Alright, I was having a pretty good day. But being me, something awkward usually happens that makes me feel like either a bumbling idiot or an royal asshole in front of people I most likely will never see again.
The result is, unsurprisingly, the day turning into a bad one. Even the most inconsequential of daily slip-ups that would interrupt otherwise routine public behaviour can eat at your conscience and keep you debating with yourself about whether or not the people involved think you’re a lesser human being.
Case in point: I was at McDonald’s today. The first peculiar thing was that it’s almost February and the wind-chill is politely decreasing average temperatures to below –10 degrees Celsius, and I decided to buy an Oreo McFlurry. I had a craving, okay?
So I enter the McDonald’s, and a grudgingly common setting greets me. A middle-aged Indian woman at the counter discussing the nature of the coupon deal she is trying to take full advantage of. Six other people are in line in front of me, and the cashier looks confused because of the language barrier that I presume is preventing this discussion from going smoothly. I’m being prejudiced. But still, what the fuck is up with Asians (East, and Southeast) and bargaining with already discounted items?
I digress. The line moves up and the two men in front of me are ready to order now. I’m going to bring in races, even though they’re unnecessary. But I’m going to bring them in, because—honestly—they have a good part to play in this awkward moment in my day. They’re Caucasian.
One of them stands about 6’2, dressed in a suit. The other stands 6’4, looks over 200 pounds and very burly. He is dressed in an orange sweater and track pants. They seem to be of the same party, which is odd to say the least. Naturally, I assume they’ll order together. I was wrong.
So the guy in the suit orders his food, and at this point I’m not really paying attention to what’s going on in front of me. Once he orders, the cashier calls for the next person in line. She makes eye contact with me. I step forward.
To my left, leaning against the wall, is the large man in the orange sweater, apparently beginning his order. I stop speaking and look at him. I ask him if he was ordering.
And this is where it gets awkward. The guy is wearing a cap, he’s white, and he’s taller and larger than me. And now, he’s staring at me. Eyes wide. With an expression of, “Excuse me, what the hell are you doing, you little punk?” I don’t know how good I am at reading people, but I am pretty sure by reading his face that he immediately did not like me. I think he thought I was disrespecting him by stepping up to order when I shouldn’t have.
I didn’t apologize when he answered, “Yeah.” I just stepped back and he ordered. And then he moved to the opposite side of the counter, beside the muffin display case, to read his paper as his friend in the suit left the bathroom.
----------------------------------------------------
Here’s my qualm with this situation. I did something awkward; yes, I feel bad about that. Could it have been handled by me in a better way? Probably, but I was most likely at a loss for cohesive reasoning at the time of the large white man staring me down with judging eyes. And that was exactly it. What I hate about this situation is that I knew he assumed I was the person who did wrong.
I know it seems obvious I am, but I have a strong urge to displace blame onto this man’s actions. When I asked him if he was ordering, he delayed his response, while staring straight at me. Intimidating, to say the least. And I could bet you a lot of money that he wanted to intimidate me, because he was white, larger, and taller than me. He could have put on a friendly face, laughed a bit and said, “Yeah, I’m in line,” and help me feel more comfortable in an awkward situation. Instead. he put on an unfriendly face, and expected me to back off—back off into my rightful place, behind him.
What I hate about this is I didn’t know he was in line. The fact that he was leaning against the side wall while there was an empty space in front of me is reason enough to believe that I was next in line. I mean, it’s a line for a reason. You get in it to signify your place to get your food ordered. This man was beside the line. I was in direct sight of the cash register. If he was clearly in front of me, that cash register would not have been in sight, and consequentially, I would have known I wasn’t next in line.
That fucking asshole didn’t get in line. It pisses me off. It almost makes me believe that he alone caused me to be awkward in a public place. And then he stares me down, like I’m a culprit? Stand in fucking line next time, and maybe I won’t misinterpret things. He’s leaning against the wall, all non-chalantly, because—this is my most educated guess—he was white, taller, and bigger than me, and possibly every else in the McDonald’s at that time.
Then it turns into a race, class and social equality debate. I knew he thought lesser of me, because he stared at me that specific way, and responded in the specific tone of voice. And then I thought, “Okay, I’ll back off, since this guy is obviously offended.” He didn’t think about the line, or that he may not clearly be in front of it. Maybe it was my fault for not paying attention that his suited friend had ordered, and he didn’t. But really was that reaction necessary?
I can’t recreate the face on a blog, but I will tell you, it was a very, very judgemental face. I could read his thoughts just by looking at him. And the rest of the time I was in that line, I was thinking about what he thought of me. The funny thing is, I’m almost positive he forgot about me the moment finished ordering and waited for his food.
So now I’m left thinking about this, while he’s going about his day like nothing happened because he knew he used his advantages to make me feel awkward, and he knew that he had set me in my place. I know that, because he is white, bigger, and taller than me, and he stared at me that specific way.
And now, I think he’s an asshole. I have overanalyzed this; that’s a given. But I really do hate awkward situations, and I hate the people who create them—sometimes even me. But I hate people who spur them on, and imply through subtle psychological and behavioural indicators that they’ve gained the upper hand and left the situation dominant. Basically, that it isn’t an awkward situation for them.
So fuck you, big guy in the orange sweater and track pants. I hope your food has semen in it.
And that Oreo McFlurry was crunchy and creamy at the same time. So I felt a bit better about it all after I finished it.
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