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.
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.