Walking down Main West a few weeks ago, I saw a sign that advertised Hepatitis B awareness, stating that one in every four people who contracted HBV would die. I thought to myself, “Holy smokes, we really do need to raise awareness for this. Seventy-five percent of people who get this disease become immortal! What a technological breakthrough!”
This train of thought quickly led to my thinking about secret agents and their supposed immortality. He’s gone through four decades, six actors and even more hairstyles, but James Bond has gotten more physically fit with age. The man is a champion of charm, with his scintillatingly smooth stares.
I’m not cool enough to introduce myself saying my last name followed by my full name, but I’ve picked up some other Bond techniques during my time on this silly little planet, like how to be suave and pick up the ladies. Shoulder into the stomach and arms around the waist are pretty effective. As Borat would say, “Agreement not necessary.”
I don’t have anything against being awkward. I really think it’s great. You learn from your mistakes, and that’s why I think the more awkward you’ve been, the more keen to social norms you can become. I’ll give you a few pointers I’ve picked up over the years.
I now know you should never turn a funeral into a drinking game. Yelling “Drink!” after every time the preacher says “life” gets you a lotta looks. At the very next funeral, I discovered that you also should not pregame. That’s apparently not something people do anymore. I thought it was supposed to be a celebration. I guess these people and I celebrate a little differently.… What a waste of a handle of Jack.
I’m having it written into my will that my funeral is not allowed to start until everybody blows at least a 0.08. People better say, “Man, that joker throws a mean party, even from the grave.” I don’t want anybody to remember my funeral, but I do want them to remember not remembering it. That’s the sign of a great party.
And dressing up to see me in a casket? No thanks. There’s too much awkwardness to be had there. Whenever you don’t know what the dress code is, you grossly misjudge it in one way or the other. You’re being interviewed for a job at Burger King and you come dressed like Frank Sinatra, or you’re like me and go to your J.P. Morgan interview dressed like Freddy Krueger. What’s wrong? They said to look sharp!
And then there’s the “high five” conundrum. When you make a great connection with somebody, you want to show your mutual approval, but your buddy went for the high five and you were instead feeling the fist bump vibe. At the last instant, you both realized the tragic mistake and switched to the other’s congratulatory hand maneuver, ironically creating an “Awkward Turkey”-like contraption, which adequately described your emotional state.
Or what about that time in the movie theater you got caught being extra cute with your date? “No, Officer, she really just dropped a piece of popcorn into her lap, and I was being a gentleman and retrieving it for her. Honest. Cross my heart.” That interaction really made your thoughts of “Free Willy” be “Gone with the Wind.”
Of course there is that time when you wore your Oscar Meyer costume to the Weiners’ million-dollar wedding. No one appreciated your cleverness. They were all blabbing on and on about stealing thunder and being disrespectful. There went your thoughts of being one “hot dog.”
You see, all these smooth guys are just schemers. Schemers trying to control their little worlds. I’m not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic are their attempts to control things. Things are going to get outta control. Being awkward makes you learn to roll with the punches. Trust me, I’m Joker, The Joker.
The Joker is the fool in love with the fool.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.