Tag Archives: awkward

The Worst That Can Happen

That moment when you’re so hot post-run, you rip off all your clothes, stand in front of the AC naked, and don’t even bother to close the curtains because honestly, what’s the worst that can happen– the neighbor across the street sort of sees something from a distance?

Then two painters lower themselves onto your balcony.

Right in front of your face.

Oh. Hey guys….

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I’m Never Making THAT Mistake Again

When I flew to Israel 2 years ago and went through the VERY intense security check, I was irrationally intimidated by the seriousness with which the Israeli man questioned me. So I did what I always do when I’m uncomfortable– I got sarcastic.

Security: “Are you jewish?”
Me: “Yes.”
Security: “Do you have a hebrew name?”
Me: “Yes.”
Security: “What is your hebrew name?”
Me: “Shoshana.”
Security: “Where did you get this name from?”
Me: “I don’t know…God?”

He did not smile. At all. In fact, there was a 10 second period where I was certain he was not going to let me on the plane.

So tonight when I go through the Israeli security, I will not be making that mistake again.

This time, I’ll give a wink after the sarcastic comment. Maybe even a friendly little “jk” punch to his shoulder.

Because I think the problem is that last time, he just missed the joke.

Which is ok.

Not everyone can be as smart as Americans.

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They Noticed

So yesterday this happened and I was just kind of hoping the students forgot about it (as I like to think kids do when something extremely uncomfortable occurs). I convinced myself that the moment was much more awkward and memorable for me than it was for them, and that they probably didn’t even notice.

Yeah, well. They did.

Today we started writing an end-of-year school newspaper. Here’s what one kid is contributing to the Comics section (work still in progress). I’ve translated the kid’s writing in pink, in case you can’t read it.

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So I think the moral here is, even 10-year-olds notice when you act like an awkward buffoon.

This is sure to do wonders for my social anxiety.

Thank You, Administration 

I had a meeting with administration and the guardian of one of my students (mom couldn’t make it, so an older brother was coming in her place). I enter the main office for the meeting.

Administration: “Jon’s brother is outside in the hall. You can get him and tell him to come in.”

Me: “That guy sitting out there? That’s not the brother I met before.”

Administration: “Oh, well it must be a different brother. But it’s definitely one of Jon’s brothers.”

Me (trusting they know something I don’t): “Oh, ok.”

(walk out to hall, extend my hand to young man waiting in chair)

Me: “Hi! I’m Emily, Jon’s teacher. It’s nice to meet you.”

Nope. Not Jon’s brother.

Just a completely unrelated black guy.

The Guy Who LARPed, Part 2

(Continuation of The Guy Who LARPed )

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The second time I went out with the LARPer (because oh yes, there was a second date), he showed up wearing what can only be described as shower shoes. You know those blue, waterproof Adidas sandals you wore in the shower at sleep-away camp, that by the end of the summer would be completely worn in, torn, slightly moldy, and smell like garbage?

He wore those.

I don’t even usually notice men’s footwear, but I swear to god these were emanating a stench that rocked me to the core. I thought about them the entire night.

I thought about the shoes as he ordered himself a cosmo in a Mexican restaurant (so you know that shit came with a tiny umbrella), and I thought about them as he regaled me with stories of his LARPing adventures (“I haven’t always played the monster, you know“). I thought about the shoes as he told me he makes a living by subletting his apartment to foreigners for 3 seasons out of the year and sleeping on his mom’s couch. “Why not in the summer, too?” I asked. Because in the summer he likes to be near Central Park.

For the LARPing.

I still thought about the shoes as he chewed with his mouth open and told me he doesn’t own a credit card (“Why would I?” he asked, as bits of cosmo-soaked guac flew from his mouth into my eye).

I thought about the shoes as he told me about his best friend, Leonard.

Leonard is a cat.

But mostly I thought about the shoes as he walked me home, stopped at my awning, and tried to kiss me goodnight. The doorman happened to be standing outside. He caught my “For the love of god, help me!” signal, but rather than doing so, he leaned against the wall of the building and essentially pulled out a bag of popcorn and a fountain soda.

The scene was as awkward as they come. He stopped and clumsily fished for my hand, which I attempted to hide in my pockets– only to discover, regrettably, that I didn’t have pockets. Then he went for it. I did the half turn, letting his lips land simultaneously on both my cheek and mouth. This had happened one other time in my life– when I was 13 and ran into my 60-year-old rabbi at the mall. We each went for the wrong cheek and ended up weirdly half-mouth kissing. It was mortifying and terrible.

But in this moment, I found myself missing Rabbi Weinberg.

Post-“kiss”, he attempted to say something, but I giddy-up U-turned for the door and ran inside. Literally. I ran. I ran like there was free Chipotle and I was…well…me.

Then, as I’m in the elevator, I get a text.

“I can do MUCH better than that kiss, but the doorman was killing my mojo.”

Oh, LARPer. Everything about you was killing my mojo, including your use of the word mojo. You literally could not have made yourself any less attractive in the past 3 hours, and no girl with any self-respect would even think about responding to this text.

I think we only went out one more time after that.