I had plans this Saturday night; I swear I did. Those plans fell apart.
In other news, my coworkers are all out seeing a cover band. They’ve been talking about it for two weeks and they’ve been talking about it –around- me, as you did in high school when you were not inviting someone but you wanted to make sure they knew they were missing out.
I almost never do not-work stuff with coworkers. It’s not that I think I’m better than them – it’s pretty damned hard to find someone I don’t think I’m better than[i]- but I learned as a teacher that if one wishes to keep one’s job then one ought not fraternize with coworkers. However, I’ll admit my feelings were a wee bit hurt.
This makes complete sense because I don’t like going to see music performed live and the only thing that I find more wretched than the sentence, “I’m in a band,” is “I’m in a cover band.” I would feel less sorry for you if you said, “I was exposed to yellow fever.” That’s mainly based on my belief that, unless your parents go to Playboy playmates for their scientific and medical advice, you’ve been vaccinated against that disease and you’ll be fine. I don’t know how someone fights back from being in a cover band.
People I don’t like or don’t spend time with are going to see a cover band covering songs I don’t listen to and I am hurt that I was not invited. Is this what Libya and Syria felt like when they were left out of George W. Bush’s axis of evil? One of my coworkers, the one I put post-it notes on that read, “The Worst[ii]” and do everything in my power to overcome my high-functioning autism to let them know I find them abhorrent says, “are you going to the bar tonight with us?”
“No, are you going to the library?” Was the only response I could initially muster to which he replied, “No, why would I go to a library?[iii]” Thirty-two minutes later he came back and asked again and I told him that I was not going to the bar with them and he asked, “Why not?”
Now, I’m not sure why someone would ask that but the thing I’m even less sure of is why I answered him. “I wasn’t invited.” That’s the long and short of why I didn’t go with a middle part about, “I wouldn’t go see that band, why would I go see their cover band?” that I kept entirely to myself because even I know that bit was rude. Apparently, however, conversely, nevertheless, it is apparently (in some circles) the same thing as being invited to hear something talked about around you without a comment being addressed to you. I have a coworker still sore with me because I didn’t attend their wedding despite an invitation being left on a counter in a common area.
I get that I have Asperger’s, or if it makes you feel more comfortable autism, but I am pretty confident that in other circumstances it would be the wrong thing to do to assume that an invitation left on a counter or an event discussed in a conversation you weren’t a part of isn’t an invitation. I have been wrong before and I am open to the idea that I could be this time, too. I’m intuitively bad at this activity but I am fairly confident that I am not wrong in this instance.
I am now reconsidering ever talking about any plans I have at work in my ill-fated attempts at being ‘social’ for fear that when I am in New Jersey this spring someone just assumes I was asking them along or that by simply stating that I’d like to see a movie that I want to see it with them. I’m in a morass of social skills that are beyond my comprehension. I need a handbook or an app, something.
The text messages I’m receiving is giving me the idea I’m a designated driver. For now I'll just keep my place in George W. Bush's "Axis of Awkward."
[i] There was this once incident where someone said, “You think you’re better than everyone else!” and a clerk, a porter, and I each responded together, and completely uncoordinated, “I don’t think that at all, I know that.” I will admit that naked truth without shame.
[ii] This is, some days, a 3,476-way tie.