Men are Weenies

I walk into the copy room to make copies. Two men, one my thirty-five year old co-worker who is working with a director on a project, and the other, his friend who is also thirty something and an attorney. They stop talking when I enter the room.

I’m standing by the copier waiting for my copies. They are sitting at a table uncomfortably nearby. I hear the attorney whisper, “who is that?” “That’s Jenn, she’s new.” I turn and look at them and wait to see if they introduce themselves to me.

We stare at each other. No one speaks.

I wait.

The air around us becomes so awkward that fight or flight kicks in and I leave without my copies.

Later that day, the attorney introduces himself to me and we have a brief conversation about my ethnic heritage, “I knew you looked Italian!”

Even later that day, my co-worker approaches me with the attorney’s business card. “He wanted me to give this to you…” In retrospect, I wish he had said this in a rushed whisper, with a knowing twinkle in his eye, and revealed the card like he was performing a magic trick.

There is no denying that I am a painfully awkward human being myself. But men are also weenies. I thought once they surpassed the age of 21 they all turn into courageous gentlemen with manners, like Cary Grant, but that seems to be the minority. I suppose women aren’t any better, there isn’t a growing number of classy and gracious Audrey Hepburns out there either.

I bet that attorney searched me on facebook. I don’t have one. Weenie.


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