work lol-o’-the-week

Generally, my workplace does not have a uniform. But each year the boss tends to get us shirts (no, I’m not sure why — but at least he doesn’t decide to get them and then make us pay for them, which is what my last boss did). And then, of course, we have “workplace shirt days” as our sort of branded version of casual Fridays.

Anyway. This year’s shirt is a football jersey. (Yes, really.) And so on Wednesday, we all (okay, about 90%) trooped into work wearing our dark green football jerseys. They were REALLY OBVIOUS. The store name and the word STAFF are completely unmissable.

(Or so I thought.) Wednesday afternoon, not even kidding, I asked a customer if I could help her. She looked at me carefully, and said, “Do you work here?”

There were a few seconds of silence as my brain cycled through various completely inappropriate responses. Finally, I said, “That’s what it says on the jersey, yes.”

Customer: “Oh! I didn’t notice.”

(Sometimes, there are moments when I want to say, “Did you drive yourself here? Because I’m thinking maybe you shouldn’t drive home.”)

Mirrored from The Marci Rating System.

awkwardness level: high

Sometimes my awkward surpasses even my own expectations. Yesterday, I went for a walk. Totally casual, no problem, just out for a walk around the neighborhood. It’s my weekend, so I’m in jeans and a grubby t-shirt, because it’s a laundry day, which is really just an excuse to wear jeans and grubby t-shirts.

I got SO CLOSE to making it back home, and then I found myself approaching a driveway just as someone was getting out of their car.

Me: (no worries, you’ve got this, they’re going inside — just wave and smile, no problem)

Them: NOT GOING INSIDE, LALALA, GOING TO THE MAILBOX

Me: (ack, not the mailbox, that means they’ll have to cross the street in front of me, the street where I’m walking, but I’m still far away, maybe they’ll be speedy and be safely back into their driveway by the time I get there; smiling and waving could still work)

Them: WEARING HEELS AND JUST GOT HOME FROM WORK, LALALA, WALKING VERY SLOWLY

Me: (I can’t slow down to make sure they’re done before I arrive, because by now it would be so obvious and it would look like I was just loitering for no reason several yards away, but now I’m going to end up between them and their driveway as they’re at the mailbox, which is just weird)

Them: HOW ABOUT I ENGAGE YOU IN CONVERSATION WHILE I STAND ABOUT LOOKING ELEGANT AND CAPABLE AND YOU LOOK LIKE AN OUT-OF-WORK GRUBSTER

Me: (just try to be nice, and vague, and oh my god am I supposed to know this neighbor’s name?)

Them: LALALA WORK GARDENS TIRED GREETINGS WALKING WEEKEND LALALA APPEARANCE OF SUCCESSFUL ADULTING ACHIEVED

Me: (this is the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had and I still have no idea if you’re actually my neighbor or if maybe you’re house-sitting or maybe you’re a robber in a lovely sweater stealing these peoples’ mail; how long have we been stuck here at this mailbox doing what could only generously be called conversing — disengage, disengage)

Them: HAVE A NICE WALK-SLASH-LIFE

Me: (agh, the awkward, it is maximized)

Mirrored from The Marci Rating System.