More Self-Depreciation

Mike was a senior at the art school when I went there for a semester. He’s very enthusiastic and personable, a really friendly guy. Though I don’t think we ever had the kind of establishing conversation that’s usually the foundation for a rapport, he always greets me warmly when I run into him and we usually have a quick chat.

Ingrid and I were sitting upstairs at the Baltic Room yesterday, when Mike came upstairs and made a purposeful scan of the room. He saw me, waved, and headed over to a group in the corner.

He came over to my table a few minutes later and said hello, we traded quick summaries of our current situations, and he mentioned that he was on his way to see Tenacious D. He told us that his brother had backed out at the last minute, so he had two extra tickets. We declined the invitation and Mike returned to his party.

Ingrid asked me, “Who’s that?” I gave a quick summary and finished by saying, “Mike doesn’t know my name.”

I immediately regretted saying that. It was kind of a put-down, and I was worried that he might have overheard me. Worse, I think, Mike has always been especially friendly to me even though he probably only has a vague notion of me. I return his compliments and his thoughtfulness (regarding the tickets) with aloofness and then when he’s gone, I drop a catty comment at his expense. Not the worst thing in the world, but it’s the kind of little social-gaffe that bothers me about myself.

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