I’m used to being odd.
I know it sounds strange, but believe it or not, I’m usually the weirdest person in the room. The amount of time I can hide my freak flag? About twenty minutes. Where I live, I’m the odd woman out. I’m the one with the least conservative opinions /the hippy-dippy-trippy ideas — potato-potahto. There was nothing typical or traditional about my upbringing, so I don’t spend holidays and weekends with my 100+ relatives, I don’t walk and talk with Jesus, and I don’t know how wholesome applies to things that are not food.
Oh yes, I do live in the 12th largest city in the U.S., but the status quo is still fairly Mayberry, which is a nice way to say you can’t throw a rock without hitting some status-seeking uptight religious bigot.
And y’all, I do throw a rock now and again.
(I gotta be careful, cause a lot of them are armed and many have tried and true athletic ability and throw really, really well.)
You cannot judge a book by its cover, because if you could, I would be the sweetest, most innocent gal in all the land.
But there was this one time, when I stopped at a brewery to pick up some things for Mr HME, where I have never felt more odd. Out of my element. Arriving on the scene like a game of ‘Which one of these things does not belong?’
I was literally, and I do mean literally, the only person in the place who looked like me. I have friends who fit these descriptions, but I’ve never been surrounded by them en masse.
Like most places, there were all sizes and shapes, ages and colors, but they shared a common culture.
Everyone around me knew the words to the screaming, disharmonious noise that they all seemed to find musical. They did not wince and wish that someone would turn it off. Their skin did not seem to ache from the nearly-fatal din. They tapped their feet and bobbed about and ‘sang.’
I have my ears pierced. I’m sure I was wearing earrings, probably small gold ones. In contrast, the lot of them had facial piercings, facial jewelry, and gauges — some of which looked like medieval torture devices.
I was wearing jeans with a white button up shirt and some slides from Kohl’s, how mamas do. In contrast, they all wore black. Most wore black concert tees or black tees with names or words I didn’t recognize. (Please do not patronize me with some shit about how you like Korn or Slayer or Iron Maiden — I am talking about obscure, underground stuff.)
They wore boots, mostly, although I did spot some Converse, Vans, Crocs, and Tevas — most wore ass-kickin steel-toe boots.
I have dark brownish-reddish hair of the 5RB variety. I know this because I cover my gray. My idea of a radical hairdo is getting a few inches trimmed off and highlights at the crown. I have never considered blue, purple, or green hair, and I have never wondered what I would look like with a rooster red mohawk.
I do not have tattoos. I’m not sure if there were any people there without tattoos. Lots of tattoos. Even the guy who was dressed similarly to me had tattoo sleeves.
They were all nice to me. As we waited in line they all chatted to me about the weather and the beers on my list and their favorite things about Indianapolis. They didn’t exclude me or pry into my personal life.
That was the best day to be odd.
This post is for LindaGHill’s Just Jot it January and Stream of Consciousness Saturday, with the prompt of ‘odd/even.’