I'm going to start this post with the conclusion, just so there's no confusion on it: I am absolutely a non-fan of confrontation. Yes, I like being able to yell my head off and voice my opinions, provided that there are minimal repercussions (i.e. I won't see them again, or they'll yell back, but that'll be the end of it... etc.), but, when that is not an option, I entirely shy away from it. Just the thought of confronting such a situation gets my heart rate up. Especially when I realize that my shirt is see-through.
Earlier this evening, I tried my hand shopping at a bigger store than the one I went to when I still lived on KNU's campus. The mission was a success - I got both my pantry and fridge stocked - but it took three times longer than usual, and I still didn't end up with the fancy trash bags I'm supposed to use. I may just haul my trash back to KNU and let them handle it... or take my garbage out in the middle of the night. But, the point of this paragraph is not to debate the morality of ignoring cultural norms when the culture makes it impossible to find the supplies to participate in said norms. The point of this paragraph is to express how exhausted I was when I finally made it home after my errands. It was quite a day - TESOL, then a trip to City Hall to turn in my Change of Address, then an attempt at finding a new bus route to school using the 1 Bus (which is a great deal closer to my apartment than the faithful 14) - no dice, btw - , then the E-Mart trip, putting me home around 8:30. I took care of the rabbit, started some chores, and finally sat down to dinner at (prepare to be horrified) 11:30. Somewhere in the middle of this, I changed into a pair of pajama shorts and an undershirt that my friend who used to live here, Tori, left me.
It was around the time that I peeked out my front door to investigate the sounds of English coming from the hallway that I realized my shirt was very much see-through. Great. Glad I chose to wear a cute bra today. So, I talked to what turned out to be some other friends of mine for a bit, and then went back to bustling about the apartment, promptly forgetting the encounter.
That is, until I had to run upstairs to Kris' apartment to fix something with our shared internet. He's not there right now, so I knew that wouldn't be an issue. What I wasn't expecting was to find Kris' neighbor, sulking in the stairwell, smoking his cigarette.
So, I came flying up the stairs, two at a time, until I saw him. I stopped, teetering on the edge of the top step. He stopped, one arm folded across his chest, the cigarette perched against his lip, as if he had been about to take a long drag. We made eye contact, and, in that second, I thought about the amount of time Kris has spent trying to catch this guy in the act of smoking in the hallway (right underneath the no smoking sign, mind you). I thought of Kris' determination to drive him out, bleaching the hallway, convinced that the smell would be too intense for him to stay. I thought of the mad dashes outside in the middle of conversations at just a wiff of smoke. I thought of all these things, then broke eye contact and ran away, slamming Kris' door behind me. It would have put some of Carrie Bradshaw's antics to shame.
And, true to form, I left Kris a note, explaining what had happened and apologizing for my lack of filling his shoes.
Confrontational situations: 2
I don't know whether to label this as a win or a fail. So, I'm also not going to confront that, and label this one a wail... or a fin... or a whale fin. Yeah, that's it. A whale fin.
May your day consist of whole creatures and not just their appendages.