I offer you all, another tale of my awkwardness. Brought to you by unwanted anxious memories at midnight.
I found a bell tied to a ribbon in one of the many “everything” drawers in my house. It’s a tiny bell, like the kind cats wear and a silk ribbon about long enough to tie around a wrist.
It made me think instantly of the bell my manager asked me to wear on my first job.
Okay, let me back up.
My first job was at a flower shop. And by first job, I mean my first I-applied-interviewed-got-called-back-and-get-paid-cheques kind of job, not the kind one finds on summer months on berry fields or farms or whatever.
So, I was an introverted curly haired thing standing at 5′2 and mostly terrified of people. Besides a gained two inches I haven’t changed a lot, but I have at least gotten louder. And that’s where the bell comes in.
I spent a lot of time quietly watering things, arranging things and tying intricate ribbons for bouquets. Sometimes for hours I wouldn’t say anything and more than once I would move and my manager, who had been with me for most if not all of that time would jump out of her skin at the movement.
“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick! How long have you been there?!”
The answer was always, “…a long time,” and did absolutely nothing to calm her down from her hyperventilating.
It was an uncomfortable situation for the both of us. I truly hate making people uncomfortable to begin with as their discomfort instantly doubles and lands on my shoulders somehow.
My manager’s solution?
“Wear this.”
One day she hands me a bell, on a ribbon. At this point I’m too young to ask any questions. I just do it, because I like my quiet job, flowers don’t give too much attitude and require very little social skills. I put the bell on and follow her directions to wear it at work as part of the uniform. After awhile I don’t even think about it.
Later, much later, I am at work again wrapping up a bouquet for an older lady who is watching me work with a growing smile on her face and when I hand her the flowers she laughs, as if I have done something delightful.
“Is your nickname kitty?”
The awkward bean in me has no reply. I am wearing a name tag, my name is visible and although it starts with a K it is not Kitty. Or even Katherine.
“…No?”
“Ah, too bad. With that bell you wear it certainly should be.”
She then proceeded to pat me on the head. Tap, tap. And left me a tip even though we are not allowed to accept any.
Another thing that happened at this flower shop was that a very, very, very attractive human walked into the shop looking rather frantic. Clearly he had forgotten an anniversary, birthday, apology bouquet or something. I was the only person in sight, but I knew, the moment I set eyes on him that there would be zero ability to speak if he so much as looked at me.
I proceeded to hide in the cooler in the back. And when I say hide, I mean I went full into the sliding door cooler behind the roses and the ordered corsages and waited until someone else helped him and got him out the door.
My manager found me about twenty minutes later because I moved and that damned bell gave me away. She laughed so hard she forgot to reprimand me for hiding.
…anxiety has been kicking my butt for a long time 😛
Ink Child Writing 