Why am I so awkward?

Every time I leave the Grinnell campus for an extended period, I wind up being rudely slapped in the face with the realization that I have no idea how to conduct myself in the real world. I often spend several days confused by the prevalence of people not between the ages of 18 and 23, people who are offended by profanity and sexual references, and people who stare blankly at me when I use words like “opprobrium” in casual conversation. My tendency to dress like a hobo and my love-hate relationship with makeup and shaving suddenly qualify me as a weirdo, whereas my Grinnell self had always seemed so painfully mainstream. But one thing that really frightens me about my inability to pass as normal in actual American society is that I’m pretty sure I never actually learned how to legitimately flirt.

I know that sounds dreadfully shallow. Shouldn’t I be concerned about human rights, the destructiveness of capitalist consumer culture and the impending disaster of global warming? Sure, and I am. Really. My interests are many and varied. They just also happen to include occasionally hooking up with people.

Generally, this is less of a problem at Grinnell. Most people here are awkward enough to make me seem vaguely charismatic. As such, my stilted, bastardized version of flirtation actually seems to work. However, I often forget that the real world operates quite differently. This often leads to strange situations in which I give the impression of being mildly tweaked in the head.

One prime example of this occurred last week, when I was visiting a coffee shop in Des Moines with my good friend, Christy “not-awkward-enough-for-Grinnell” Boeckholt. I approached the counter first, hanging back briefly to decide what I wanted to order. As I was perusing the menu, the fellow behind the counter addressed me casually, trying to make conversation. At some point during this interaction, it dawned on me that this individual was flirting with me. This realization was bewildering for me. I specifically remember being agitated. I hadn’t entered the situation with the expectation that it would require any form of actual social skills, and as such I had not prepared myself. I had absolutely no idea what to say to this man. I made a half-assed effort to play along, not wanting to seem unfriendly.

The fellow seemed to have noticed my stilted mannerisms and attributed them to tiredness, saying, “Had a long day, huh?” I could easily have lied, pretended that I’d spent all day at some sort of legitimate job instead of sitting around reading Plans and crocheting earflap hats. But instead I decided to be unnecessarily honest, saying “No, not really. I’m actually just incredibly awkward.”

Had I made a similar comment to a Grinnellian, we probably could have shared a friendly laugh of commiseration at our mutual social ineptitude. However, outside of Grinnell, a statement such as this sends a pretty clear message of “I’m really freaking weird,” as evidenced by the relatively quiet manner in which the rest of our interaction panned out. I walked back to my table, confused and a bit embarrassed. Christy subsequently ordered, flirting casually and comfortably with the same man who had already written me off completely.

The encounter wasn’t a total loss, however. I got a delicious café mocha out of the transaction, and I managed not to trip while walking to or away from the counter. Also, I learned that flirting should not include blatant admissions of my own awkwardness. This just puts me one step closer to the day when I will finally be able to have comfortable social interactions with people I don’t really know. I’ve been making a lot of progress lately. At this rate, I should be pretty damn charismatic by the time I’m elderly.