The “weird guy.”

weird

I parked my car in a prime location without the mean “3-hour limit” sign hovering over it and rushed into my usual coffee spot to spend the next 6 hours trying to look busy and important. Sat at a long table and searched for an outlet for my huge laptop.

“HALF CAFF LATTE EXTRA FOAM EXTRA HOT FOR BERNICE!”

Bernice grabbed her highly-specialized drink and turned to her friend.

“Let’s go sit there…at the long table.” They looked to the table and saw me sitting on one side of the long table.

“Oh..dear. Umm, it’s ok let’s go and sit next to the weird guy at the long table.”

I had headphones on but no music was playing so I heard the whole conversation.

Weird guy? I wasn’t offended but it made me wonder. What exactly was it about me that made me the weird guy? Am I more weird than the other guy who comes here every day and talks about tapioca pudding and soap all day? What about that lady over there who always asks why this coffee shop doesn’t sell  Bloody Marys at the register? Is that weird?

Weird is such an objective word. I like weird. It’s different…it’s great writing material…and great for conversation…it makes you interesting. When I look at myself in this coffee shop, and see what surrounds me, I can be classified as different. I am not wearing yoga pants. I am not part of the daily book club here.

We all have our odd quirks. And those who love us only know about them. Like my wife, she has a weird obsession over a certain country in Asia. She reads books on it…watches documentaries about the country….and always has random news facts about it. She wants to visit the country. I don’t know other person who would ever want to visit this country. But, for her it’s because she worries about the plight of the people. She has a huge heart and wants to help. Or the fact that she listens to hardcore gangsta rap whenever she bakes in the kitchen. So our oven will be filled with goodies like macarons and cupcakes while expletive-filled lyrics float above our heads.

I have this weird quirk where I tap every door knob before I enter it. I don’t know what I do it, but I do it every single time. I don’t believe in matching socks because I think it’s funny to have mismatched socks. I cry everytime I watch singing competition reality TV shows. My handwriting is HIGHLY-illegible. I take notes whenever I am in class and I can never read them when I actually have to study. I even skip letters in words. So if I were to write “catastrophe”…I would write it “ctasohe.” I just feel obligated to take notes because I see other students doing it. And I say the phrase “winter is coming” at least three times per day.

(At this moment, a whole council meeting has surrounded me at this long table. Apparently, a lady named Isabel is going to be named treasurer but people are not sure she is up to the task. This is awkward. I am literally a part of this council meeting, I am typing away so it feels like I am in charge of ‘minutes’ at this meeting.) Just for fun, I want to interrupt the meeting and give my two cents on whether Isabel can do it or not. I believe Isabel would do a great job. Is that weird? I hope so.

Embrace the weird. So what if you have 13 cats. Who cares if you are that person who hugs everyone even people you just met. And who cares if you’re the guy in his mid-forties who plays boy band music way too loud with all his windows down.

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