Stranger Danger

What ever happened to “don’t talk to strangers”? When my parents taught me this, I figured I was to follow it for the rest of my life. But it seems like the older I get, the more likely I am to be approached by strangers who just want to chat casually. And I can’t figure out what makes these greasy 50-year-old men and jittery 13-year-old girls want to talk to me.  

[Looking at Halloween costumes at Party City]

Tween: I don’t understand why they don’t include the shoes in the costume.

Me: Hm. [Quickly starts to walk away]

Tween: [Sprints to catch up] What are you gonna be for Halloween?

Me: I don’t know. [Long pause, followed by a sigh] What are you going to be?

Tween: I don’t know. I was thinking about this costume, or this one, or this one too, but I also like this one.

This continues for what feels like half an hour, while I continue to grow more and more impatient. Finally, I just walk away and let her finish talking to herself.

Seriously, you never know who has a chainsaw in their pocket. I just wish I could show these friendly strangers once and for all that I’m not interested in talking to them.

Anyone have a chainsaw I could borrow? You know, just for the effect. 

Icky, Icky Feelings

I don’t have a lot of feelings, but when I do, I have feelings in inappropriate places. Take, for instance, my most recent breakdown.

It happened at a Kohl’s.

In the middle of the women’s department.

To make a short story even shorter, my younger sister just left for college. She now lives 2,000 miles away from me. So, my grandma and I were taking her shopping before she left. She started talking about how she would need a hoodie, and, just like that, something about her talking about hoodies, made me snap.

[Reaches hand out toward sister]

Sister: What?

Me: [Small, whimpering sound]

Sister: What?

Me: I want to give you a hug. [Starts bawling]

Sister: OHMYGOD.

Me: [Still bawling]

Grandma: [Starts bawling]

Sister: Seriously, guys? Seriously?

Me & Grandma: [Bawling while nodding “yes”]

Sister: I don’t know you people.

Grandma & I: [Hug each other]

I managed to pull it together when my sister started to run away from us. I didn’t want to be separated from her before I had to. Feelings are hard. How do normal people deal with them?

Decisions? No, thank you.

I am a terrible decision maker. Which pair of socks to wear, what kind of cheese to buy with Ritz Crackers, whether to eat dinner and then get the mail or get the mail first for fear of nighttime hoodlums—the list goes on and on.

Why are the smallest decisions the hardest to make? It’s gotten to the point where, if I have to call someone on the phone, I jot down everything I need to say, anything I anticipate them saying, and what I’ll say in response. I outline my phone conversations before they happen. Not only is this entirely inefficient, it’s also completely crazy.

[Ordering Pizza Over the Phone]

Me: [to myself] Okay, crust, cheese, size, coupon. Location . . . what’s my address again? Delivery. Okay.

[Takes deep breath and exhales through mouth, making strange horse noise]

[Calls pizza place]

Pizza Man: Pizza Place, how can I help you?

Me: Hi, yes.

[Awkward pause]

I would like to order a small cheese pizza, pan crust.

Pizza Man: Delivery or carryout?

Me: [looking at outline] Delivery.

Pizza Man: What’s your address and a phone number we can reach you at?

Me: 1111 Secret Avenue, 22222. 333-444-5555.

Pizza Man: We have a special running today. Would you like to add breadsticks to your order at no additional cost?

Me: [to myself] Breadsticks!? NOT ANTICIPATED.

Pizza Man: Ma’am? Are you still there?

Me: Yes! Uhhmm, can I call you back?

[hangs up]

Dammit!

And then I spend the next five minutes wondering if I should get breadsticks. Meanwhile, my stomach is growling, the pizza man has thrown away my order but probably kept my phone number because I sounded sexy, and the free breadstick offer may or may not have expired. When I finally decide I do want breadsticks, I have to go through the entire process again. And chances are they’ll ask if I want to throw in a liter of soda.

I don’t even like soda.

This is a problem. Does anyone else suffer from small-decision making ineptitude?  

Hey, I also just realized that I could start ordering pizza online . . .