The Unexpected Burden of Extraordinary Charm

In life it's often easier simply not to talk to people. Not in a rude way, and not to irritate, but simply because most of the time people are doing their thing and I am doing my thing (even if "my thing" is to get kitty litter and a frozen pizza in the next 20 minutes so I can make it back from the gym to watch a Blazers' game I've got time shifted from their east coast roadtrip (parentheticals that are longer than the primary sentence are the bomb, yo, especially if they have sub-parentheticals (like these))).

As part of my self-awareness campaign this millenium, though, I have made efforts to (*gasp*) communicate with other human beings in non-critical situations. I say "hi" to people much more often on the street (ok, 99% of the time they are women, but still...) and I try to be more than just quietly polite to people who work at stores I shop at.

Unfortunately, being friendly sometimes has unexpected costs.

Yesterday I was shopping in downtown Seattle with Canberry, checking out the Black Friday (no racist) sales and maybe getting some clothes that I can wear for two days before they are infused with three colors of cat hair.

The third or fourth store was actually one that I was confident I was going to buy some stuff, so we split up; her shopping through the upstairs for women's clothes and me headed downstairs for the guys'. After some time, I had selected my five items and was waiting in line.

Once I got to the front of the line, in keeping with my attempts at being friendly, I started talking with the chick ringing me up (hehe) and in the time that it took for the items to be rung up, folded, and paid for, we had shared three mini-stories (and, shockingly, only two of them came from me). I'm sure she had spoken to about a thousand people and she was just being nice (although I'm not sure that she tells a story about her friend's big boobs to everyone she helps) but I walked away thinking, "Yep, I sure am I nice fellow. And I still got it!"

Ridiculous how one's mind works.

Fast forward a couple of hours. Canberry and I are getting dressed for a night in Ballard and I decided to wear the blazer that I had purchased. It fits great and looks fine and whatever and we mosey on down to catch taxicab. The two of us approach a street corner where two women were waiting, and I utter under my breath, "Taxi!" to the cab that is speeding away... and this little exchange occurs:

Me: How dare he not stop? Certainly he heard me! [Note: I doubt those were my exact words, but maybe...]
Chick at Street Corner: What did you say?
Me: I said, "Hey, ladies ... !"
Chicks at Street Corner: *giggle* *giggle*
Me: (Internally) Yep, I sure am I nice fellow. And I still got it!

So Canberry and I went to cross the street, with the chicks lagging behind us. Then one reengaged with me:

Chick at Street Corner: So you know you have a tag on your jacket?
Me: (Reaching around, expecting a paper tag) Oh, yeah? Thanks!
Chick at Street Corner: Yeah, it's one of those security tags. You shouldn't steal your clothes!Me: (Feeling the device, which was at the very bottom of the back of my jacket, by my butt) Oh, drat!
Chick at Street Corner: You can thank me now for saving your night!
Me: (Internally) Being friendly clearly leads to mockery.

I was a bit miffed at the store for not removing it and I was a bit embarrassed that I didn't notice that I had set off security sensors at several subsequent stores we'd visited. I also felt the unexpected burden of being nice to someone unnecessarily; if I had not been quite as charming, maybe the young woman at the store would have been less distracted and have done her job!

We wandered back to my place and I changed jackets and we were back out on the town. I need to go back to the store to get the stupid tag off, but at least Canberry was able to stroke my ego a bit by pointing out that the woman had to be checking out my butt to see the tag.

I still got it!