We all have those social interactions that we leave and analyze…
Why did I say that?
I should’ve it a different way
Maybe I shouldn’t have said it at all
This is a tale about one of those times.
If you haven’t seen the comedy special Mike Birbiglia: What I Should’ve Said Was Nothing… then you should definitely find it somewhere and watch it.
I have many… many moments where I leave a place thinking, “Why did I just say that?”. I do have a lot of what I should’ve said moments… this is one of those moments.
About once a week I go to the butcher to buy some meat. Now, I live in a camper, so I can’t stockpile a bunch of meat. The guy who works there is a couple years older than me. We always chat a bit, I pay for my meat, leave… get in my car and realize how awkward I can be sometimes. Not like, weird, but I like to think of it more as awkwardly charming. Anyways… we’ve mentioned a few times that we both enjoy driving around randomly in the country. I mentioned a really cool place I know of a while back and he said he’d never been. Alright, let me set up a little bit more about this area… it’s very small, isolated, people aren’t generally open to different things. I feel like I’m having one of those moments as I’m writing this. I’m not a weirdo and into “different” things, just normal, hanging out… oh geez. So, last week I go in there, we talk a little bit and then this is how part of the conversation went.
Me: Hey, if you ever need a tour guide to go to
Hmm Hmhmm State Park…
Him: Yeah, that’d be nice. Just hit me up sometime.
Me: Let me give you my number
He looks around for something for me to write my number on. Hands me a piece of paper and a pen.
Me: That’s not weird of me to just suggest we hang out is it?
Him: No, not at all.
Me: Good, because people around here don’t seem to be too open to new friends and hanging out. It’s like they think I’m going to take them out in the middle of nowhere and murder them.
Him: That’s not what you’re trying to do with me is it?
Me: Haha, no.
I finish writing my number and hand the paper to him.
Me: I’m not trying to murder you…. just to clarify, I haven’t murdered anyone.
He stands there looking at me.
Me: I’m really not a serial killer.
I grab my bag.
Me: Well, now that I have made this sufficiently awkward… I’m going to go.
I walk out the door and get into the truck. I tell my husband what just happened as we drive home… He thinks it’s pretty funny. Yeah, I highly doubt he’ll want to hang out with me now. I’ll probably have to have my husband to and get the meat for a few weeks or forever because this guy thinks I’m some sort of serial killer now. I’m not an expert, but I feel like at the end of the conversation you’re having to convince someone you’re not a psycho killer… you veered off on a wrong turn somewhere.
What I should’ve said was… nothing.