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Why am I so awkward?

A column by Lindsay Dennis '08

Do not address me while you are naked

I'm just going to come right out and say it. I'm awkward. In case you hadn't noticed from my column title, subject matter or your own personal strained interactions with me in the loggia or Grille, I am essentially bereft of social graces. But I get by. I take comfort in the knowledge that many of my peers share my handicap, and we delight in each other's company, having bizarre non-linear discussions about lizard eye herpes and the like.

Unfortunately, there is still one social situation in which my sense of humor cannot overcome the intensity of my awkwardness: streaking.

Don't get me wrong. I have a healthy appreciation for gratuitous nudity. I was delighted when I transferred to Grinnell and found that, at this campus, streakers are cheered, whereas at Wellesley they were promptly arrested by the campus police. The first time I saw the swim team streak exuberantly down the North Campus loggia one balmy spring night, chanting and screaming, I felt a profound sense of respect for these people who loved their bodies and hated the Man enough to stage such a spectacle for all of campus to see.

I also recognized my own need for a healthy distance from the horde, and scurried off into the shadows of Mac Field to observe from a distance.

My appreciation of streakers, much like my appreciation of bears, is contingent upon my ability to maintain a safe distance and avoid direct interaction. As such, my first experience with streakers was arguably my best, because I knew no one involved.

But the more time I spend at Grinnell, the more people I meet, and the greater the probability that someone I know will be ensconced within the gyrating throng of nakedness. To compensate for this, I avoid close interactions with streakers, moving quickly yet nonchalantly aside at the first sound of an approaching horde. Unfortunately, one lovely day last spring, during the track team's publicity campaign for the Dick meet, I underestimated the size of the group and returned to my business a little bit too early.

A friend and I were walking down the South Campus loggia toward Haines to leave harassing notes on our mutual friends' white boards. Suddenly, we heard the tell-tale shout of a streaking squad (I believe it was "lock up your daughters!"), followed shortly by a flood of nudity spilling out the Loose loggia doors.

We quickly escaped through the closest doors to watch the scene from the relative safety of Haines beach. We watched what we thought were the last of the streakers run past James and ventured back into the loggia. As I reached into my pocket for my P-Card wallet, I realized that we had made a dire mistake.

A subgroup of streakers had run into Read, and as they reemerged into the loggia, my worst streaking-related nightmare came true. I instinctively turned my gaze toward the commotion, only to see Calvin Heiling '08 (Younker 9315) whom I had known for only about a month. As soon as he saw me, he looked directly at me and shouted, "Lindsay, come to the Dick!"

To this day, I have incredible difficulty articulating my feelings at that exact moment. It was as though an atomic bomb of awkwardness had detonated within me, and the shock wave continued to radiate out through all of my social interactions throughout the rest of the day.

Six months later, the day finally came that I was able to put aside the awkwardness to discuss the event with Calvin. I'm not really sure what I was expecting, if I thought perhaps he would laugh, or offer an informal apology. In reality, he merely sat in silence for a few moments (a somewhat cruel gesture to make toward someone as unbearably awkward as myself), then said, "I really don't understand why it's awkward for you if you're not the one who's naked."

Maybe he was right. Maybe it is all in my head, and there really is no reason for me to feel intimidated by random nudity. Maybe this realization will allow me to have a greater appreciation for streakers, and to even develop the presence of mind to come up with a snappy comeback to those naked people who decide to address me in the future.

I doubt it. I know that 50 percent of my friends have penises, but I still never expect the one-eyed monster to look me in the face.

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