Close Encounters of the Awkward Kind

Now it’s really kind of crazy - insane even - that we New Yorkers manage to bump into people in a city of 8 million. Frequently, even. Goddamn run-ins with people we do not want to see!

Nuts.
What is it about this island? Seriously. Maybe Manhattan has some supernatural powers - like the island on Lost (so sad for the last season!) - and being the vindictive little shit it is, this island just can’t help itself from causing cataclysmic run-ins of an über awkward kind.
I’m sorry, dearest Big Apple, that some lowly inhabitants choose to litter and pee and spit and puke all over your glittery streets - but why take it out on the innocents?

Come on NYC Gods! I’m a good kid! Goody two-shoes even! I never ever (fine, hardly ever) do anything bad to hurt your feelings! So why you’s gotta hurt mine?

Yeah, it could be way worse. I could run into an old boss. Or a rival-sorority archenemy. Or an ex. Or an ex and his new girlfriend.
Thankfully the Manhattan Mystics have spared me from any sort of reaaaaally problematic melodramatic encounter.

But what is up with the universe, yo? Is it sending us signs? Am I supposed to be bff’s with that chick I couldn’t stand in college? Am I meant to marry that dude I went out with a few times? Should I never have quit that awful, awful job? Who knows.

Whatever the spectral spirits of NYC are trying to tell us by throwing people from our pasts into our present paths, well. I effing hate it.

It’s plain awkward!
There I am, huffing and puffing down the street, bebopping to my iPod, and suddenly someone catches my eye. Then there’s the token “Oops, I’m caught” darting glance away. Followed by the holy shit is that who I think it is oh.my.god.oh.my.god shit, shit, shit!!!!! re-glance.
It makes me want to cover myself with my bag, celeb-style. Ugh!

Perhaps my most horrific, most embarrassingly awkward run-in was with someone who I’d kissed (innocently enough) and given my number to (hey, I was tipsy).

Imagine my sober dismay the following day when this guy friended me on Facebook, called and left a message (of course I screened - he wanted to hang out - eek!), then actually had the audacity to text me. It was like Drew Barrymore’s character on He’s Just Not That Into You complaining about endless technology portal problemos - except dude was too into me).
The beauty of said technology, though, is that we can ignore. Dismiss. Delete. Defriend. Block. Screen. Sidebar.
 
However, technology does not save you (unfortunately) from face to face runs-ins. I saw aforementioned freak-of-nature-super-stalker at a party. I pretended to ignore. I played dumb.
It did not work. He approached. Red face, palpitations, and sweaty palms ensued. And I don’t mean the “Oh I like this boy!” kind. More like the “Oh dead LORD this guy is going to stalk and kill me” kind. Horrendous.

And you know, one would think that sunglasses would make you at least a little incognito on street-side run-ins - but no (if they don’t work for celebrities, they’s certainly not gonna work for us common folk). I recently ran into someone I’d had a bit of a crush on plodding along in the Village with a short, mousy brunette. Can we say complete opposites?
 
My Jackie O disguise failed. Uncomfortably unpleasant conversation ensued. N.o. D.a.n.k.e.s!
Alas, I was psyched that I’d put a tad bit of effort into my appearance that morning. Phew!

And so dearest, maniacal, nasty ass universe - all I ask is this: Please oh please oh please at least let me look super cute if I ever have to endure one of those cataclysmic run-ins of an über awkward kind.

Yikes!