Floods, bric-a-brac, and other awkwardness

A dozen years ago I had a coworker named Nancy*. We were both in our thirties, but that's where the similarities ended.

Nancy was outgoing, audacious, and always the life of the party. She loved being in a crowd. She dressed in the latest fashion and couldn't resist a pair of shoes that had 4-inch heels.

I, on the other hand, was an introvert, trying to survive a job that required me to be outgoing, assertive, and personable. I had to meet lots of new people and establish relationships with them. It exhausted me. I tried to dress in style, but much like now, I wasn't usually successful.

One day Nancy and I were comparing our high school experiences. As a teenager, Nancy was the extroverted party girl. She died her hair pink and blue and orange. She was at every football game, dated lots of boys, and hung out with the "in" crowd. She dressed in the wildest clothes and was fearless.

As I thought back to my high school experience, I could only describe it like this: I was the complete opposite of Nancy. I was a rule follower. I tried to blend in. I didn't want to be noticed because it was usually for something like being the tallest girl in the school.

I wasn't invited to parties, and if I had been, I wouldn't have known how to act. I probably would have said something that sounded good in my head but got jumbled on my way to my mouth...and ended up coming out all wrong. I was tall and painfully skinny, and since there was no internet back then where you could buy tall-girl clothing, my pants were usually too short.

(My mom suggested sewing bric-a-brac on the bottoms to make them longer, but I declined, deciding floods were better than bric-a-brac.)

I confidently told Nancy we *never* would have been friends in high school. But, I was so glad we weren't teenagers anymore and could be friends with people who are different from us. As I recall, we had a good laugh and went back to work.

During the next week, Nancy was quieter than usual. She suffered from debilitating migraines, so I assumed that was what was wrong.

But after several attempts at small talk, I realized the normally outgoing Nancy was giving me one-word answers. She wouldn't look up when I walked past her cubicle. I started wondering if she was mad at me. I searched my mind for anything that could have upset her. I replayed conversations we'd had.

But I didn't replay the one conversation that mattered. I had filed it away in my brain as inconsequential small talk.

Finally I couldn't take the silent treatment any longer. I summoned all my introverted courage and approached Nancy. She was shocked when I asked her if something was wrong. Of course something was wrong! Did I not remember the terrible thing I had said?

Her anger was intense. Clearly her animosity toward me had been building for days, and I had been clueless.

Finally she recounted our conversation about high school, and I was equally shocked that she was upset by it. But then I realized her recollection of our conversation was different than mine. She was seething as she said, "You said you wouldn't want to be friends with me because I was too wild! I'm not good enough for you."

Wait. What?

No, that wasn't it. I said (or I thought I had said) that I was intimidated by girls like Nancy because I was so socially awkward. I *thought* I had said I was glad we could be friends now, because we were so different in our younger years.

But that wasn't what Nancy heard. Just like in high school, I had tried to say something that made sense in my head. In fact, I saw it as complimentary toward Nancy and slightly self-demeaning toward myself. But somewhere on the path from my brain to my mouth, the words had jumbled. And Nancy was hurt. She'd suffered in silence for nearly two weeks.

...

Why do I tell you all this? Because I can be a clod sometimes. My words, my sentences, my paragraphs, my stories come out all wrong. My timing is terrible. I think I'm posting something interesting or helpful, but others think it's a personal, passive-aggressive attack on them. They think I'm sending out a coded message via social media that only some will be able to decipher. (Trust me, friends. My brain is not that complex.)

So if I've written something or said something that hurt you, please forgive me. Please assume the best about my intentions. Please know that generally speaking, I like most everyone**.

And if you think the latter part of this blog is about you, you're correct. This time it is about you, and I hope you will accept my apology.

*Names have been changed. Stories are true...at least to the best of my recollection, which admittedly isn't always the best.

**Unless you're unkind to children, animals, the elderly or the vulnerable. Then I probably don't like you. But I doubt those kind of people read my blog.