10 Things I Hate About Me

Ever feel like you're just the oddball in the universe? And that no one could ever understand you because you're just too weird? Yeah, that's me.

Here are just ten times I made myself cringe because of how...eccentric I can be. These memories will probably haunt me to my dying day—and now they will also be immortalized on the internet for all of time. Oh, joy!

10. That time I put my debit card in the wrong way in the card reader—in front of a cute postal worker

I'm not usually someone to people-watch. Sure, if I'm sitting in a bar or restaurant, I'll casually observe the other patrons, but most of the time I keep to myself.

But sometimes people just catch my eye. It could be a smile, a voice, an outgoing way of talking. If something snags my interest, I latch on in a tumble of fervent attention.

This time, I was standing in line at the post office—just minding my own business as I waited for each person in front of me to get through—but I couldn't help noticing the guy manning the till. He had this way about him that made him appear gregarious and open, and he seemed to know the regulars who frequented this location. If anything, I had to give him credit that he seemed quite genuine for working—what I imagine is—a pretty thankless job.

When it was my turn, though, I wasn't quite paying full attention. I was dreamily thinking of a scenario where I could make a joke and get him to laugh—but, no, that was not in the cards. I asked about stamps, I had my package collected to send off, and then I attempted to pay for the mailers I was buying.

Except I put the damn card in upside-down in the card reader. FAIL.

I didn't notice right away and had to be prompted by the postal worker going, in a kind tone, "I think you have the card in the wrong way," as if he too was embarrassed for me. That kind of thing may happen to a seventy-year-old without reading glasses on, but a thirty-year-old woman who at least looks like she should have her life together? EPIC FAIL.

Then, to top things off, this stupid laugh bubbled out of my mouth. What had I become in only a few moments? Was the word ditz written in permanent marker on my forehead?

After I took my debit card and my mailers away in mortification, I finally walked out with the thought that I'd only be remembered as that weirdo girl who couldn't even use a card reader correctly.

9. That time I didn't stand up for myself about not going to a classmate's birthday party

"Jane said she knows why you didn't go to her pool party," a girl in my class said at lunch one day.

I was in the sixth grade, and I looked up from my half-eaten turkey sandwich. Jane was the most popular girl in my class; anything she said—well, most kids deemed it important. To me, though, all I cared about was that I beat her scores on math/spelling/grammar/etc. tests whenever I could. Getting good grades was the only social meaning I had to stay relevant in my tiny school.

"Yeah," I said, knowing that this probably wasn't a good path to tread but deciding to take the risk anyway, "so what did she say?"

"She said you just didn't want anyone to see you in a swimsuit."

The words hit a nerve, but I tried not to let it show on my face. Inside, a flurry of emotions began to whirl like a storm of my own making. Indignance. Denial. Hurt. Utter disbelief.

All I could manage was, "Oh," as I hoped this girl would just drop the subject. What was I supposed to say? Oh, yeah, I'm still chubby, so no one wants to see these thunder thighs! I was only twelve years old, for goodness sake.

Inside, I went on a tirade. Oh, really? Well, tell Jane that I think she just invited everyone to get more presents out of the deal. I didn't want to go to her party because she's a mean brat who's only nice when she gets something out of it.

I didn't say a word, though, not one at all.

And today? I don't think I'd say anything even now if such a situation presented itself.

8. That time I clammed up and didn't chat enough with an author I really admired

I have had a long love affair with books—likely since before I even turned ten—and it had always been a far-off dream to attend a book signing of one of my favorite authors. But the timing was never right, or the location of the bookstore was too far.

The first book event I attended happened in 2016, and it was an author who had really left an impression on me with her melancholic YA novels about supernatural beings and their whimsical lives. Her latest, a quartet of books, was majorly hyped. The wait to see her after her book talk was an almost two-hour wait.

All during that time, I didn't engage with the other readers cramming the store. I almost felt like I didn't have a right to do so. These were book bloggers and reviewers who all seemed to know each other in their small microcosms, and me? I hadn't read any of the latest YA novels, and out of the author's concluding quartet I had read only the first book. I didn't feel legitimate in the least.

But what bothers me most to this day is that, when it was time to talk to the author in question for the thirty seconds I had her attention, my mind went blank. I couldn't think of one thing to say to her. She made some idle chit-chat, asking me which books of hers I had read, and I flubbed in my monotone answers. All I can remember for sure was that I thanked her for her works because they meant so much to me when I read them.

The whole ride home, though, all I could think about was how I hadn't made an impression at all. I was just another face in a sea of readers. Nothing about me had stood out. I had brushed against authordom for one fleeting moment, and what had I done? I had squandered it.

7. That time I confessed my (puppy) love—in the third grade

I blame my teacher for this one. I had been crushing hard on this boy (let's call him Mitch) since the second grade. I liked his smile and his humor, but most of the time that was only from afar.

Halfway through the school year, we were placed side-by-side in the new seating arrangement for the classroom. Every day, he and I would chat innocuously even as my heart beat a little faster in my chest because he was paying attention to meeeeee! And he even sat by me at lunch because he and I were becoming such fast frieeeeeeends!

But nice things can't last forever. One ill-fated lunch period, I decided to take the plunge and ask, all innocent, "Do you have a crush on anyone?"

He looked at me blankly in that way boys in early adolescence tend to do. I don't know if he didn't compute what I said—like he was more robot than boy—or if he just hadn't been listening (a trait he would probably come to adopt with most of the women in his life).

I didn't wait for an answer because I was a bold nine-year-old. "Do you want to know who I have a crush on?"

He said, "Sure," and I leaned in to whisper, "It's you."

And that was the first time I glimpsed horror in a boy's eyes.

Needless to say, from the day forward, we weren't exactly frieeeeeeends anymore—even though it would take six years, his departure in high school, and a whole lot of memory-scraping before he was out of my system for good.

Lesson learned: Jillian is not so good in the art of the love confession.

6. That time I got in a stupid fight with my best friend and she stopped talking to me—for good

The end of junior high was a small nightmare because I learned early on that my best friend was going to an all-girl's academy for high school. A part of me held this against her—why do you want to leave me and all the fun times we'll have?—but I understood from the perspective that it was a family legacy of sorts for her to go to this school.

But I still didn't like it. In a very selfish way, I felt like I was being abandoned for the better life and times she would have at her new school. Still, I promised we would keep in touch, no matter where the winds took us as we grew up.

It turned out that freshman year of high school was not so great for me without my compatriot by my side. I sat at a table with girls who only tolerated my existence. I'd bring a book to read or a journal to write in most lunch periods. I knew something was wrong with my approach, but what I feared most was rejection for trying to reach out and make a connection.

Meanwhile, my best friend gushed about her new school, the people she was meeting, and the classes she was taking. She sounded like she had a brand-new life, and she barely even asked me how I was doing—not that I had much to say anyway. Who wants to hear about someone's slow spiral into depression and isolation?

As has become a habit of mine, I tend to withdraw from others when I am depressed. I think part of it is that I want people to see only the good sides of me, and I also don't want to be a downer to people whose opinions really matter to me. Basically? I curl up like an armadillo in its round shell when I'm going through a depressive phase.

By this time, Christmas was coming up, and my best friend wanted to go shopping with me at the local mall to pick out presents for her family. I gave a noncommittal answer because I didn't really feel in a cheery holiday mood. Most Christmases my parents didn't even celebrate.

When next she called, I didn't answer. Or the next time. Or the time after that.

I didn't know how to ask for help, but I also didn't know how to vocalize everything that had been bothering me. Most of all, I guess I just didn't want to taint her happiness with the pall of my sad mood.

A few months later, the rumor mill got back to me: my best friend had told another girl on the phone, "Jillian's not a good friend."

And so I've carried those words with me all these years, encased in amber like they'll be true for a lifetime. Even now, I look at the people who say they're my friends and think, "When will you realize the truth that I'm not a good friend for you?"

I question every friendship now in just this way.

5. That time I made a fool of myself for a boy who already loved someone else

Crushes hit me weird, I'm not gonna lie. If a guy catches my eye, I tend to obsess about him in a this weird mixture of fascination and infatuation. I come on a bit strong, and that always scares them away without fail.

When I was twenty-three, I met a boy who was going through a rough time. He had struggled with addiction, and he was attending therapy to figure out his life. The first time I met him and talked with him, he was playing a piano with a familiar medley. And it didn't help that he looked like the first guy I'd ever really gotten attached to (not Mitch; we don't count Mitch because he was in the puppy love phase).

This boy and I would have long philosophical chats during lunch breaks. We bonded over the fact that we were both outcasts—of a kind—in our families, and we didn't yet know where we stood in the larger scope of the world either.

When I confessed that I liked him, there was a bit of pain in his eyes as he kindly rejected me. "There's this girl," he said, "that I can't really forget, and—well, maybe in a few years things will be different, but right now..."

He trailed off, and I tried to be bright about the whole thing. "Oh, yeah, no problem. Don't worry about it!"

But a part of me beat myself up about it. Why did I have to ruin a friendship just because I had romantic notions in mind? Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

Ever since, whenever I crush on a guy, I keep it to myself. There's less hurt that way. (And, yes, I should have learned from Mitch.)

4. That time I cried like a baby after a customer was mean to me at one of my old retail jobs

It was the holiday rush during my first-ever retail job, and the store was packed. A long line snaked beyond the barriers that kept the shoppers corralled in a neat order until they were called to the next open register.

I should have known from the way my next customer huffed as she threw down her items on the counter that she was going to be a handful.

"Can I do a return here?" she asked, a haughtiness to her voice that I didn't quite like.

But I still smiled even as I had to break the bad news, "I'm sorry, but returns are done in customer service at the back of the store. I can do even exchanges for you here, though."

The woman mumbled something under her breath before she pushed her items towards me. "Fine. I'll just take these then."

I don't know if she expected me to be chatty or what, but I rang up all her items as quickly as I could because I could tell she was impatient for having waited in the long line already.

Then, right before I gave her the total amount of her purchase, she said to me, "You know, you have a really bad attitude."

The words were like a punch to the stomach, and I could feel shock replace what I assumed had been a pleasant look on my face.

"I'm—I'm sorry," I stammered out, flabbergasted that she had said something like that so easily, and soon enough she was on her way with her bag of merchandise.

The other customers weren't so lucky as they watched in silence as I started to cry, my face flaming hot with a surefire blush, yet I kept going with the spiel even though I couldn't stop the tears from coming.

I still hate retail for this very reason. I didn't belong there, not at all, but I tried to fit into the customer-pleasing mold as best I could. And sometimes I still dream of monstrous customers who leave only havoc in their wake...

3. That time I acted too desperate in an interview for a job I really wanted

I applied for a job at the library across the street from me, and I thought it was a surefire thing as I went over the position's qualification guidelines and what the library wanted from a candidate.

I've got this! I told myself.

(But, really, you should always be wary when pessimistic Jillian is confident about something. That usually means disaster in some form or another.)

I was interviewed by two librarians in the department of reader services. I had over a handful of years under my belt as far as customer service experience, and I knew how to work with the public. I easily answered their questions and outlined why I would be a good fit for their establishment.

It seemed to go well—at first.

I think somewhere between my current job experience and the fact that I relied a lot on manager oversight for problems made the gleam die in their eyes a bit. They also didn't seem to like that I was still a college student with full course loads until I would get my degree in a year's time.

As a last-ditch effort to try and gain their attention back, I said, "I do live just right across the street too." I even pointed out the nearby window (something I regret to this day). "Right over there! I could even walk here."

They did not seem impressed.

And, surprising no one, I did not get called back for a second interview.

2. That time I left a job because of toxic workplace politics—even though I still really liked the job itself

The truth is that I really liked the job—a position at a college bookstore—I spent four and a half years of my life doing. I got to meet new students all the time, I knew the in's and out's of everything from receiving and returning textbooks to merchandising the various college ephemera, and I liked the people I worked with—most of the time.

When a new boss came in, however, the workplace dynamics shifted in a not-so-great way. The two managers I usually had a good rapport with started complaining about the new boss, and their moods during their shifts started taking a turn for the worst.

Negativity seemed to rule the hour, and I was just a bystander who had no real power in my position. The new boss didn't exactly seem to like the number of employees there were—or the fact that, during our downtime, we worked on schoolwork because it wasn't the kind of job that kept you occupied during a full eight-hour shift.

This invading toxicity started to seep through every aspect of the job. I began to feel stress-induced stomachaches before every shift I had. It wasn't fun anymore to do my work and just chat with the other workers in a laidback environment that wasn't rush, rush, rush like a regular retail position anywhere else would have been.

I gave up that job almost two years ago, and I still miss it.

But when things don't fit anymore...well, you have to move on.

1. That time I let down a friend who wanted to collaborate on a novel together

My Big Dream has always been to write a novel. While I recognize I don't have the exact means to be a career novelist (my writing stamina is too poor), I really wanted to debut with a novel sometime in my twenties. (Obviously that didn't happen since I'm sitting at thirty with no publishing credits to my name.)

Back when I was still struggling through a novel draft by my lonesome, one of my good friends came to me with a pitch about a novel we could potentially write together. We talked about how we could split the POVs—a male for me, a female for her—and tie the story into one narrative. It was going to be a modern retelling of Cyrano de Bergerac, a play I loved from having studied it in high school.

We were both excited, and we sent back and forth some preliminary chapters to see how things might fare.

But, as always, my doubts and fears got in the way as I realized that I was in way over my head. I compared my chapters to my friend's and just couldn't see how we could write a cohesive book when my writing just wasn't up to snuff compared to hers.

And so the project died before it had a chance to sprout from its seeds.

All that to say...

Fish out of water? I've been a fish walking on dry land for a long, long time, yet I'm still kicking! (Somehow...)

But all these experiences are adding to my character growth, or so I like to think with my mangled grasp on Main Character Syndrome.

Let's just hope the plot gets better from here, shall we?