A few years ago I was at a Christian book convention. It is surreal to be at these gatherings. One minute I passed by Beth Moore eating ice cream with her daughter and the next minute I see Rick Warren chatting with people in the hotel lobby.
Of course my mantra in a place like that is two fold:
Don't say or do anything that would negate my mama's high regard for manners.
And pretend like you fit in even when you keep wanting to scoot off to call your friends back home and say, "okay, now you're really not going to believe who I just met."
The smile and nod technique works well. When you pass someone you've long admired you simply say, "Hi Beth," with a smile and slight nod.
Really this works much better than running up to that person, throwing your arms around them while smashing their ice cream into your hair and blubbering on for ten minutes about how cute their shoes were from the eighth video of the such and such series.
Somehow I've acquired a gift of video playback in my head before the event actually even happens.
When I want to do something crazy I watch the video in my mind of how things could turn out if I throw caution to the wind and act on impulse... and this usually protects me from horribly embarrassing situations.
Except sometimes my video deceives me.
Like on the second day of the convention when I had enough nervous energy to power a small city and my stomach betrayed my desire to not draw any attention to myself. I had to find a bathroom and fast!
So, the little video in the head thing directed me past the well attended bathrooms to one on a remote hall off the convention floor that was surely a well kept secret.
I have never been so happy to have a bathroom all to myself in all of my life.
But my excitement was short lived when the minute I was exiting my stall, Kay Arthur walked in.
Have mercy, have mercy, have mercy.
The video in my head started flashing red letters across my mind's screen, "GET OUT FAST."
I flew to the sink with my head down, washed my hands, spun around to get a towel and practically knocked poor Kay down.
She had made her way over to me for a little chat.
"Honey, I just love your jacket. Now that is a good color. What color eyes do you have? Oh yes, that is a great color on you. Now where did you get this jacket?"
On and on and on she went about my jacket while I stood there with dripping hands, a stunned look, and a cloud of embarrassment about me. I might as well have had a neon sign on my forehead that read, "Yes, I am the one that caused this horrendous smell in this here bathroom."
I'm pretty sure I started wiping my dripping hands on said lovely jacket. And I don't remember what I said to her but I hope it was something clever like, "Yes, this jacket is cute but if you run over to the Steinmarts to get you one, don't let it get wet. When this fabric gets wet, it smells something terrible."
I am such the professional at gatherings like this.
Of course my mantra in a place like that is two fold:
Don't say or do anything that would negate my mama's high regard for manners.
And pretend like you fit in even when you keep wanting to scoot off to call your friends back home and say, "okay, now you're really not going to believe who I just met."
The smile and nod technique works well. When you pass someone you've long admired you simply say, "Hi Beth," with a smile and slight nod.
Really this works much better than running up to that person, throwing your arms around them while smashing their ice cream into your hair and blubbering on for ten minutes about how cute their shoes were from the eighth video of the such and such series.
Somehow I've acquired a gift of video playback in my head before the event actually even happens.
When I want to do something crazy I watch the video in my mind of how things could turn out if I throw caution to the wind and act on impulse... and this usually protects me from horribly embarrassing situations.
Except sometimes my video deceives me.
Like on the second day of the convention when I had enough nervous energy to power a small city and my stomach betrayed my desire to not draw any attention to myself. I had to find a bathroom and fast!
So, the little video in the head thing directed me past the well attended bathrooms to one on a remote hall off the convention floor that was surely a well kept secret.
I have never been so happy to have a bathroom all to myself in all of my life.
But my excitement was short lived when the minute I was exiting my stall, Kay Arthur walked in.
Have mercy, have mercy, have mercy.
The video in my head started flashing red letters across my mind's screen, "GET OUT FAST."
I flew to the sink with my head down, washed my hands, spun around to get a towel and practically knocked poor Kay down.
She had made her way over to me for a little chat.
"Honey, I just love your jacket. Now that is a good color. What color eyes do you have? Oh yes, that is a great color on you. Now where did you get this jacket?"
On and on and on she went about my jacket while I stood there with dripping hands, a stunned look, and a cloud of embarrassment about me. I might as well have had a neon sign on my forehead that read, "Yes, I am the one that caused this horrendous smell in this here bathroom."
I'm pretty sure I started wiping my dripping hands on said lovely jacket. And I don't remember what I said to her but I hope it was something clever like, "Yes, this jacket is cute but if you run over to the Steinmarts to get you one, don't let it get wet. When this fabric gets wet, it smells something terrible."
I am such the professional at gatherings like this.
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