"What Would a Normal Person Do?" I honestly ask myself that a lot. What would a normal person do, in this situation? What should I do to not mess this up, to come across as a human with typical, baseline, everyday, coping skills?
I can't do stuff right. Important, everyday stuff.
I tried to fix a kitchen cabinet door. It had a bad hinge. I went to True Value Hardware and purchased a hinge. I went home and drilled holes for the hinge. It didn't quite fit. I drilled an additional hole, then realized I had the hinge backwards. I drilled more holes, then realized I was installing the hinge upside-down. I drilled some more holes, and then realized I was putting the hinge inside the door when it was supposed to be outside.
Net result: Hinge never fixed, 16 new holes in cabinet. We then moved to Texas.
I can't do normal-person stuff.
I needed a job once, so I applied at this pie restaurant. It was called "Pie-Full Delight", and they needed a waiter. My interview was very impressive. I communicated beautifully, and the owner-lady was taken by my charm and insight, and thrilled to have "such an intelligent young man" on her little wait staff.
I was the worst waiter in the history of pie.
They didn't have the heart to fire me. I left forgotten meals up on the counter. I forgot which tables were mine. I was eventually assigned just one (1) table. I feared messing up again, so I creepily watched them eat until they were sufficiently creeped out to leave.
Within two disturbing weeks, they moved me to a little room in back, where I interfaced with customers no longer. My job? Full-time pie-box folder.
I wasn't very good at that, either.
I took a job at the FootLocker at the mall! At least I'd get a cool ref shirt! They assigned me, as well, to a back room, putting shoe boxes in order. It was tedious, but at least I could tell myself, "Soon, I will be issued a ref's uniform, and that will be cool." And whistle, too.
"Next week, I think," my manager told me, smugly, while he stood there with ref uniform and whistle.
He told me that for four weeks. "Next time -- we'll have your ref's uniform." I asked why they wouldn't move me out onto the sales floor, and he said I needed more Back Room Shoebox Training. I got depressed, and eventually gave up. I never got my ref uniform.
My last day, I used my employee discount to get a super-cool pair of Adidas shoes. My paycheck wasn't that huge, so I think I had to give the manager like six dollars on my way out. We were both kinda sheepish about it.
It started early. In high school, I got a job working at a popcorn factory. "Hutch Big Puffs". They asked me to paint the outside of some metal buildings, but I didn't do a good job. I tried hard, though. They eventually had me sit in a lawn chair, on the factory floord, and scrape moldy labels off popcorn jars. I did this with a putty knife.
It was a 12 hour day. Sometimes, some Harley-dudes would sit with me and we'd all sit and scrape. They talked about motorcycles and guns and stuff. I contributed to the conversation as I could, and, as a flute-player and the President of the Student Librarians Association, I had much to say.
I eventually learned to stop saying it.
Anyway, I'm not very good at much stuff. I'm like a bumbling genius, except for the genius part. The other day I walked home happily from the gym. Then, the next day, my car was gone from in front of our house? Stolen? No -- I left it at the gym, where I had driven it the day before.
I want a bracelet, "What Would a Normal Person Do?", but I'm told a normal person doesn't do that.