So I'm a Little Weird
Since moving to San Francisco, home of people not just representing the quirk factor, but competing and winning the quirk factor Olympics, ironically it's gotten me to be more normal. Partially it's because I've spent years shaking off the weirdness of my family, and partially it's because my parents were so particular with how everything had to be done, everything that should be said, and I was perpetually nervous. In San Francisco, it's okay to be weird. Hell, it's practically encouraged. When it's okay to be weird, you're not so nervous you'll screw up being perfect.
At my temp job, there is a weird lady who delivers the mail. I like her! Find her amusing as all get out. She comes up the stairs, and in her little accent sing-songs, "Here is your mai-ail!" Mail is two distinct syllables. She likes to wait to be acknowledged before singing, "Goodbye! Have a nice da-ay!" She sings her sentences in such a way that you expect her to skip instead of walking. That's funny enough, but what cracks me up is the fact that it's all an act. I've run into her on the street a couple of times and she talks normally there when I've asked a mail-related question.
After work on Friday I went to a store nearby to look around, and while I was standing near the stairs she walked in to deliver the mail. When she sang about the mail to the shop employees, they smirked and rolled their eyes to each other. As she walked out she saw me and did a double-take. Any time someone sees a person outside of their element, I always think of my first grade teacher Mrs. Friedman, and how she was so mean and yelly to me, but when my mom and I ran into her at the supermarket she was so nice to my mom. It totally disgusted me that she pretended to be a nice person and didn't let my mom see her true mean side.
We said hi to each other, and chatted for a few minutes. The mail lady didn't sing while we chatted; she was a normal person finishing up her job for the day. Now I don't remember what we talked about, but it was very casual chit-chat stuff, and probably just two or three minutes. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the employees looking at me confused. Why would anyone be talking to the mail carrier?
As I walked out of the store, I felt ashamed. I did something by accident that made me look weird. But then I changed my mind. Fuck them and their pretentious hipster judgments. I saw someone I knew, and talked with them. That's normal. If they wouldn't lower themselves to talk to someone, then they should feel ashamed. Not me. I'd rather be thought of as weird for chatting with someone than normal for not lowering myself to talk with someone.