my bad-ass timing
I have a problem with timing.
Perhaps it’s actually a good sense of timing, with a dash of complete obliviousness. My horrible moments often turn into very good stories, but the initial shock of what I just unknowingly did usually shadows out the humor for a short time.
In Aspen my pre-surgery eye was getting all red from the altitude. Alcohol. Something beginning with “Al.” I had to stop at a drug store and pick up some drops. As I was standing there trying to figure out if I wanted a drop that got the red out, stopped the itch, whitened the eye, synthesized tears, watered the eye, liquidated the eye, flooded the eye, cleaned the eye or just cooled the eye (the ingredients all seemed the same, yet the prices were suspiciously varied), I noticed that I was standing next to the eye patch section.
Comedy Rule Number 423: Pirates are always funny.
Eric had been teasing me about getting my eye surgery and was secretly hoping that I’d have to wear an eye patch for a week or so. We joked that I could do it right before my trip so I could introduce myself to Robin Williams as “Patch Aspen.” I decided to buy the patch and bust it out on Eric when he wasn’t expecting it. Like rolling over when I was “asleep” and mumbling in my dream, “Arrrgh.” Or asking him to bring in the new bottle of shampoo because there’s something in my eye and when he opens the shower curtain I’d be all, “Ahoy! We seem to have hit water, matey!”
I’m giggling like a freak at this point as I have the pharmacist start ringing up my purchases. My friend Becca walks up and asks, “What’s with the patch? You don’t need one for the surgery, do you?”
Since I don’t want to reveal my weirdness in front of total strangers (she says, while uploading her five thousandth weirdness onto her webpage), I giggle and sort of whisper, “I’ll tell you when we leave.”
“Whatever,” she says, and walks off.
“That’ll be fourteen fifty,” a very flat voice said with just a twinge of disgust.
I looked up.
The pharmacist. Had. A. Glass. Eye.
So, what do you do at this point, right? He hasn’t really said anything about my patch, but it’s pretty obvious he thinks I’m making fun of him, and it’s not like I can just shout, “No! It’s not your glass eye! I’m just kinda kinky!” There was no good way of getting out of this situation.
So I grabbed my bag, took my change, took a deep breath–
And hauled ass out of that store. I grabbed my friend and told her that we absolutely had to leave immediately, furthering the suspicion that I was a terrible person.
Outside in the snowy air, I was able to laugh at the new level of dork I had so effortlessly reached. But in there, I freaked out. I had no idea how to talk myself out of that situation. Again, the timing was all off. Of all the pharmacists in all the damn world, I had to by an eye patch from one that only has one eye. It’s just a matter of time before I buy an ankle brace from a one-legged cashier, or ask a toothless pharmacist which toothpaste she recommends.
My timing only makes others laugh. At me.
New Ally McBeal posted on MBTV. At least I’m not as bad off as that girl.