What I Meant to Say Was...

...exactly what I said. I have written at least once in the past about not saying what was really in my brain. Generally, I consider myself a nice person, but sometimes I have to concede that I say insensitive things. It's never on purpose, but that doesn't mean I always correct myself or apologize. Sometimes it suits my purposes better to just keep my mouth shut after a Freudian Slip. Call that the stubborn streak in me.

Example: While I am at work I spend most of my time in an area that has been sectioned off from the rest of the store and set aside for alterations. I don't really even notice customers until they come into my field of vision. I like it this way. In order to get into my line of sight they need to walk clear to the back of the store and almost all the way to the window. When I actually see a customer a little mental alarm goes off. Perimeter breach in progress. Possible intruder. Prepare for verbal shutdown and voluntary loss of peripheral vision. I prefer to keep to my own sewing domain and for the customers to stay out of it. On occasion, a customer will decide that my space is his space and come to explore the sewing area and stand looking over my shoulder while I work. Few actions rank higher than this on my Scale of Annoyingness.

A few weeks ago one of our more strange customers brought his son in to buy some suits. He did not cross the sacred line that separates my realm from the rest of the store, but he did come close and try to (shudder) start up a conversation with me.


Hey, this is a nice set up you've got here with the big window.

Yeah, I like it.

It must be fun to be able to sit here and watch the people go by.

Actually, some of them kind of creep me out.

After that he walked away and didn't say anymore. I think he caught the point I hadn't meant to make so blunt. Oh, well.

My other favorite say-what-I-want-to moment comes from my dating life. I was about 20 years old and getting ready for my mission. I was working with a guy named Jack who I had been on a couple of dates with. He's a whole story by himself. Anyway, shortly after we started working the same shift together after a semester on different meals he decided it was time to ask me out again. The answering machine message my dad set up had this message:

Hi, you've reached the answering machine. Actually, this is the refrigerator. The answering machine is on vacation, so leave a message and I'll stick it to myself for when every one's back.

During a particularly busy shift I rushed to the dish room to get refills for the empty silverware tins. As I was going in, he was coming out. In my rush, I didn't think about anything except what silverware I needed. Jack tried to stop me for a minute and started a conversation he probably regretted.

Jack: Hey, Jordan. I tried to give you a call, but the refrigerator answered.

Me: Yeah, well, that's how it goes.

Then I went into the dishroom without saying anything further to him. I realized a little late that it was mean, but just shrugged my shoulders to myself when I figured it meant he probably wouldn't try to go out with me again. Hooray for diarrhea of the mouth!