No this post isn’t about me being horny. If you thought this was the case, shame on you. Tsk, tsk.
Not really. I’d probably write a post about that to be honest. Just not today. Today’s topic is about me being really bad at lying.
Lying is a complete no go in my book. It’s against my code of conduct. I don’t believe in white lies. I think all forms of lying are destructive, even if yes, you’re just telling someone “Those jeans don’t make you look fat.” I think there are ways of getting around not hurting people’s feelings if you’re clever enough, and I think the effort it would take to retain a zero tolerance policy for lying would be worth it.
Deception is the root of so much betrayal, pain, and miscommunication in relationships that I’m not willing to compromise on that front as a general practice. Even just a teensy bit. Because a teensy bit makes way for a tiny bit, and tiny bit for just a little, and next thing you know you’re lying every other word. Okay, maybe it’s not that much of a slippery slope but still. My point is, I don’t like lying.
That’s not to say I’ve never lied. We all do. I think humanity’s forte is lying to themselves, but that’s a whole other post altogether. I try to keep lying at an absolute minimum.
This being the case, when my best friend Marcy put me in the position to have to pretend I was auditing a class when really I just wanted to compare my undergrad schooling to what was considered to be a master’s class, I froze. I was the one who had asked to tag along in the first place, but I didn’t realize she’d spin the auditing angle rather than just flat out saying I wanted to visit once. I mean, I understand why she did it. University isn’t free, so it’d be kind of pretentious for me to ask to sit in on the class with zero potential to benefit the college in the long run. It wasn’t even a big deal. I mean define auditing. Technically, I was auditing, right? I was scoping out what grad school looked like, so in some unbelievably unlikely universe I’d fall in love with the program and shell out thousands of dollars to go back to school and learn things I can easily learn through experience and personal research.
So the reason for my temporary existence in that course (with a ridiculously small class size of four students) wasn’t a complete ruse. It wasn’t a flat out lie. I should’ve been able to gel with it, right?
Wrong. The alarm bells of my hypersensitive conscience were going “Wee-oo, wee-oo! Get out of there, you heathen! Don’t compromise your morals!”
And as super reasonable and not over the top as that reaction was, it was kind of late for that. Class was about to begin when this bomb was dropped on me nonchalantly.
“Oh, by the way, I told my prof you’re auditing,” Marcy said.
Wait, say what? said my conscience.
“What does that encompass exactly?” said my mouth.
She mumbled something along the lines of “Ya know, like you’re interested in the university and are trying out the class.”
Wait, wha? But there’s no possibility of me actually going here. One, it’s really far from where I’m currently living, and two, I have no interest in “furthering my higher education” at the current time. So basically I’m gonna have to lie my way through this.
And of course lickety split quick after that dawned on me, some ladies who had come in to judge the merit of the class came over to start questioning the students. Naturally they assumed I was a student, and the class, being so unbelievably small, of course my turn came to be questioned. When I say I exhibited my highest derp potential, I mean it. I was next level idiot in this moment in my life. Because I couldn’t even bring myself to say I was auditing when they assumed I was a full time student that Marcy had to do it for me.
“She’s auditing,” she explained after I stumbled over my words for about five seconds straight.
“Ohhh, I see. What’s your interest in this course? What are you currently doing in education?”
“Um, I’m a teacher too.“
“Oh, okay. That’s great! Where do you teach?”
At this point I awkwardly looked over at Marcy like: Help me! What do I do? Should I tell the truth that I live hundred of miles away? But then she’ll realize the unlikeliness of me truly auditing this class. I mean it’s possible I guess. Maybe I intend on moving…But that’s not actually true! What if she asks me directly?! I’m not gonna say yes. Wee-oo! wee-oo!
I kid you not. I took so long to answer that Marcy had to verbally nudge me, “Tell her,” she said encouragingly.
It was like I was a little kid looking to her mother for reassurance that it was okay to talk to a stranger.
“Uh, I teach in Pala.”
“Ohhh, okay. Where is that?”
“Um, yeah. Not a lot of people have heard of it.”
“So where exactly?”
I then repeated the city name as if that cleared things up. I wasn’t going to answer her question for hope I wouldn’t have to reveal how far I actually was, but everyone was staring at me like I was an idiot. Which I definitely was being. I’m sure at this point they were wondering if I was actually a teacher. This chick’s too dumb to teach…
“In Florida,” I caved.
“Ohh, okay. So you’re visiting from far away.”
Yes, yes! That’s it! At last, the truth! Yes, I’m only visiting! I’m sorry for being an imposter!
Of course, outwardly, I only nodded my head. I kept looking between Marcy and these ladies throughout the conversation. I’m sure it must have looked like she was my pimp or something. I was desperately glancing at her for permission and approval, my own mind having abandoned me.
Luckily they turned the subject toward Marcy after a few questions about my classroom (probably in an attempt to verify I was actually a teacher). That was definitely one of my more embarrassing experiences. My logic on expertly dodging subjects had failed me. I’m usually pretty good at that.
Moral of the story: Never ask me to lie on the spot. I may act like an idiot, and you may want to disown me as someone you know.