Sunday, May 17, 2015

"My Day Pass"

So I was given a day pass not long ago. That was quite pleasant. I was out in public for nearly 14 hours straight! Not necessarily unsupervised, I'll admit. I did learn a few things about myself though. 
Like, first off, I really can't dress myself. Ok, I'll admit to that. In my defense, though, I'd assumed a hula skirt was acceptable. Turns out you're not supposed to wear it with a hard hat and I'm not quite in the kind of shape that warrants wearing it without a shirt. Or underwear. The excuse "I thought it was a Hawaiian kilt" doesn't seem to be valid in places like Mississippi. Who knew, right? 

Thanks to some quick thinking and fast talking by a beautiful lady I avoided being reported and returned to The Ward. She promptly saved me by taking me shopping for which I am, actually, extremely grateful. I really am. I saw myself in a mirror after the wardrobe change and I looked much better. Looking back, I'm surprised at the transformation. 

So there I was, dressed as a normal person, with a pretty lady wanting to go to dinner with me. I was thinking "these must be magic clothes, she thinks I'm attractive now!" I nearly went back and bought 8 sets just like the ones I was wearing! 
There was some debate as to whether or not I should be medicated before or during dinner. We decided to play it by ear since we were to be meeting people. Can't have me drooling on myself at a restaurant. We had settled on Chili's. They've got some pretty good food so I was happy about that. 

I think it went well. I didn't get kicked out so I thought that was a good sign. There were a few tricky moments though. First off, do I "check in" on Facebook since I'm with people? Why not, I'll show off. I pulled out my phone, went to the Facebook app and clicked "check in". Sure enough I got the traditional "who are you with?" 
I tried to list names and the darn app sent me a message "no, seriously, no one is gonna believe you. Did you see yourself earlier?!" (Which reminds me, I still need to have a talk with that programmer). So I tried being all debonair with the host. "Touchet, (my name really is pronounced touché) party of 4. We will be waiting at the bar."  I tried to use my best James Bond voice but I think I came across like Mrs. Doubtfire. 

I was really trying to be on my best behavior though. It's tough. They really tried to make it difficult for a "non-filter having, social Tourette's afflicted smartass" like me. Here we are waiting at the bar. On a Saturday night I got the bartender that looks at me like I grew a second head when I ordered a Seabreeze. Maybe I'm just not hip enough and ordered an "old timer's" drink. Ok fair enough. 
Even with my new wardrobe and being with other people I was still invisible though. Here I was all smiles expecting to hear my name bellowed and that I was with actual, real, breathing people! After over a half hour at the bar and seeing a bunch of empty tables I went back up to the host. There's my name, halfway down the list. Crossed off. I ask the guy, "um, how'd you seat me already?" He said "I looked around and didn't see you." 
Out came my little notebook again and we were seated right away. After that it was a pretty smooth night. With a tiny hiccup. 

Which is when I learned another fact about myself. With the correct supervision I can actually blend in with "the normals" with little medication. The trick is finding the right supervision. For most people that's probably easy. With me, not so much. See...I can be a bit to handle. I'll own that. Why, you ask? Well, I'm..."creative". I know that sounds exciting but it's actually problematic. 
Imagine you're going to dinner with a XX year old guy. No, I'm not telling you my age. Just fill in your own numbers. But just imagine you're at dinner with this guy who asks for the kid's menu and crayons. Now...imagine he's allowed to drink alcohol. Yeah, I'm that guy. 

My supervisor for the day was quite patient with me though. Even when I got what might be considered "snarky" with the waitress. In my defense, putting a pink colored pick in a well done steak doesn't make it medium rare. That's about the time I was made to take my Thorazine again. It's ok, I lasted longer than any of us expected. (Don't let me forget to tell you what I put this poor soul through while we were shopping). 
On the bright side, I've now been cleared for more public interaction. With the recommendation that whenever I take my kids out to dinner my 8 year old should be placed in charge. I've looked at it from several different perspectives and I think that's a fair compromise. So I'll keep you guys updated on my future outings.