If you were wondering, I did, in fact, spot you in O’Neill Plaza today. Yes, I appeared to be digging through my bag as I passed you, as though possessed by a sudden urgency to make sure I had all my necessary notebooks, but I saw you. The whole digging-urgently-through-my-bag thing? All an act. Pretty convincing, right? Like when we passed each other on the stairwell in Carney yesterday, and you thought I didn’t notice you because I happened to be checking the time on my iPhone? Or when I walked out of Lower behind you the day before and didn’t acknowledge you when you held the door for me because I appeared to be intently listening to a voicemail on my phone? (I wasn’t, just so you know. I was simply holding a silent phone up to my ear to avoid interacting with you.)
So why do I do it? Why do I skulk around corners, feign distraction, and avert my eyes with such haste that you’d think I was constantly performing a walk of shame? Is it my crippling social ineptitude? My ill-disposed nature? Or is something else going on? Here are just a few reasons why I didn’t say hi to you today:
I was afraid you wouldn’t see me. You looked a little preoccupied, listening to your iPod and staring off into space, and I was scared that if I raised my hand to wave at you, you would just keep walking by, and I would be left standing alone, grinning like an idiot with my hand still half-raised in the air, recognizably shut down for the world to see, and everyone walking by would witness the ill-fated interaction and whisper, “Oh. Awkward.”
I was afraid you wouldn’t recognize me. I definitely recognized you because you always sit two seats to my left in our Modern History discussion group, and I know your name because our T.A. insisted we make name cards on the first day of class, but I’m nervous that if I were to give a little smile, and maybe even say, “Hey, Christine,” you would stare at me like I was crazed stalker who had your room code, class schedule, and greatest fears written down in a secret journal in my dorm room.
I was afraid you wouldn’t remember me. We were in the same freshman orientation group, and we bonded over our mutual love for gyros and Dexter, but then you ended up on Newton campus and I ended up on Upper, and we talked about hanging out that one time when I ran into you in the Rat, but then we never did, I didn’t see you all of sophomore year, and now I fear that you’ve forgotten who I am entirely.
I was afraid our drunken interaction wouldn’t transfer over to Real Life interaction. Yes, we were beer pong partners for two rounds and we called ourselves the Dynamic Duo and insisted someone take a Mobile Upload of us posing back to back, but what if that fleeting drunken connection was for one night and one night only? In the light of day on the sidewalk outside of Hillside, I just kept imagining a look of complete perplexity crossing your face if I tried to say hi to you, as if sobering up had also erased any recollection of meeting my acquaintance.
I was afraid that I had never even met you in Real Life. With all the Facebook creeping I do, how am I supposed to keep straight the people I’ve actually met and the people whose faces appear so frequently on my newsfeed that I feel as though I’ve met them? What if, when I went to say hi to you, your confusion would make me realize that we have not, in fact, ever met and you’re merely the best friend of a girl who was in my Courage To Know class who I still like to stalk on Facebook because she has nice clothes?
I was afraid you might try and strike up a conversation. We know each other well enough that you may take out your ear buds and ask about my weekend, and then I would reply that my weekend was good and inquire about yours, and you would inform me that yours was good as well, and then we would both nod and smile at each other for a few moments, grappling for something else to say, and then stiffly bid one another adieu, and I’d spend the rest of the day reliving the excruciating social awkwardness of the interaction.
I was afraid that you would snub me. As I spend every waking moment swimming in an ocean of neuroses, I am convinced that you hate me and would be delighted for an opportunity to publically rebuff my hello. You may have responded to my greeting in a way that left something to be desired, perhaps giving me a cool smile or a waggle of your fingers in acknowledgment, or you may have just kept on walking, acting as though you didn’t even hear me greet you at all.
I was afraid the unacknowledged awkwardness that exists between us would prevent us from being able to have a normal interaction. We used to hook up. Or you have a friend that I used to hook up with. Or you’re someone that I used to be friends with but we sort of grew apart. Whatever the case, the relationship we once had, or the relationship we never did have, makes just a simple “hello” feel so exhaustingly laden with unspoken meaning and insinuations. So I think I’ll just avoid it all together. In fact, I think I’ll just avoid all interaction from now on, just to fend off all the potential discomfort and weirdness and humiliation. But just know, next time you see me walking by you on campus with my ear buds in and my facial expression arranged into one of practiced inattentiveness, I do see you. I’m just debating whether or not I should say hi.
*AUTHOR’S NOTE: Don’t let your irrational fears get the best of you! Take a chance and say hello, unless you truly desire to stave off any potentially uncomfortable human interaction for the rest of your college career/life.
Photo Sources:
http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/On_The_Phone_g371-Young_Fashionable_Woman_reading_sms_p86810.html
http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/Learning_g376-Teenage_Girl_Hiding_Her_Face_p92495.html
http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/Younger_Women_g57-Shy_Lady_Looking_Behind_Card_p60502.html