Asperger syndrome is an autism spectrum disorder, and people with it therefore show significant difficulties in social interaction, along with restricted and repetitive patterns of behavior and interests. Physical clumsiness and atypical use of language are frequently reported.
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Norman has this way of wrapping his little furry self around my neck that makes me impervious to the sound of my alarm.
Which means- I’m late.
One would think I would become used to this sensation. Or that the novelty of it would have worn off long ago, making me nonchalantly shrug instead of race about like a lunatic. It hasn’t and I do.
I practically hop out of the car while it’s still moving. Arms full of dry cleaning, I rummage around in the back to find a suitable pair of heels. Much like my smoking habit, instead of finding ways to break my early-morning-laziness addiction- I make excuses and find ways to enable this lifestyle. Like keeping items essential to my work presentability in the backseat at all times. Upon glancing in, one might think the car is simply a mess- but it’s actually an essential mess.
In my haste to reach the time clock by 7, I’m halfway to the door before I realize the essential mess in the backseat essentially made a mess in my shoes. More specifically, my right shoe (and now my right foot as well) is covered in tranny fluid. I’m the only person I know who springs a transmission fluid leak in the *backseat*. I should win some sort of epic girl award for that.
I kick the offending shoe into a nearby snowbank, juggle my burdens to account for a new center of gravity, and steel myself to plunge my bare foot into the pristine snow. I’m a hardy northern Minnesotan girl and this seems like a sensible solution to my current situation. At this exact moment, the owner of the hotel walks around the corner. He starts slightly to see me there- both arms wrapped around a mound of laundry, cinnamon latte balanced precariously on top, smoke dangling from my lips, naked foot poised above the snow. Oh dear. Unfortunate situation. I should try and make the best of it. "Good morning Mike!" I give him the most cheerful smile my cigarette will allow.
"…oh."
Oh? Uh-oh, that can’t be good. I wait for him to ignore me as usual and walk by but he just stands there. I'm waiting for some signal so we can start laughing about this but there’s nothing but an uncomfortable indifference. Some tense seconds pass and I have the insane urge to giggle. My bare foot starts to tingle.
I should tell him what’s going on here. Shouldn’t he ask me? He doesn’t ask me. I don’t dare put my foot down as this begins a process that requires me to poke around in the snow with barefoot for the lost shoe, demanding dexterity I do not possess at 6:59 (::gasp::) in the morning. Without mad pinwheeling of the arms and comical tottering, that is. I plan on doing neither in front of him as right now he’s staring at me as if I’m some sort of hopeless curiosity.
(Oh no, much better to stand on one leg- while I do my best to ignore the icy pinpricks starting to weave themselves up my leg.)
Then, blessedly, he walks off without another word. I give him a head start while I’m finding my shoe and dash to the time clock. 7:02. Dang. My place of employment requires explanation for any late punch- even if it’s only a minute or two. Car wouldn’t start, bad traffic, overslept, etc. (Mine, more often than not, say ‘fell on head’)
On the small card provided, I write: I think I might be a ridiculous person with a natural tendency towards awkwardness.
Happy Tuesday!
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