A recounting of a funny and awkward thing that happened in my life recently:
There I was, walking through campus en route to class, my desire to be on time inspiring a purposeful pep in my step.
As I began to ascend the ramp leading to Featheringill (the building to which I was walking), I saw James*, an acquaintance who has been in a few of my classes throughout the years. As I passed James (still with a purposeful vigor), we both acknowledged each other with a smile and a passing “hello” and continued on our respective ways. Or so I thought.
*Name has been changed to protect the identity of the individual and my own sanity.
As I continued in my determined journey towards class, I heard a faint, gravelly “Cassidy”. Thinking I had imagined it or it would go away if I just ignored it (a tactic I use in a few too many areas of my life), I kept walking. Then I heard it again.
I casually turned my head towards the sound, and there was James, walking back in my direction with his arm stretched out in front of him with the passion and grace of a Broadway starlet. Caught off guard by this unfamiliar post-greeting ritual (hadn’t we just said our hellos and departed from one another?), I froze in my tracks. He, on the other hand, kept approaching.
My brain attempted to uncover what was happening and decided the best thing to do would be to replicate his movement; possibly thinking his intention was a handshake.
It was not.
As I stretched my hand towards his, both of our hands became awkwardly intertwined. However, this intertwining only lasted for a few seconds, because his arm continued moving in my direction.
Still very unsure of what was happening (but still very aware of the large man continuing to move towards me) I stretched out my other arm, guessing that maybe he wanted a hug.
I am not typically a hugger. I was definitely not a hugger in this situation.
Apparently, neither was James.
As I reluctantly stretched my arms around his torso and gave him a friendly and extremely uncomfortable pat, his arms CONTINUED TO MOVE AROUND ME. (Remember, this scene is taking place outside the engineering building on Vanderbilt's campus at 10:57 AM on a Tuesday.)
At this point, I had had enough. I was confused, uncomfortable, and on the verge of late to class. I decided to use my identity as a strong, independent woman to physically dislodge myself from this acquaintance’s embrace. However, said acquaintance’s arms were much larger than mine and still pretty firmly stretched around my shoulders, so I ended up just turning my body 180 degrees to face away from him.
(Side note: as I was performing this maneuver, I spotted my good friend Logan Guy walking past. In the moment, I thought to myself that he either did not see this event taking place or was pretending he didn’t know me. I later discovered that he did indeed see this happen and did nothing about it. Anyone else reminded of a certain parable including a Samaritan? Thank you Logan.)
(Additional note: had the situation been reversed, I probably would have passed Logan with intrigue but not necessarily intervention.)
(Ok, back to me) As I stood with my head craned as far back as it would turn, trying to figure out what was happening, James started to, pocket by pocket, zipper my backpack.
Yes, read that again. He started to zipper. my. backpack. (Note: this is not code for some weird sexual activity. He was literally closing the zippers on the backpack on my back. I am simply being dramatic about it because it was strange.)
While he did this, my mind blacked in and out, trying to process what had just happened (and, might I add, was continuing to happen. James is, I learned, a very slow zipper.).
There was nothing I could do in this situation that was only increasing in strangeness because there was a man holding onto my backpack.
So, in an attempt to reduce the discomfort of the silence that was now surrounding our embrace, I tried to make some small talk and mentioned that I very rarely have my backpack zippered and often walk across campus with it wide open.
He did not say anything in reply to that comment but was also still physically holding onto to my backpack.
So I then tried another backpack-themed story and told him about the times I’ve left a banana in my backpack only to discover it days later thanks to the distinctive smell.
He neither said anything in response nor walked away.
As he finally released me from his not-at-all-helpful and really just uncomfortable clutches, he kind of laughed at me for initially assuming his intentions included a physical greeting like a handshake or hug. (Because of course, the most natural thing in the world is to approach someone you know very peripherally with your arms outstretched in order to zipper said person’s backpack.)
That, I believe, was the second-worst part of this whole encounter. The worst part was spinning around outside Featheringill with this man’s arms clasped tightly around my backpack. However, his insinuation that I initiated the maneuver because I was trying to usurp a hug from him is almost worse.
I think the third-worst part is that this whole situation could have been avoided if I were to have the wherewithal to zipper my backpack before trekking across campus.
And, finally, the fourth-worst part is that this encounter has yet to inspire me to change my ways. My backpack is wide open as I type and will most likely remain that way as I make my way to class in a few minutes.
Alas, such is life.