Author’s note: to experience the full humor of this post, you must first read another one of my posts: “I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!” This one won’t make much sense if you don’t.
I had never before exploited my radio voice for my own selfish gain. And I won’t ever again after this. This is what I get when my ego barrels over my humility, and my quest for comedy trumps discretion.
Many of you know that I do voiceover work for University of Florida Health and other clients. You may know my voice from Animal Airwaves, random videos and various other radio and TV commercials. I sort of backed into this work many years ago, likely because I was working on a UF Health project that couldn’t finance real talent, and I have a knowledge of professional audio production. So once I did one project, that led to thousands of other projects since. Oh, call any UF Health phone number. Yep, that recording where some knucklehead tells you how important your call is, or that you’ve reached us during peak hours … that’s me. Try it: 352-265-0111.
A common theme in many of my Only Me! blog posts is that awkward and embarrassing moments tend to find me at corporate meetings. Like this one did.
The meeting was in a conference room around a large oval table that could accommodate maybe 20 people. Additional chairs lined the walls to accommodate overflow, and at this particular meeting there was plenty of overflow. I arrived close to last. The room was packed with UF Health staff. I stood in the conference room doorway and scanned the room looking for an empty seat. Ah, there’s one, on the right side of the table just past my good friend Jessica, whose back was turned to me, but it was her, no question. Many strangers were in the room, so I wanted to feel comfortable by sitting next to a friend.
Jessica is blonde, sharp, witty and enjoys a good practical joke. She has a wonderful sense of humor. As I made my way through the crowd toward the empty chair, I passed Jessica on my left. She still had her back to me. As I looked down at the top of her head, I noticed golden strands of sparkling tinsel lining her straight hair in places. Not overdone or ostentatious. Subtle. Tasteful. I’d seen this on women around town, and I admit I found it interesting. You have to be kind of close to a person to notice it, but once you do, the effect makes you go, “Oh, is that … tinsel? That’s pretty cool. How do they do that? Is it permanent?” At least, that’s the effect it has on me. Any shiny object mandates my attention.
In the few years I’ve known Jessica, I have never known her to line her hair with tinsel before, but how much do you really know your office colleagues? The most I know about Jessica’s personal life is that she and her family are Disney aficionados, she has little tolerance for inefficiency, she watched her mother battle a serious illness, and she’s worked in ad agencies before UF Health. It’s not like I have encyclopedic knowledge of Jessica’s daily hair and makeup routine, nor do I know her hairstyle history. Maybe she wore a Mohawk in high school; I have no idea.
Well, knowing Jessica was likely familiar with my “I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!” experience, I figured why not have a little fun with her. She would appreciate it and get the callback to a prior awkward moment in my life, making this moment that was about to occur far less awkward. I leaned down into her right ear, and with my most masculine dulcet radio voice loud enough for others to hear, said quite mellifluously, “I love your hair.” As I smugly fell into my seat next next to her, she turned to face me. I was smiling, awaiting her laughter and jokester reciprocity. But she wasn’t Jessica. She was some woman I had never seen before in my life. Holy of holies! Instead of laughing or smiling at me, she looked completely startled. Her face, bent in aching scrutiny, read: Who is this guy, and why is he doing this to me? Get away from me you creep! Still, she gave me a semi-courteous and understated, “Thank you?” It was more a question than a statement. I noticed she inched her rolling chair away from me and made a face like a skunk had just sprayed her.
I was beyond mortified. What had I done to this poor, unsuspecting woman who was just minding her business until the meeting started? There was no easy way out this. I would have made things worse by saying, “Oh, I thought you were somebody else. I’m so sorry!” She would have only thought, Oh, so you’re a creep to other women too?
I made an attempt to recover by trying to convey that I had intentionally meant to say what I had said to her and acted like it was no big deal ... like she and I had been great friends for years. What choice did I have? “Yeah, so what kind of … what’s that glittery stuff in your hair? It looks cool. I’ve seen that before on other women.” Ants were crawling up and down my spine. Was I digging a deeper hole? Yes … yes I was.
Oh, so you look at other women too? You really are a dirtbag! “Um, it’s called tinsel? My hairdresser did it?” She pulled nervously at a couple strands of hair to hide the decoration from me. She looked around at the other women in the room as if to say Can you believe this creep? Now they all hated me too. Women must be able to sense when other women need to be pulled from an awkward situation. They become fiercely protective, and no guy stands a chance. Maybe that’s why they invite each other to join them in the bathroom? Men could never do that. I could never say to Michael of MICHAEL’S PANTS, “Hey bro, I’ve gotta hit the John. You wanna join me?”
By now everyone else in the room was listening in to see how this would end, especially the other women. Nobody else knew if I knew this woman or not, but judging from her expression, they could probably assume we had no idea who each other were.
At that moment, the real tinsel-less Jessica walked into the room, took a seat at the head of the table, and said, “Hi everyone, sorry I’m a minute late. Did I miss anyth—”
”No!” I blurted out. “We can get started.” Never was I more anxious to start—and end—a meeting.
”Ooookay,” Jessica replied. “Well, Garrett, since you have the floor, do you have any updates on video production?”
I leaned forward, grateful to have the meeting begin. All eyes were still on me. I lifted my left hand so the tinseled woman could clearly see me rotating my wedding band with my thumb. “Thank you, Jessica. Yes, lots to update you all on regarding video production.” Because I process and attempt to counter trauma with humor, I chuckled, “It’s like my team and I now work in Tinseltown.”
Nobody laughed. I ran a finger beneath my hot collar to make room for my breathing. My mouth tasted like the Sahara. I could only sit there, stare vacantly ahead and question Why, Garrett? Why?