I Always Thought Of Myself As An Average-looking Guy

Until recently…

A little while ago I got a new job. I am an account representative with a local company. I take a lot of pride in what I do and generally feel pretty good at the end of the day. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case a few months back.

First off, I think I am a pretty average-looking guy. I don’t have any facial scars or any feature that stands out for any unattractive reason. I am fortunate enough to have all my hair. At this point in life my father had a hairline that followed the path of a set of headphones from his ears. God bless his soul, he would comb the shit out of that bad boy forward.

The biggest problem with the way I look is that I am fat. It doesn’t bother me that much, but I would like to get skinny again. Basically, I don’t lose sleep over the fact that I enjoy cheeseburgers and beer.

Back to my job…

I apologize for the use of the term “special person,” as it is in no way meant as an insult or to be derogatory toward someone with a mental/learning disability.
Some of my duties at work include visits to a lot of the company’s accounts which tend to be restaurants. It so happens that one day I went to a restaurant to look at a piece of equipment that had been acting up. I had never been here before and didn’t think much about it. Once I got to the place I asked for the owner and noticed that there was a “special person” working in the back. I shrugged it off and waited for the manager. I eventually spoke to the manager and she took me into the kitchen to look at the piece of equipment. Once I got back there I noticed that there were lots of “special people” working here. I was basically surrounded…and I am absolutely terrified of special people. It is irrational, and sad and embarrassing on my part.

I was traumatized as a child by a “special person.”

Time for a flashback…

When I was little we had a “special person” on my block. He was older but liked to play with us kids. We had always allowed him to play with us and he was always nice, just a lot bigger than we were. The guy actually competed in the Special Olympics in some of the strength based events. So he was A LOT bigger than us.

One day a friend and I were sword fighting with sticks and in the distance I heard someone making the “raspberry sound” (which is when you put your tongue between your lips, close down and blow.) Sounds like a fart. You know. The special guy liked to make that noise when he ran, my guess is that he thought it was the sound an engine makes. So he came running in as we were sword fighting, I didn’t think anything of it.

What I should have noticed was the deflated bicycle innertube in his hand.

We kept sword fighting, he came running in and swung that innertube as hard as he could. At my face. He belted me in the face so hard that I still remember it 20 years later. I immediately went down, started screaming, crying and potentially shitting my pants. (It likely happened; I don’t remember for sure but given how hard he hit me coupled with recent events, odds favor poopage.) So, to this day, I am still scared of special people.

Now that you have an understanding of that, I am looking around at lots of “special people” all around me, staring at me as I start to work on this piece of equipment. I am nervous, so very, very nervous. I am looking around, starting to sweat profusely. I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Needless to say, I wasn’t looking my best.

It so happened that they were in the middle of their lunch rush and the place was quickly filling up with customers. I did my best to keep my head down and get my work done. Eventually I looked up and happened to meet the eyes of a large, greasy mechanic at the lunch counter. Upon eye contact he began to speak to me. He didn’t speak with a normal tone or inflection. He spoke loudly and slowly while looking directly at me. He said, “Hey Buddy.” He drew it out so long that it took about 2 full breaths to draw out the enunciation on those two words.

At this point I am trying to figure out why he is speaking so slowly, so I don’t say anything and just look back at him. He follows that with “What is your favorite sandwich?” Now I am completely confused. Then it hits me.

I look around and realize this guy thinks that I work there, and that I am “special.”

Panic.

I try with everything in my power to explain that I don’t work here, that I don’t have a mental disability, that I am just a normal guy. I couldn’t form the words, I just kept stumbling over my own traitorous tongue. I tried for a good 30 seconds and became so flustered that I just hung my head in shame and finished working, still scared, now embarrassed and beginning to develop some serious self-image issues.

I look like a “special person.”