Muslim and Confused

I was outside the Miller Center waiting for the Southeast Clipper to come take me home when I noticed two people. First, there was the guy with dreadlocks who lives in my apartment complex. I have never spoken with him, but he seems to be fairly normal. The other person I noticed was a white girl wearing one of those Muslim head wraps, whatever they’re called. I figured she was jumping on the Islam bandwagon, which Universities so ardently promote. It’s in style after all.  

After a while this girl approached the guy with dreadlocks and said something to the effect that she was bored so she was going to talk to him now. Dreadlocks, I’m sure thinking her as odd as I did, responded as concisely as possible. He was not eager to make a new friend. She asked him if he was bored and what he was doing. In a mumble, he said he was waiting for his ride home. He must have asked her where she was from or why she was wearing a head wrap thing because I heard her tell him that she was Somalian.

I think what I witnessed was just a case of a very confused girl. Yes, white people can originate from Somalia, but not white people who speak perfect English. And my suspicion of her confusion was confirmed a day or two later when I saw her donning a pink tutu (in addition to the Muslim getup).The abundant population of Somalians in St. Cloud must have intrigued her and ultimately influenced her to adopt their manner of dress. I feel for people who cannot socially function, people whose social skills are even less adequate than my own. She certainly was odd, but at least seemed to be mercifully oblivious to it.

The bus came fairly quickly after she initiated the conversation and I think Dreadlocks was happy to leave. I’m glad that I got to see that little exchange though. I have been witness to a few awkward situations between people lately. Yesterday I think I saw, yet again, a guy hit on a girl at Caribou on campus. He was more socially apt than the last flirtatious guy I saw, but still it seemed as though his intentions came to nothing. I didn’t hear the actual conversation, but they went their separate ways without any apparent significant connection having been made.

A few years ago, I worked in a grocery store. There came a time when management hired some new employees. One of these approached me one day and asked me what my name was. I said, “Bill”. She told me she didn’t like that name and that from that day forward, my name would no longer be Bill, but Rex. Humoring her, I smiled and went along with it as I am loath to reject or alienate anyone, but it did occur to me that she was a bit unusual. 

I typically do not initiate conversation with anyone, but in the Performing Arts Center where I was waiting in the hallway for my introductory piano instructor to arrive and unlock the door to the classroom, a guy waiting for the same class noticed the white patch on my beard and wondered how it “happened”. People seem to think it is the result of an injury. A guy at the grocery store said it looked “painful”. This baffles me. How does white hair look painful? Still, I prefer this to being told that I look like Justin Timberlake, which has also happened in a grocery store on more than one occasion.

I told the guy waiting for class with me that it was just genetic, but that I tell people it’s an acid burn. He said, “Oookaaaaaay” as if I was an idiot. I did not take offense to this as he was one of those loner types (as I am, but with me it’s cool) and was as socially inept as the white Somalian bus stop girl, which is what brought him to mind to begin with. I mention these things because sometimes we feel socially inadequate, but compared to a lot of people, we are gregarious people persons. Not that I would refer to myself as a people person, but at least I have not decided to claim to be Somalian in some fit of mental instability (God bless her). And that makes me happy.