Author: Lauren Schraa

The day was May 29, 2021. It was the day I was the most awkward of all. The time: about 11:00am.

I was back in Wisconsin to celebrate some things. My dear sister and brother-in-law had just succumbed to my second request that weekend to get Thai tea. I can’t get enough of that stuff, and I will never get sick of it, and I will not apologize. I was rocking the back seat like a proper adult, cruising the streets with the windows down, sipping my tea, wind blowing through my hair, feeling free. We made a stop at the Home Depot for some cleaning supplies of the heavy-duty sort. The kind you can’t get just anywhere, you know.

I don’t know why, but I told them I’d wait in the car. I wanted to enjoy my Thai tea and the beauty of a warm, Wisconsin day from the comfort of the back seat. I rolled the window down so I didn’t suffocate. So there I was, scrolling, sipping, disengaged in my surroundings, when I heard what I perceived to be quiet voices making a plan near the car. It had been about 15 minutes, and that felt like enough time for my sister and BIL to finish their shopping. So naturally, I yell out the window:

“ARE YOU GUYS TRYING TO SCARE ME?!”

Except…it wasn’t my sister and BIL. It was a couple getting out of the car next to me who were clearly not on the same page and who I had mistaken to be my sister and her husband making a plan to sneak up on me and scare me. (I actually envisioned them already to be crouching next to the car and I DO NOT like to be scared so I felt I must make it known that I knew what they were up to. But again, I had been mistaken.)

As soon as I realized this, I shrunk down quickly in my seat, trying to melt myself into the fabric of the car so as to not be seen. I mean, I had YELLED. And that couple was definitely NOT trying to scare me, but rather deal with their own miscommunicated expectations. I’m certain they heard me but I disappeared right quick, so I’m not quite sure how the rest played out. The worst part of it all was that I had to sit there in silence with my story for another 15 minutes while I waited, in the backseat of the car with my window down, to share of the mistaken scare tactic that wasn’t real.

Not a lot makes me feel awkward. But this did.

Below is a visual representation of how I felt choosing to stay in the back of the car while avoiding shopping for cleaning supplies (SCHRAA wearing the “3”) vs. how I felt when I realized I had called out in error (little SCHRAA).

I’ve been getting up astoundingly early to go for hikes because 5AM is the only time I don’t resent being outside in the Phoenix heat, and they keep telling me vitamin D is really important. Also, I don’t think my body ever really transitioned out of the sleep schedule of a newborn.

A couple of days ago, I had only gotten about three hours of sleep but decided to still go hike because it was a new trail with a couple of new hiking pals and, frankly, I was excited. It was one of those mornings where my alarm woke me up from what felt like actual hibernation.

The trail was indeed a spectacular one. I’m feeling pretty glad we made it there since I definitely did not pay attention to traffic signals and tried to take the crosswalk during a red light.

It started off fairly level, and I was feeling pretty good. Halfway through, the elevation gain began along with my disorientation. I was having some kind of out of body experience – I think due to lack of sleep – but I kept up with the pals even whilst brief bouts of dizziness abounded.

A few minutes from the top, I saw a slab of rock and laid down, quietly. I melodramatically told the fellas to go on without me. One graciously remarked, “The summit is like 50 feet away….”. I looked up from my stupor. Sure enough. I pulled myself from the rock and took the remaining 50 feet to the summit, accomplishing the morning’s task.

Wish I could say the melodramatic rock sprawl was the most eventful part of the morning, but it just wasn’t. The denouement of the morning happened at a gas station, the most normal of all the normal places in the land.

I’d let my tank get to E, so I explained that I had to fill up, but by fill up, I meant put $10 in and call it a morning. Budget stuff and all. They heckled me big about why I wouldn’t just fill up now and adjust my September budget so I didn’t have to come back in three days. It’s a Jeep thing. After bantering back and forth a bit, I realized that actually made sense, but I still only upped it to twenty.

The thing is, my car has been having some mad gas pump struggs. It pops off every 15 seconds like a chihuahua claiming it’s territory. Honestly, it’s infuriating, but I digress.

My friend came out to see what the problem was and observed a perfectly timed mishap. As I pulled the gas lever, my car rejected the gasoline, spraying fuel on my friend, myself, and the ground. (I was peeved by this, but more annoyed about the dollar of gasoline I’d never get back.) The thing is, my friend is a really good dude and just glanced my way briefly, asking quietly, “What just happened?” I chuckled in embarrassment, uttering some what the “hecks” under my breath and pretending this was not a “me” problem and completely a gas station problem. I knew it wasn’t. So did he. I knew he knew.

My comrade still in the vehicle came out to see what the debacle was about and completed the gas pumping endeavor since I can’t have nice things. We drove away into the distance, the smell of gasoline lingering in the air. (And on our clothes. And skin. And my car.)

It wouldn’t be an airport visit without at least two schraaawkward moments. One wouldn’t be enough. Unless it was a doozy, I probably wouldn’t even write about it. It’s okay though. There were two. So far. Well, three, really, but I don’t want to recount my security mishap with the TSA agent. It’s too personal.

I boarded the plane. Last, as usual. Zone 4. I’m apparently the only person ever in zone 4 because by the time it’s my turn to board, there’s not another creature stirring at the gate. In fact, the person sitting next to me on the plane was already asleep when I arrived to my seat. I had to tap her on the shoulder so I could get through. I startled her even though I tried to be as non-invasive as I could.

It was one of those flights where the carry-on cubbies were crafted in such a way that they actually can’t fit carry-ons so they check your bag at the gate and tell you you can pick it up at your final destination. The next stop was my final destination but I simply did not want to deal with that. Never mind I’d have three hours waiting at the airport in MKE for my ride and plenty of time to retrieve it. Just never mind.

I travel with a duffel bag, like a high school athlete. None of those convenient roll-y luggage contraptions. And I like to make the most of it, so I jam it full. I got to the gate agent and said, “Do you think I’m alright? It’s pretty squishy,” and proceeded to prove to her how pliable my duffel bag was with all its pliable filling. I’m guessing she was tired of the process and seeing as I was the last to board, she let it slide.

So on I go. Past first class. I wouldn’t even dream of trying to fit my over-sized duffel bag in their spacious carry-on cubbies where there was still a plethora of space with no one to fill it. Don’t worry. I found a compartment with some room near my section of the plane and proceeded to hike my bag up and shove it in. Whilst holding my winter coat and also-oversized purse. You know, my personal item.

I realized I kept whipping the person sitting there in the face with my coat as I struggled to make my bag fit. I certainly apologized and it was sincere. Even if it happened again.

After a minute or so, I’d worked up a sweat. I took a break because there was no one behind me waiting to find their seat, you know, because I was the last one on and all. I asked a couple near me, “Alright guys, if you were me, what would you do right now?” They simply did not respond. Not even a sympathetic facial expression. Literally. No. Response. From anyone. In the whole dang plane. And rest assured, everyone in the whole dang plane saw me reap said consequence of not wanting to pick my bag up at baggage claim.

Finally, the flight attendant walked over and said, “I can shut that. Take a seat please.” Annoyed she was. I sighed a sigh of relief and said, “Thank goodness. I am sweating!” Why I felt the need to announce to the travelers of Delta flight 4738 that I was sweating when it was already clear they did not understand my humor is beyond me.

But, until next time friends, can’t stop, won’t stop.

This past weekend, my sister, roommate and I dined at a fine establishment in Oshkosh to celebrate my sister’s day of birth.

So many things were going right. We had approximately 7 different waiters. Everyone was very attentive. The atmosphere was welcoming. My sister is easy to love.

She also makes me laugh harder than anyone else I’ve ever met (no offense to anyone else who has ever made me laugh…). Her humor is unbelievably genius with both real and imagined witty undertones (don’t ask me how she does it).

She got me laughing. I know this is schraaawkward and all but I literally cannot share what she said to make me laugh because it is a surprisingly embarrassing tale about a decision I once made that she resurrected at the. perfect. time. I started out with a relatively normal laugh, a laugh more on the silent spectrum that was interrupted every few seconds by me taking a breath. However, the phrase “that escalated quickly” applies profoundly to this situation. My laugh evolved from silent laughter to full-out outrageous within mere seconds. I could not reign it in. Carly and Jenna were laughing as well, though more appropriately and contained.

After about 20 seconds, I recognized that my laughter had the potential to be disruptive to other diners. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her, staring. She wore an expression that could easily be interpreted as fear. She was three and she was unsure whether to be amused or fearful of my laughter that also could have been mistaken for weeping. Carly and Jenna noticed her staring at me as well. I mean, she had straight up turned around in her high chair to behold the debacle.

She let out a little giggle as she stared at me. Alright, that was a reasonable response. Then she pointed and said, “Momma!” She pointed at me. And said “Momma.” While she laughed. She sounded like the little tea pot on Beauty and the Beast.

As you can imagine, this made my laughter turn nearly into a roar. Like, nearly lost control of myself. Which, if you’re gonna lose control, at least let it be with laughter, amiright? I noticed her parents very intentionally did not look when she summoned their attention. I think it was probably hard for them, but they did it.

This is the funny lady herself.

I got this book at the library, and I’d been itching to read it. I felt that desire with a sense of urgency. I dropped someone off in Appleton and didn’t want to wait until I got home to cozy up on my couch, so I stopped off at this coffee shop that closed in an hour. I parked a half a mile away because I wanted to enjoy the crisp air and also because there was not one spot available nearer than that.

A man was outside with his dog and it sort of sounded like he said hi as I walked by but I couldn’t tell for sure, so I didn’t say anything. Looking back, I wish I would have played it safe and said hi because that would not have been weird.

I tripped on the rug on my way in. I made intentional eye contact with the man sitting right by the door as I stumbled so that he knew I wasn’t ashamed. Not one bit.

I asked the man taking my order if I could get some food. I felt really hungry and I had in my head that I’d order a salad because they put mushrooms in their salads and I never buy mushrooms because I never use them fast enough and then they get slimy and I can’t deal with that. (I’m letting that run-on sentence slide because life’s too short.)

He let me know that the kitchen had closed at 6. I had the option of a $16 charcuterie board or some baked goods. It wouldn’t have felt right to partake of a charcuterie board alone, so I opted for a baked good. I got a donut because the scones looked crumbly, and I just really like donuts, okay? I also feel like I made a little bit too big of a deal about not actually wanting the donut but feeling really hungry and settling. I mean, I was kind, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t think he cared if I actually wanted the donut or not. A classic misread of one’s audience. It happens.

I put my headphones in because I get easily distracted and all I could concentrate on was these two ladies talking about their dogs. I began to read. I think it’s fair to say that I figuratively entered my own little world. I became enamored with the dang book. It had captivated me with its wit and clever use of literary devices. I laughed a lot, out loud, which felt really freeing and fun.

Shortly before I decided to pack up, I noticed this guy come in wrapped in a blanket. I didn’t think twice about that because it was indeed very cold outside, and I’m all about taking precautions when it comes to staying warm. He sank down in the couch across from where I sat and put the blanket over his head. It wasn’t a big blanket so it legitimately was just covering his head. I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye and wondered how long he’d keep at it, secretly hoping that, for my entertainment purposes, he’d draw it out several minutes at least. I even decided I’d maintain eye contact with him as he pulled the blanket away from his face. I figured he’d want to know that someone had noticed. When push came to shove, however, I looked away instinctively as he pulled the blanket off of his face. I thought, that was kind of a strange thing to do. But I’m a big fan of people doing weird things in public, so it doesn’t even matter.

I would tell you about how I tripped again on my way out or how I forgot where I parked my car or how the man with the dog was still outside and I finally said hi to him except that he didn’t hear me, but none of those things happened and I’m really into this book, so I gotta go.

My friends got married a little bit ago. I am thrilled for them, first of all. Marriage is so great. They even asked me to be in their wedding 😮 OBVIOUSLY I said, “Yes.”

All was going well. The whole day. The whole night. There was perhaps but one little blip on the radar. Could have been easily missed. In fact, it was. No one saw me. Well, no one except the five year old.

In my defense, and her’s, she could seriously pass for at least a seven year old in intellect, though in stature she did quite resemble her age. I had bonded with her a bit throughout the day. Ya know, helped her collect glitter, complimented her dress, called her cool, the usual.

She was intent on asking me to join her dance crew. I felt it appropriate to get down to her level as a courtesy, so I crouched down in my dress.

I think it’s important to have a mental picture of what this dress was like. Honestly, it was a shnazzy number, wisteria in color, one shoulder strap, beautiful bodice-I mean-stunning bodice. Floor length with a good ol’ slit. This slit was useful and made movement significantly more natural. And by movement, I mostly just mean walking. Walking was literally so easy, I felt like I could conquer the whole wide world.

Okay, so anyway, I crouched down in my dress and got to eye level, listened to her request and agreed to join her dance crew. I’m just really not used to maneuvering in floor length dresses so I significantly underestimated the amount of fabric that had gathered underneath me as I crouched. I got all stuck in it and tumbled over, landing, ever-so-briefly, on all fours. I did the classic look-around to see how embarrassed I should be. I was quite pleased when I realized that no one had seen. I’m serious-no one. In that whole dang room of people.

No one except her. And the five year old intellectual stood there, calm, cool, and collected, held out her hand and nonchalantly said, “Do you… need help?”

She didn’t even laugh at me. Which I thought was really cool of her.

This is not a picture of me and the five year old. I was too embarrassed to ask her for a picture. But here’s my stunning married friend and a super unhelpful visual of my dress.

This one time, I made a blog about my awkward life. And then I forgot the password. After months of failed sign-in attempts and the realization that I used an email address that actually does not exist anymore, I was unable to recover schraawkward.wordpress.com. I thought to myself, This just is not fair to the world. A rebirth is necessary. My dilemma then became the fact that I could not reuse the same domain and calling it anything other than Schraawkward seemed an absolute farce among farces. Until I realized that I could simply add another “a,” as it should be spelled…anyway. So, world, welcome. Perhaps it is your first time beholding this work of jest. Perhaps you are an old, familiar acquaintance from long ago. I guess all I can say is I’ll try not to forget my password this time. And until next time, buckle up and prepare for anecdotes of cringe-worthy small talk and unnatural group hugs. The best is yet to come.