One of my strengths is that I have a natural curiosity about others. I am very curious whether or not they like me.
Another strength is my Spidey-sense when I’m not liked. Last fall on our Europe trip, Katrina and I were on a bus ride and I kept trying to engage the gentleman who sat in front of us. I assumed he wanted to converse with me because every time I’d repeatedly tap him on the shoulder, he would eventually stop his movie on his laptop, take out his ear buds and slowly say, “Yes? What is it now?” So obviously he wanted to talk, right? After one of our scheduled stops, everyone climbed back onto the bus and returned to their seats…except for him and his wife. He grabbed all their items and he and his wife moved up two rows.
So, thanks to my Spidey-senses, it occurred to me that perhaps he didn’t like me. Which meant there was only one option. Convert him…by impressing him. That’s my go-to when I discover someone doesn’t like me…I try to convert them in some way. Impressing them is my favorite strategy, except I don’t have a large bucket of ways to impress others. Rather, it’s a very small bucket…like a toddler’s sand-pail. And its meager contents consist mostly of exuberance…I’m very loud and passionate… and nice clothes. Nice clothes are important to me. Especially shoes. Though that never seems to impress others as much as I feel like it should. I probably should hang out with shallower people.
A few weeks ago, I was on a video conference call. Here at work, we’ve been working on a business opportunity and many months ago, I sensed one of the women I’ve been working with didn’t really like me. It has really bothered me but eventually I had to tell myself, “it’s okay, Paul…remember…she just can’t see your shoes.”
On this particular call, my brother Mark was a part of it. Up until this time, he hadn’t hopped in on any of them…naively trusting me to negotiate on his behalf. There were about half-a-dozen of us on the call…all of whom I wanted to impress but especially my brother and the woman who doesn’t like me. Mark was the last one to get on the call and the first thing I noticed was that his hair was sticking up in the front.
It was one of those moments where my mouth began moving and my brain was passively listening…but then, when it recognized what my mouth was saying, it began instructing my mouth, “Wait? What did you say? Nooooo! Don’t! Just shut up NOW!” But instead, my mouth just doubled down. “Hey everyone!” my mouth exuberantly expressed, “can we take a minute to laugh at my brother’s hair? Ha ha ha!”
Awkward silence while my brother smiled politely and self-consciously pressed his hand on his hair.
And the lady, who now liked me even less, no matter how cool my shoes might be, said, “Ahem…well…perhaps we should get started.”
Why? Why? Why? Perhaps I’m subconsciously jealous of my brother’s hair. His is still a youthful brown while mine is all gray…or silver as people like to say to make someone feel better about their gray hair. There is a lady in our office who constantly compliments my hair, “I just love your silver hair!” she’ll say, “I think you have the most beautiful silver hair.” To which I always reply, “thanks Mom.”
I began using purple shampoo. Supposedly, it makes gray hair look more “luxuriously silver.” I got my haircut this week. That morning, I “washed, rinsed, repeat…” twice with it in the hopes my hairdresser (yes…hairdresser…not barber…I quit going to a barber when they never complimented me on my shoes like my hairdresser does) would say, “Wow! Look how silver your hair looks! What did you do differently?”
But she didn’t (neither did she compliment my new cool shoes…I might need to find a different hairdresser). Actually…it’s worse…and as always, this is all true…instead she said, “What’s wrong with your hair in the back? Did I give you a really bad haircut last time?”
I don’t know what was wrong with my hair in the back (c’mon, it’s in the back…my Spidey-senses don’t work back there). But as she cut my hair and it fell onto my apron (I’m not the most manly of men to begin with, but getting my haircut in a salon while wearing that apron they provide doesn’t do anything to help my cause), I analyzed each clump. It didn’t look silver…it looked gray…and not even grey, the cool English version. Just standard American gray.
When I returned to my desk at my office, I instinctively rubbed my head a little and noticed a bunch of tiny pieces of cut hair fall onto my desk. My hairdresser hadn’t blown out my hair when she was done. So, I rubbed my head again, fascinated by how much I could brush out. Now I was intrigued. How much was there? So, I placed my garbage can in front of me and really gave my head a rub…seeing if any of the bits glittered silver as they fell. Then…I looked up…and remembered I was on a Zoom conference call that I was only half-listening to, but everyone on the call was watching me…and not only were they watching me, but I realized they didn’t know I had just returned from a haircut, and what it looked like to them was that I was furiously ridding my head of dandruff.
Now I’m curious if any of them like me.