My life is one continuous string of strange encounters. I must have a neon sign flashing above my head that says “please, make my life uncomfortable.” Every day it seems I have yet another weird story to tell. Last week I found myself left standing in bewilderment as many strangers walked confidently away from me thinking they did nothing out of the ordinary.

One such encounter occurred just as I was leaving campus after spending a mindboggling hour listening to a professor talk in circles. I was walking, minding my own business like I usually do, when the girl to my left called out for me to stop. Confused, I turned toward the unrecognizable voice wondering why this girl was trying to get my attention. I addressed the girl, asking her what she wanted, and she walked slowly in my direction, never breaking eye contact. Mind you, this felt like an abnormal amount of time for someone to be making eye contact with me, but that was not even the weirdest part. She walked toward me until our toes were within moderate distance of getting to know each other on a personal level, stared deep into my soul, took a giant slurp out of her drink, and said, “I really like your hair.” Then she reached out her grubby little hand and grabbed the ends of my hair, turned, and went up the hill to class. Now, I was left standing there, pondering why someone would even think to enter my hula hoop of happiness. I have great awareness of personal space, hence the reference to my hula hoop of happiness. I feel as if a hula hoop is an adequate amount of distance that strangers should keep in relation to other humans. Clearly, the interesting homo sapiens I go to school with think differently.

However, the most frustrating part of this encounter was the fact that I hadn’t washed my hair in two days. This was one of my lazy days where I put on that old flannel I keep around to wear when I’m doing laundry. I feel like every woman has a laundry day outfit, and I was definitely rocking the homeless look. I simply threw half my hair in a bun so that I didn’t look too unkept, and this was the day I receive a compliment, no matter how strange it was. I could spend an hour curling and styling my unruly hair, and I get no recognition. But the one day a week I revel in the luxury of not caring about my appearance, I’ve got people stopping me to enter my personal space to give me a compliment. I will never understand society and the strangeness that pervades from the eclectic crowds.

While this day was certainly one for the books, I have one more story that may just top it. This past weekend, I went to a Columbus Blue Jackets game with my family. Before the game started, my sister and I reluctantly left our seats to explore the merchandise on the lower level. Making a beeline for the concession stands, a fellow in his mid to late twenties sidles up to us in a rather odd manner. He immediately asks us where we’re headed, like it wasn’t obvious we were looking for refreshments. After we respond to his initial blubbering, he asks where the nearest beer stand is located because he was from Chicago and could not bear to find his way in the alarmingly uncrowded arena. At this point, we had been walking for a solid minute and a half, passing at least five beer stands along the way. I’m assuming he was trying to hit on us, desperately hoping we’d take the bait and guide him like a toddler by the hand to the next available stand. So, in typical Alex fashion, I hit him with an uninterested let down instead. Continuing my strut in my flashy heeled ankle boots, I said, “I’m sure there’ll be another one if you keep going.” He disappeared after that.

What is it with men? Why do they consistently overdo it? There doesn’t have to be this elaborate back story or horrifyingly cheesy pick up line. Just be yourself. I would much rather deal with a natural weirdness as opposed to the unflattering approaches men create.

Whether it is a strange girl on campus or men at a hockey game, I seem to be the subject of the most uncomfortable encounters. Maybe these things happen to me for some greater purpose; at least I have something to write about this week. I’m hoping one day however, I have my moment – that moment when I can stand back and know that it happened for a reason.