A Brief Tour of Everyday Moments When Your Brain Abandons You in Public

Human beings have accomplished extraordinary things; we built skyscrapers, landed on the moon, split the atom, and created tiny computers capable of accessing nearly the entire accumulated knowledge of civilization from our pockets. Yet, a waiter can say, “Enjoy your meal,” and a fully functioning adult will confidently respond, “You too!” And just like that, 200,000 years of human evolution goes straight down the toilet.

The worst part isn’t even saying it; the worst part is the half-second delay before your brain realizes what your mouth has done. You too? You too WHAT? Is the waiter going to pull up a chair and start eating my chicken parmesan?

There’s no fixing it, either. You can’t chase them across the restaurant shouting, “WAIT! I UNDERSTAND THE FUNDAMENTAL NATURE OF YOUR EMPLOYMENT!” You simply sit down and live with what you’ve done.

For the next three minutes, your brain conducts an internal investigation: “Why did you say that?” “I don’t know.” “Did you hear the question?” “Yes.” “And you still said ‘you too’?” “Yes.” “Interesting. We’ll be recommending a competency evaluation.”

Of course, verbal humiliation is only one way human interaction can go catastrophically wrong. Sometimes you’re simply trying to be polite, like holding the door for someone. Under normal circumstances, this is one of civilization’s nicest little gestures: you notice someone approaching, hold the door, they thank you, and everyone continues with their day. Unless they’re just slightly too far away. Then you’ve accidentally created a hostage situation.

I once held the door for an elderly woman who was farther away than I’d initially calculated. The instant she realized I was waiting, she started speeding up. Not running exactly, but that determined little half-jog people do when someone is holding a door. Immediately, I felt terrible. “No, no! Please! Don’t rush! I’ve got all day!” But it was too late.

The poor woman had a look in her eye like there was a T-Rex behind her. Now she’s practically conducting an Olympic qualifying event because some idiot fifteen yards away decided to demonstrate good manners.

Eventually she reached the door… success! Except there were people behind her. Well, I couldn’t shut the door in their faces, so I continued holding it: three people came through, then another couple, then somebody with a shopping cart, then a family. At some point, I realized I was no longer a customer; I was the doorman. What began as a courteous gesture toward one elderly woman had somehow ended with me holding the entrance for Noah and every patron aboard his Ark. I half expected management to appear: “Great work. Your break is at two.”… I DON’T WORK HERE!!

And then there’s waving. Few things can dismantle human dignity faster than enthusiastically waving at someone who wasn’t waving at you. You see them across the parking lot, they raise their hand, you smile and wave back, only to realize they’re looking approximately six feet to your left. Oh no. There’s someone behind you. Abort. ABORT!! But what do you do with the hand? You can’t just lower it; that’s practically signing a confession. So suddenly you’re scratching your head. “Yep. Nothing happening here. Just had an extremely urgent itch approximately five feet above ground.” Nobody believes you. Not even you.

Perhaps the only thing worse is saying goodbye to someone and discovering you're both walking in the same direction.

“Great seeing you!”

“You too!”

“Take care!”

“You too!”

Goodbye successfully completed. Except now you're both walking toward the same parking lot. Side by side. This is horrifying because you've already used up your goodbye. You can't have another conversation. The relationship has officially concluded for the day. So now you walk together in silence like two diplomats who just signed an extremely uncomfortable peace treaty. Eventually one of you becomes desperate enough to say: “So... you're parked over here too, huh?” Brilliant observation, Sherlock. Nothing gets past you.

Then there's the conversational nightmare of not hearing what somebody said. “Mrrrffrrr Saturday?” You didn't catch a word of that. But instead of behaving like an adult and asking them to repeat themselves, your brain decides this is an excellent opportunity for gambling. “Haha! Yeah!” They stare at you like you are eating a sandwich in your underpants. Uh-oh. That apparently wasn't funny.

Now you're desperately reconstructing the sentence from fragments. Did they ask if you're working Saturday? Did they say their birthday is Saturday? Did they say their grandmother's funeral is Saturday? Dear God. What did I just laugh at? Hopefully there isn’t a funeral on Saturday… At this point, the only reasonable strategy is to leave the country.

But nothing compares to the ritual humiliation known as having people sing “Happy Birthday” to you. Nobody knows what to do during this. Twenty people form a semicircle. A cake is placed in front of you. Then everyone begins staring directly at your face while singing about the fact that you exist. What is the birthday person supposed to do?

Smile?

Nod?

Wave?

Conduct?

You can't sing along exactly... “Happy birthday dear MEEEEEE!” Absolutely not. That's how your family ends up quietly discussing conservatorship while you're opening presents. So you sit there performing the official Birthday Face.

😁

Little nod.

😁

Look at cake.

😁

Look at candles.

😁

Brief eye contact with Aunt Susan. Bad decision. Look back at cake. And why does everybody applaud afterward? What exactly did I accomplish? “WOOOHOOO!” Thank you. Thank you very much. Against overwhelming odds, I successfully remained alive since the previous cake.

Perhaps my favorite social malfunction, though, is the handshake/high-five/fist-bump catastrophe. Someone extends a hand. Your brain has milliseconds to interpret the maneuver. Handshake! You reach forward. Wait… They're making a fist. Fist bump! Your brain has milliseconds to decide, so you adjust. No… they've opened their hand. High five?! Now both of you are performing hand signals like two competing baseball coaches.

Eventually your hands make some horrifying combination of handshake and fist bump that has never before been documented by science. Neither person mentions it. That's important. There is an international agreement governing these situations. Do not discuss what just happened... ever. And maybe that's the comforting part of all this.

We're all terrible at being people sometimes. Somewhere today, somebody said “you too” to a dentist who told them to enjoy the rest of their vacation. Someone waved enthusiastically at a complete stranger, saying “Hey Ted!!” It wasn’t Ted…Now they are looking behind them for Ted. Oh for the love of…!!

Someone is currently trapped holding a door because forty-seven additional people appeared. Someone has already said goodbye to a coworker and is now discovering they're parked beside each other. And somewhere, some poor soul didn't hear a question, laughed anyway, and has just realized with mounting horror that absolutely nothing funny was said.

So perhaps we should be more forgiving of one another. Because eventually the roles reverse. Someday you'll tell a cashier: “Have a good shift.” And they'll automatically respond: “You too!” Then you'll see it. The glint in the eye… That tiny micro-change in their expression. The realization. The shame. The desperate desire to climb underneath the register and begin a new life there.

Don't laugh. Don't correct them. Don't make it worse. Simply look them directly in the eye... and give them a tiny nod. I've been there, soldier… You won’t have to take the beach alone! Then walk away. Preferably through a door somebody else is holding. Because you've already done your shift…