A Serious Scarcity of Social Savvy

I’m a woefully awkward social peon. I was tempted to write 'pariah', but that's a matter of skewed perception. I’m just not socially savvy. My interpersonal skills could use some serious work. As I’ve gotten older, my social awkwardness has improved to the point that it can occasionally be mistaken for quirkiness. But just occasionally. Last week an acquaintance of mine aptly identified me as “socially handicapped” following a social blunder that was typical Me. Frequent dates with my friend Beer have resulted in my being mistaken for an extrovert, but don’t let Beer fool you; Beer serves no other purpose than to bring out the Bunny in me, an attention whoring alter ego who is wondering if anybody has seen her pants lately. Without Beer in abundance, Bunny doesn’t come out to play, and the odds of my being socially awkward increase exponentially.

An illustration of just how lacking in social savvy I am was drawn for me when I was out at the bar on Tuesday night. Practicing restraint that night, the plan was to take one drink slow then call it an early night. For once, The Plan was right on course. I knew a couple of people mingling around the bar, whom I greeted shortly before taking my brew of choice to a chair near the billiards table. Shortly after I began taking in my beer and the billiards game, the owner of the bar approached me. I recognized him from the countless other times that I had chosen his location to drown an idea with a Bud (my unfortunate taste in beer has been well documented). He introduced himself to me and asked if I knew anybody else there; if I didn’t he would be more than happy to introduce me to some of the other foreigners. His gesture was genuine; I’d seen him do it numerous times for others before me. I struggled to find a tactful way of pointing out that I did, in fact, know the people standing within 4 feet of us. I didn’t want him to feel bad for offering to help. I smiled and explained that I knew a few people, that I was just a little out of it that night. He accepted my explanation gracefully and explained his need to make sure that everybody is having a great time. I reassured him that I was, and all was soon well in his world again. I resumed my position by the billiards table and pondered the reality that I’m occasionally so socially awkward that I can be in the middle of friends and still look like that shy girl that doesn’t know a sole.

Some day soon, I’ll be chasing one of my friends around the bar trying to ensure that they’re having the best time possible. I’ll suggest that we do some shots, or introduce them to random people that I hardly know because at that particular moment I see a direct correlation between the volume of acquaintances present and the quality of my friend's enjoyment. Whichever friend I've chosen to annoy that evening will smile, nod, and humour me, because that’s just what I do. All will temporarily be will in my world. Later, when Beer has left the building and Bunny has found her pants, one of my friends will laugh at my efforts to be the great savior of the socially awkward. The irony will not be lost on me. Should I temporarily forget, Another Tuesday Night is no doubt right around the corner.