Awkward

Today I want to write about the awkwardness felt due to misunderstanding a social situation.

The other day at work I came out of a meeting and praised someone for something I thought they had said only to find out they were actually saying the opposite. I think this person was probably articulating her thoughts badly but nevertheless it was a bit awkward, after initially having a moment of bonding, for the atmosphere of camaraderie to be shattered when she went on to explain more and in so doing revealed that we in fact completely disagreed. Indeed we had opposing points of view! The conversation kind of fizzled away with me saying, “It appears we will, in the end, have to agree to disagree.”  Then I sloped off awkwardly.

It wasn’t an extreme situation such as possibly applauding someone for a feat of courage only for them to say something like, “Er, well no, actually, bit awkward, but I.. er... I wasn’t trying to save her.  I was trying to rape her!”      What would you say in that situation?  “Ahh – well I suppose we will have to agree to disagree. And I must say I don’t really approve of raping. But, hey – live and let live.” 

Comedians – especially clever ones using heavy, sometimes multi-layered irony, can be confusing.

Take Al Murray for instance. Some of his fans (and I know this to be true) are actually xenophobes and harbour terrible prejudices which I believe Al Murray is mocking in his portrayal of the pub landlord. Alf Garnett had the same problem.  Whereas Jim Davidson, as Stewart Lee states in one of his old stand up shows, is not a comedian “who is troubled by duality of meaning”.

Stewart Lee himself could be immensely confusing for those who like to take things literally or at face-value. Sometimes the levels of his irony mean that he is not necessarily even saying the opposite of what he appears to be saying and slips from simple irony – with dual meaning - to a more complex level of meaning. This could be very difficult for some.

Where Stewart Lee is concerned, I think I get it. But maybe I don’t - in which case I’m inventing my own comedy through my interpretation of his work. This links back to an interesting discussion on the blog of an old friend - “Lining A Drawer” - about art and the importance of the ‘viewer’ (his blog is excellent sketches mainly of people – some actual skill involved, unlike these ramblings which are really just outpourings).

Anyway that is art – whether written, painted, drawn, constructed, spoken or whatever.

In real life which can often, as we know, imitate art, misunderstandings are part and parcel of the awkwardness of human interaction. This often comes from a sudden change in relationship. One minute you’re talking to a soul mate on your wave length, thinking the same. The next you realise that you have completely misunderstood the situation and that this ‘brother in arms’ is actually someone who holds views that are the epitome of everything you hate - a complete anathema.

This little story of an every everyday situation (a true one) is not so dramatic but illustrates the awkwardness caused by a sudden change in the perception of a relationship.

This happened to my good mate Morty.

Morty went to the pub to watch the Champions League Final with a couple of friends. All were looking forward to seeing Man United well beaten by Barcelona (which is what happened) though any malevolence was soon vaporised by Barcelona’s fire!....! The sheer brilliance and total dominance of the Barcelona team would have beaten any team that has ever been.

Anyway, Morty and his mates arrive at the pub, get a drink and find a good place to view the screen. It was about 7pm with kick-off at 7.45pm. The pub was fairly empty and they headed toward the best table. As Morty approached the prime seats, he noticed a sheet of paper on the table with words written on it in black marker pen and double underlined in red,  “Table reserved for Mark from 7.30”. There was general disgruntlement among Morty’s small party. 

“You can’t reserve a seat in a pub!”

“Apparently you can”

“What a wanker Mark must be.”

“Shall we sit here anyway?”   

After much mumbling and grumbling, during which they debated sitting there anyway and coming to the conclusion that if they did that and then were forced to move later, they may not get another seat at all. So the three sat at a nearby table – the second best position in the bar for football watching. Morty’s friends soon forgot about the reserved table and let the resentment go. Unfortunately, Morty was unable to, and kept thinking about the injustice of it, despite having a good seat.

Morty watched other customers walk into the bar and approach the table before seeing the sign and turning away. He was hoping to catch their eye so he could share his annoyance with other like minded pub-football fans. There was a tall bloke with a small dog, a short bloke with a tall girlfriend, two bearded blokes with a bespectacled woman, some Dad’s with their sons, a group of young men and women in shorts and sunglasses, and a stocky man with bushy eyebrows, who Morty managed to exchange glances with as he turned away from the offending reserved sign, achieving a recognition response in the form of a raised bushy eyebrow.

Morty had got on to pint number three and was feeling emboldened by it, when in walked another punter with his teenage son and walked towards the reserved table, which by now was the only good seat left in the bar. Morty maintained vigilance and as this guy approached the table he hoped for a nod or another raised eyebrow. But he didn’t turn away or meet Morty’s eye.

He looked around the room picked up the sheet of paper which said “Reserved for Mark from 7.30”, screwed it up, threw it towards a bin and sat down.

Brilliant!

Morty stood up, applauded this act and offered words of encouragement,

“Yeh wehey, well done mate. Good on you.”

Although the man looked a little confused, Morty felt he had found a like mind, a soul mate, someone who saw the world as he saw it, and so continued,  “I fucking hate people who reserve tables in pubs – I mean you can’t reserve a table in a pub can you? Well done mate – yeh.”

The man turned to Morty and said,

“No mate.....I’m Mark!”