Michael Seidlinger: The Strangest

Makes it so much worse. Can’t stand it when people treat you as something lesser. Eat it up haters — this one stays.

They look through me, having already deemed me inadequate, and they feign sympathy. They offer apologies and positive thoughts that aren’t really there. “Yes.”

“Thanks.”

That’s all they’re going to get.

I agree. See? “Yes.” I am strange.

I do not fit in.

This wasn’t my idea. I did not volunteer to speak at a funeral. And I’m the one that’s judged because I was forced to do something I wasn’t comfortable with.

I delete it as soon as I post it.

31 people take their time offering their condolences. I notice the priest leaves first. Another dead person, another funeral. People filter out except for the ones that won’t leave me alone. They offer a ride to wherever they’re going.

I turn it down, saying I’ll call a cab.

“Dude, don’t be weird: That would be like, what, $60!”

Some other guy says, “Yeah, that’s moronic.”

I nod, “Yes.” And then I continue walking.

I don’t know where I’m going.

Just know that I’m not going where they are going. I look down at the phone. It’s got a quarter left of battery power. This becomes the reason for my new direction; I need to find an outlet. I need to charge my phone.

Charging phone is tantamount to forced socialization: Loathe it when it happens but can’t help but end up letting it happen.

They drive up next to me, “Hey!”

I don’t hear them at first, or, I choose not to hear them at first. I walk slow enough that the one driving barely has to tap the pedal. The car cruises in neutral.

I can hear the engine. The sound razes my mind. Headache, and then I feel dizzy.

“Dude, we understand!”

Voices cutting through, I choose to nod in agreement.

With phone nearly drained, I look to the ground, the sidewalk is stained with flecks of gum and other dirt and grit. I count out the corner of my eye how many people are in the car.

3—how could there be so many?

“You’re upset! It’s okay! You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

Who said anything about being alone?

I pocket the phone; brush my short hair for no real reason. I cut this hair myself.

How to cut your own hair or don’t do what Meurks just did.

Then I scratch my cheek. They keep at it.

They don’t really care.

And it’s easier to let them think what they want.

I don’t say anything else. I keep walking down the street and they keep following until I see a building and walk up the steps. It must be some kind of store, I guess. I step inside and hide behind a nearby aisle until they drive off.

Weird, strange, whatever.

I don’t fit in here.

I don’t know those people. They claim to be friends, but would friends put me in such an uncomfortable spot?

Sometimes I cannot help what I say or do.

The situation in the store is 8 people, 2 cashiers, one staring at me, curious, probably expecting me to buy something.

So I leave.

They are not friends. They are not anyone to note.

I am a stranger. They are strangers.

Our lives do not cross paths.

I don’t know “Andrew.” Maybe never did. If I had, I probably would have been a different person. These are not people I associate with. If I can remember, and I don’t, I only know of the people that fit into my daily life.

I know of the people that are friends and follow Meurks.

I know of these things, and I might know of a little bit more. But the day moves on like the wind, it passes and soon I don’t remember anything. It’s another day.

I walk down this street for some time.

I hear cars honking their horns but assume it is not me that they are honking at.

Who am I? I am a man. I am Zachary. I am plain looking and even plainer in personality. I may be considered strange if only because I have accepted this plainness. I do not expect anyone to enjoy my company or even be warmed by some sort of compassion. I am a person, like you are a man or woman. We are people. And I am searching for a power source for my phone.

A diner at the corner of this street and some other street consists of 43 people, all of them busy with their own lives. Much like me, I am here to continue with mine.

I must catch up.

I stand waiting for a woman to finish charging her phone. She looks at me, and smiles, “Oh sorry, almost done!”

I nod — eye contact didn’t feel right.

I hold onto the phone in one hand and the charger in the other. Some people have coffee. A lot of people have laptops. Some people are talking and they seem to have fun.

Mental tweet for Meurks’s profile:

People in coffee diners are like people in debate: Full of opinions and full of caffeine.

Maybe post that later. Maybe not.

“’Kay done!”

She is one of 43 people that are here to market and maintain their lives. I am the 44 thperson. I know. I counted.

I am strange, most likely, because she kind of tilts her head, she kind of mumbles, “Okay …”

But I plug in the phone and I see it charging.

I catch up to what I missed. What Meurks missed.

I don’t look for a seat, since there are no seats and looking for one at this point means having to ask someone to move.

I don’t ask and they don’t offer.

Imagine being invisible for one moment. Now, use your screen to make everything around you invisible.

And: Though you can’t be invisible, the rest of the world can.

Also: Every single person, no matter how kind, will have to assume something about you before they can really figure you out.

And then another: Is there any other confirmed destination other than death?

That should do it. Meurks usually posts a lot. Meurks has a range of followers, more than a few haters. But they follow.

And I post. Meurks doesn’t appear strange.

Meurks is recognizable. Meurks has trended, has hashtags.

Meurks has posted on a number of blogs not his own.

Someone stands in front of me. “Hey, no rush,” and then laughs, “just got to do the same. Need some juice!”

That isn’t funny. I think about laughing though.

But thinking about laughing instead of just laughing makes it impossible to laugh while it’s still funny.

So my laughter confuses the man.

But he waits.

I tell him twice, because the first time he didn’t hear me:

“I have to call a cab.”

“How long will that be?”

Why does it feel like people always seem to think that they are entitled to what you have?

He spots someone else leaving and it’s like we never said anything to each other.

Whatever. I don’t fit in here.

The moment what a person needs from you disappears or is given is the moment that person is no longer interested in you.

Tomorrow will be today soon enough. I think about what that means but then move on with it. I look around, trying to remember why I’m where I am.

Then I call a cab.

The app tells me how much the trip is estimated to cost.

I hit accept reservation.

I have to wait fifteen minutes.

My phone is charging. Fifteen minutes — this is acceptable.

During those fifteen minutes, I do not speak to anyone and no one speaks to me. The baristas do not expect me to buy a coffee and I do not look up at the menu full of options.

Soon the cab arrives. I get in the backseat and we drive off.

The cabbie tries to talk to me but I am paying for this ride so I can tell him, “I don’t want to talk.”