There's something weird about people blogging, if you think about it. I mean, we're talking about thousands and thousands of people (Hundreds of thousands? Millions? I never understood math. Or estimation.) who think they have worthwhile or significant things to tell their exceptionally eager readers. (And when I say "exceptionally eager," I mean, of course, "nonexistent.") And if there's something indubitable I've learned in my twenty-three years of life thus far, it's that people think far too highly of themselves. I'm guessing, then, that there's a whole lotta unread blogs littering the blogosphere. (Gah. I just used the word "blogosphere." Who am I? What have I become, six minutes into this? A great depression just came upon me.) (And yet...I continue.)
Anyways. Numerous people have been telling me that I need to start a blog, mostly because I moved to New York Cit-ay last September and have since then experienced several embarrassing and extraordinary things. Mostly embarrassing, I would say. This bloggy thing should be a great way to record those Fun Facts. I also enjoy the anonymity of blogging--I can write about people that drive me crazy and anger me and sadden me. And they'll never know! Because they'll never read it. Because no one cares about other people's blogs. Because people are inherently A.) selfish and B.) self-important. (See above.)
I sound reeeally jaded. And rude. Is this what New York has done to me? Add this to the list of vices I seem to daily be increasing in, including: profanity; alcohol consumption; and impatience. Vom.
So maybe I should recount today's awkward occurrence. Since that's the only thing of interest I have to offer, really. Here goes: Whilst walking home today along First Avenue, I managed to run a half block and catch a bus. (Awkward sitch in itself, really. I will die somewhat happily if I am never forced to view video footage of myself running, let alone running to catch a bus, purse and ponytail flailing behind me.) After plugging in and removing my metrocard, panting inattractively all the while, I made my way to the back door, where I could organize my fancy, pink, sequined wallet quietly and inobtrusively. Naturally, the bus driver chose to lurch away from the curb and hurtle into traffic at the exact moment when I was in that awful bus-limbo--walking down the aisle, but not holding onto any nearby pole or seat. The change from the coin-purse section of my wallet immediately went flying, scattering the floor of the bus with glittering currency. I could feel my cheeks burning. I could also feel everyone staring at me. Staring at me in that I-don't-really-care-what-happens-to-you-but-I'll-at-least-feign-interest-so-that-you-feel-sufficiently-embarrased New York sort of way, that is. I assessed the situation, saw that all of the change on the floor was either pennies or nickels (and therefore worthless), and decided to stare stoically ahead, cheeks aflame. This may have worked, had it not been for the kindly young man who decided to take pity upon me and crouch the next time the bus stopped, painstakingly scooping up my ridiculous coins. When he straightened up and handed them over to me with an earnest smile, I truly meant to say something along the lines of, "Oh, you really didn't have to do that. Thank you, though." Instead, however, I only managed to utter: "Oh, no." And nothing else. So this generous man probably considers me the rudest person he's met in a while. Rather than applauding his act of kindness, I somehow managed to make him feel as if he'd done something wrong. "Oh, no." Oh, no? Oh, no. Please don't tell me you've just picked up my change. How dare you. Oh, no. How could you? You complete moron.
Gaaah. This is my life. I swear that I'm missing some circuit which coordinates what one's brain actually wants to say and what comes out of one's mouth. This is the second time this has happened to me in a week. Last weekend, when I was working a brunch at the restaurant, I served a man his turkey club and asked him if he needed anything else. He nodded quickly and seemed about to say something, but then he did that silent burp thing that people do--do you know what I mean? There's no sound involved; it's like the polite version of the burp. But there's an unmistakable lowering of the head while swallowing, followed by a very short pause. Anyway. That's what this man did. After finishing his silent burp, he said, "Pardon me." (Which was polite of him, wasn't it? The word pardon doesn't get used enough, I think.) And then he followed that with, "I'd like a side of mayonnaise." Normally, I'd have nodded back to him, repeated what he wanted--"A side of mayonnaise. No problem!"--and made a swift and efficient trip to the kitchen to procure the necessary item. This time, however, I gave a quick nod and said, "Pardon mayonnaise. No problem!" And then I made a swift and efficient turn on my heel, headed to the kitchen. Mid-heel-turn I realized my mistake. I could feel my face morphing into a horrified expression, even as I couldn't help myself from repeating my idiotic mistake. Pardon mayonnaise? Really, Rachel? Fantastic. Lovely. You've got such a way with words. I ended up making the busboy bring the mayonnaise to the table, for fear I'd offended the man who'd asked for it. (Pardon mayonnaise? Seriously. Seriously?)
So, yeah. I say and do pleeeenty of awkward things. Excellent fodder for this blog, but kryptonite to my already pathetic social skills. Whatevs. I feel supremely confident in my lack of blog followers. Take that, blogosphere.
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