, “Since you drove three hours to come here, will you come back tomorrow?!”
ERIC: “Everybody Wants You”
So, I started my new job a couple of weeks ago. It’s going great so far. I have amazing co-workers, the atmosphere is nice, and I can take a lunch break whenever I need to. However, early this week, I received an email from my boss’s secretary. She told me that I needed to complete the new employee training. Great, that’s fine. So I open the email and realize that what the secretary sent me was actually a forwarded email… of a forwarded email of a forwarded email. Written in the previous forwarded messages were things like, “I don’t know who he is. Can anyone find him?” and “Do you have any idea where he is working?” and “Hey, I tracked down this guy to your area.” That last one is my favorite. Apparently, about half the school’s administrators went on an email manhunt to find me.
How awkward was your week, on a scale of Putin “Man of Action”-shaming the U.S. in our own media to how quickly you peed your pants in excitement over J.K. Rowling’s announcement about a new Harry Potter-verse movie? Tweet us @litdarling!