One of those moments

Everyone has those moments. You know, the moments when they have to stop and say, "okay, now why did I say that?" While a question in intention, this line is a declarative statement admitting a blunder of word choice, yet still a bugging inquiry to oneself, asking perplexedly why you hadn't employed cautiousness. Such an expression is usually muttered to one's self in exasperated frustration and is often paired with at least one palm covering eyes that are shut tightly.

Today, I had one of those moments. :P

It was hot. It was humid. It was downright despondent. The air felt miserable, yet the stuffy air of the enclosed hallway was far better than the scorching temperature of the air out of doors. I was walking down the hallway of a psychiatric hospital, wiping sweat from my forehead with my sweat-drenched sleeve. I slowed my pace to a trot, allowing my coworker to catch up. My coworker's name was Tim, and on this miserable day, we had been commissioned to install wireless thermostats on VAV units overhead. Bribed with a contract, our company had taken on the task of converting the hospital's units to a wireless, smart controls system, and so the company had assigned Tim the job supervisor, and I was tagging along to help.

Peanut Gallery Detour: Timothy A. Short is probably one of the most difficult coworkers of mine to figure out. He has a great personality that takes a few days to work itself out into visibility, all the while causing the hapless younger technician like myself to worry over whether or not the veteran takes keenly to or absolutely dislikes him. Bind that with regular physical assaults he dishes out regularly, playful or not, and it all tends to drive a mind toward parnoidity. After a few months of working (and worrying) with Tim Short, his real personality broke free, and the talkative, playful young-gun emerged. Tim and I are half-decent friends now, though my morale and standing with him as a coworker depends much upon acting like a ‘guy.’

Allowing Tim to take the lead, I followed him into a small room where we found the box of equipment we were there to install. Tim picked up a box of something or other, gruffly saying something to the effect of, “You’ll need these.” Regrettably, I cannot quite recall what Tim was calling my attention to, as I caught notice of something when I had reached my hand out for a box of parts; rather, my finger had caught ‘notice’ of something. Drawing my hand closer, I realized that I had a problem. My fingernail was split at the end, and I had a deep hangnail, hanging with hazard off the top of my thumb.

It was an impressive hangnail—about an inch wide. Simply writing of it now causes a large shudder to engulf my body as the photographic memory of it crowds my mind.

I realized after a few seconds that Tim was staring at me, and I immediately ceased staring at my thumb and began staring at him. I allowed my eyes to focus more precisely before he asked me, “What’s the matter with your finger?” At this point, what I thought and what I actually said are two entirely different sentences. What I thought was, aw, nothing is wrong. I’m just getting some dirt off. Instead…

“I…I broke my fingernail.”

*facepalm* Why in the world had I..?

Evidently, it was his turn to stare again, and he did so with one eyebrow raised. “You…you broke your—” —he never finished his sentence as a hearty laughter erupted from somewhere behind his belly-button. Wiping tears from both eyes, he chuckled and mockingly asked if I needed to go home. Answering a shameful ‘no,’ I trudged away from him and his never-ceasing laughter and made my way back through the now even warmer hallway, accepting my lot in life as the jobsite’s wimpiest technician.

Leaving the jobsite hours later with Tim, we drove toward another jobsite for what was to be an afterhours frenzied push to help close down the jobsite. Upon arrival, we met up with 4 technicians and 2 engineers from our company in a small computer room. Bidding the others farewell, I grabbed a few parts and left to install a few override dials. I pocketed the previous shame and buoyantly started down the hallway, eager to start my task.

Returning ten minutes later down the same hallway feeling a bit proud of myself after a job well-done, I heard feverish laughter as I approached the computer room. Walked into the room, I discovered it to be filled with 5 technicians collectively and quite literally sitting, all but one, doing absolutely nothing.

Well…almost absolutely nothing.

Standing in the doorway, the collective attention turned upon me and the laughter died to faint giggles erupting every few seconds. A tall, dark-haired technician named Lance spoke up, eyes sparkling and teeth showing beneath his all-too-wide smile:

“We were just talking about you.”

*facepalm*

I was having one of those moments all over again, and I hadn’t even opened my mouth.