The No Shame Game

It some ways it’s a shame that so many people in this country don’t have any shame. Especially unappealing and aesthetically mangled people. These people are out-and-out brutal when it comes to not giving a flying truck. Thier code of ethics seems to equate to, no matter how off-putting it is, I’m flaunting it!

Far be it from me to claim all the wisdom in the world. Maybe these guys and gals know something I don’t know. Perhaps they’ve found that they can draw self-confidence and a clean bill of mental health from owning their stuff, no matter how outrageous it might be. I can see an argument for that. If from the outset you show off your dandruff and the vegetating warts on your body, there won’t be anything left for anybody to point out or to laugh at you about. I’m big on reverse psychology too. I can see how that can work. Good strategic thinking. But heavens to Betsy, some of these folks are going too far with this approach. It’s . . . it’s unholy.

Not too long ago, some otherwise beautiful young lady started a conversation with me out of the clear blue. It was still the middle of summer, and she was wearing a revealing top. It wasn’t long before I noticed the huge pimple on one of her breasts. She kept angling herself in a way to show it to me on purpose. When I spotted the little devil and grimaced a bit, she smiled with relief. It seems that she had approached me with the sole intention of showing me that pimple. Fascinating, as Spock would say. She then concluded our small talk and floated away, seemingly satisfied to have somehow gotten the best of me. I just stood there ashamed of my thoughts and not knowing what the hell just happened.

But my mind started doing its job. I started noticing all kinds of people in public spaces proudly demonstrating their lack of shame. Now it’s gotten to the point where I’m no longer surprised at women chuckling loudly on street corners, drawing attention to themselves even though they may have green hair and a mustache.

Call me shallow, insecure, dishonest or old fashioned, but dammit I like to keep my deficiencies my own personal business. Although there are some problems with that approach. For instance, somebody may one day expose you for the rascal that you really are. In light of that, I can see how simply letting it all hang out up front can save a person from embarrassment in one of many possible futures. In fact, I do remember how not so long ago, I had to face down some serious embarrassment. At the root of this was one of my secret flaws that I hoped would never come to light.

So, I was at a jazz concert. This was last winter. I was bundled up good. Even under my coat, I wore a turtleneck sweater. During the show I took my coat off of course. But the venue was packed with people and there were hot lights everywhere. My hope was that I wouldn’t get overheated. If so, I would perspire. A lot. And wearing a turtleneck in a crowded theatre it would be a spectacle for sure.

Anyway, intermission came. Everybody left the auditorium and went into the lobby to have drinks and chat until the show resumed. Long story short, there I was indoors in my turtleneck, under bright lights, feeling hot and surrounded by scores of classy ladies and refined gentlemen. One cold-blooded woman was able to detect that I was trying my best to avoid perspiring in front of everybody. So, she knowingly stared at me for as long as necessary until I did just that. And her unwanted attention was making me even hotter.

Then it happened. I started melting like Frosty the snowman. The woman smirked. Then she gave me a look to let me know how turned off she was. I wanted to hide somewhere. Even my butt was sweating. I’m not going to get into great detail. But after the crowd stopped laughing and the janitor cleaned up the puddle, the show resumed. But me? I walked home smoking a joint for the first time in years, trying hard to forget the perverted grin on that reptilian woman’s face.

Maybe if I had kept my coat on in that hot theatre, shamelessly dripping sweat for all to see, there wouldn’t have been any surprises during intermission. But no. I tried to get away with something inevitable given the environment. I paid the price and my self-confidence was staggered. That day. But I’m alright now. And I’ve grown.

So, if I shut my eyes and concentrate hard, I can see the beauty in whatever may be ugly about any of us. Thirty-five, born in America and you can’t speak English? We can talk. Or at least I can talk. Dumb as a doorknob and you’re opening a restaurant? Congratulations! Be proud, I say. Show off your quirks and foibles before anyone discovers them. Once people get used to you, they’ll start looking forward to seeing that black mold on your nose. It’s all good Reggie.

The no shame game is afoot. More people are playing and nothing is off limits in this sport. Don’t be surprised if somebody taps you on the shoulder and you turn around to find a bisexual extraterrestrial asking for directions and a lighter in exchange for hooking you up with free cable and a massage. If this happens and he’s that shameless, he’s probably been in this country longer than he’ll admit.

All jokes aside, I do see how sensitive, gifted and special individuals can be using this no shame game to secure new relationships on the most open and honest terms possible. For that reason, many awkward encounters are understandable and even commendable. So, I’m challenging myself to recognize the angel in disguise the next time some grotesque person approaches me. I hope I pass the test. I hope I have the insight and depth of character to respond positively to forthright people when they just invade my space out of nowhere. And I pray that I never hurt anyone’s feelings if my reactions to them are not what they deserve. But let’s just not get too crazy with it though people. I’m only human.

If you really need someone to talk to, feel free to call the Mental Health Hotline at 866-903-3787. Or if things are really bad and you feel like you might hurt yourself, call 988.