Autobiography
- Wade
About halfway through my daily downtown bus ride, I notice my fly is down.
I casually, cautiously look around me. Too many people to zip up now. I cross my legs, hoping that no one noticed when I got on the bus and walked to my seat. I pull my copy of Anna Karenina closer to me, set my coffee on my thigh, and sigh.
This happens more often than I'd like to admit. Embarrassing things, not necessarily my fly being down-- although that happens frequently too. I'll get to work and notice shaving cream behind my ear. I'll get done running a meeting and notice I have coffee stains on my shirt. I cross my legs in a crowded room and notice that I have a hole in the sole of my shoe. Although nothing will ever top the time I came to work wearing two different shoes.
I don't think I'm a klutz, in the traditional sense. I don't fall down stairs. I match my socks with my shirt, whenever possible. I've never broken a bone out of stupidity, or any other reason for that matter.
But I'm not smooth, never have been. I'm an only child, I spent a lot of time by myself growing up. Not that I'm complaining-- but my social interaction seemed limited compared to friends who had siblings. I wonder if that's why large gatherings make me nervous, why I tend to seek out one or two people that I know well and talk with them in a corner. Why I feel like I need two or three drinks to comfortably interact with people in a social setting.
I wish I didn't feel that way. I wish I could keep a conversation going when I feel it dying because of my lack of, well, conversing. I wish I could enter a room and warm it up because of my personality, instead of feeling uncomfortable around people who are able to do so. I wish I had the confidence to think that someday I'll break out of this cycle of being a drone in a taupe cube, banging my head against a corporate ladder that I'm sometimes nervous to even step onto, wondering if I even want to get to the top.
Until those wishes come true, I'll be happy to sit in the back of the bus, reading, ignoring the conversation going on around me-- at least trying to. And casually, cautiously checking my fly to make sure I don't make a scene.
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