Sometimes I misunderstand what people say. It makes me come off like the idiot that I really am and not the brilliant specimen I have continued to fool people into thinking that I have the potential to be. Here are some of the ones that I remember and THE EMBARRASSMENT!!! they have caused me.
Setting: Target Department Store
I’m at the check out counter after buying my groceries. Yes, I buy my groceries from Target. I’m one of those greasy people. You might be laughing now, but I’m saving 30 cents on everything I buy. Suck it!
The check out counter girl was scanning my items as they are forced to do. She looked at me and said “What are you making?” A very obvious question. I’m buying lots of food. She thinks I’m making a concoction.
“What? Like $12 an hour.” I respond. Oof! What the fuck? Huh? I need my head checked. Why would she possibly care how much money I make? My thought process was that she thought I was buying so much stuff that I must be loaded. Yeah, people think that way. Dumb fuck me.
She explained herself and the next 2 minutes were awkward. For her that is. The rest of my life has been awkward.
Setting: Bus Stop
I’m waiting for the bus. There are a bunch of kids smaller and younger than me who scare me despite the age and size advantage I have. Today is no different. I’m sweating out of fear and fatness.
For this story, you need to know that my name is Tim. That’s all you need to know. Continuing–
One of these younger, smaller, scarier kids is goofing off. He’s never talked to me. He looks down at my boots and says “Are those Tims?”
“Yeah they’re mine.” I say. Oh fuck! This isn’t good. I completely missed what he was asking. He was asking if my shoes were Timberlands. The cool kids call them Tims for short. I thought he was asking if they belonged to–shit I’m dumb.
Setting: The Internet
I’m chatting up a storm with some girl I met in a chat room. The year is, 2001-2005. I’m fresh off of the September 11th attacks so my innocence should be long gone. It isn’t. I’m still a dumb fuck with no knowledge of the world.
This girl I’m talking to is hot. At least, her screen name is ModelMaterialMe87. Shit. She’s model material. Keep cool. I know she lives 2,000 miles south, but we can make this work.
She tells me that I’m making her horny. Really? I just put up an away message that says “brb”. You’re easy. She’s getting more and more aroused and then she wants to know more about me. “Are you cut?” she asks.
“No. I’m not that depressed.” Oh crap! I picked the wrong one! She was asking if I still had my foreskin or not. How should I have known? I don’t know what foreskin is. I’m a young teenage American. We don’t know that shit!
She explained what she meant and I understood. The biggest problem about it was that I had a few other potential answers that I was going to give her.
“No. My hair is pretty long right now.”
“No. I’m not that thin.”
“No. I can’t mow the lawn because I get really bad allergy attacks when I’m around freshly cut grass.”