What’s Wrong with Me

Hello Asheville!

This is a repost of something I wrote to amuse my friends on Facebook a while back.  I think it’s a good time for me to reiterate all of these points, because now days I get recognized more and more on the streets, plus I have more new friends and acquaintances, so I am more socially awkward than ever.

A black cloud at Sunny Point Cafe.

A black cloud at Sunny Point Cafe.


Top 10 Excuses for My Social Awkwardness:

1) I’m hard of hearing. Half the frickin’ time I have no idea what people are saying to me. Because of that, I’m really good at nodding my head “yes” when I shouldn’t, giving generally inappropriate responses, and getting a blank look of total non-comprehension on my face when others are speaking simple sentences to me. I’m sorry.

2) I’m in my own little world. When I’m in line at the store or riding my bike down the street, and you say “hi” to me, and I look at you like I’ve never seen you before in my life, that’s because I first have to rouse myself from my inner world of hobbits, spaceships, and go-go-girls, before engaging the real world, where real people I know and love exist. I’m sorry.

3) You’re out of context. This one is all your fault! If I know you from the Dripolatior, please stay there. It confuses the fuck out of me when I see people outside the usual realm where I know them from. JCC pool people at the Greenlife?!? How am I supposed to know you? Of course, this one is really all my fault. I’m sorry.

4) I’m in a hurry/I drank too much caffeine/I just rode my bike up a massive hill/I am sweating my ass off. Any combination of those things might make me feel like I gotta get the fuck outta wherever I am ASAP. I know I haven’t seen ya in a long time, and we should chat, but I gotta run. I’m sorry.

5) I’m high on the reefer. I shouldn’t have blazed-up right before leaving the house. I’m…. uhhhh…

6) I’m a moody little princess.  Sometimes I’m in a grump bigger than Barbie’s Dream House, so if my smile seems forced and my words seem hollow, it’s because my sparkly little pink heart is temporarily full of hate.  I’d say I’m sorry, but…  fuck you.

7) I’m horrible with names, and I think that makes me a bad person. Even if I think I know your dang name, I might hesitate to say it, because I’ll suddenly second guess myself, and then I’ll have an internal meltdown about what a horrible person I must be because good people remember other people’s names, right?   Short names are harder for me to remember, so sorry, Bob…  Ben?  Bill.

8) You’re very attractive. Please mess up your hair or drool on your sweater, because your extreme good looks are making me sweat profusely and mumble nonsense.  I might even faint. I’m sorry I’m so fucking ugly. Please forgive me.

9) I’m weird.  Let’s face it.  I’m more than a little off.  You say “Hello,”  I think “Fireruck.”  My brain is just a little, um, different than other people’s.  Softer, perhaps, with a slightly smoky flavor.  I try hard to fit in with your society, but it’s an uphill battle for me.  Firetruck.

10) You suck.  Sometimes, it’s not me, it’s you.  I’m sorry, but I gotta get the eff away from you, like now, ‘n’ shit, because: you fucking suck.  I’m sorry I even know ya.



IMG_0273Stu Helm is an artist, writer, and podcaster living in Asheville, NC, and a frequent diner at local restaurants, cafes, food trucks, and the like. His tastes run from hot dogs and mac ‘n’ cheese, to haute cuisine, and his opinions are based on a lifetime of eating out. He began writing about food strictly to amuse his friends on Facebook.


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