My public life

Common sense says when you put yourself in the public eye, the public eye has a right to narrow and judge (case in point, the Britney Spears VMA fiasco made my public eyes cry from a combination of pity, spite and hilarity).

Ergo, it’s no surprise that what I write is going to create a certain perception of who I am, but I have learned that being judged in such a fashion can, much like Britney’s career, take a turn for the ugly.

Exhibit A
Nearly a year ago, a co-worker told me he met a woman who, bless her heart, wanted me to go on a date with her son. She asked if I was single, he replied, “She just wrote a column about watching shark programs for four days straight — I think she’s available.”

Despite my lack of social life and basic mobility during Shark Week, I was, in fact, in a relationship.

This did not stop the mother from coming to my work and giving me her business card and her son’s phone number, asking me to call him because it was his birthday.

I told her, “Despite my lack of social life and basic mobility during Shark Week, I am, in fact, in a relationship.”

This did not stop the mother, who was actually very sweet, from sending me an e-mail with a picture of her son smiling with his birthday cake — she also wrote that her son was embarrassed by the entire fiasco.

Lesson learned: My columns have the potential to lead others to believe that I enjoy going on blind dates with young men who need their mothers to find them girlfriends.

Exhibit B
I was approached by the coordinator of the Miss Statesville pageant, asking if I would like to join the “scholarship program.”

Lesson learned: My writing indicates that I am a person who enjoys being judged on looks alone (if you want to argue that there is an element of intelligence or “inner beauty” in these competitions, I give you Miss South Carolina’s thrilling performance at the last Miss USA contest, viewable on any computer with an Internet hookup).

Exhibit C
I wrote a column about posing for an art class. First, let me say that I was not nude when I posed, and it was for an art class, not Playboy.

However, this invited inappropriate remarks and red-faced co-workers. I expected that. As the months went by, people forgot about it.

Then my work phone rang a week ago. A gentleman introduced himself and asked if I’d like to go to an open house he and his wife were having on his ranch, apparently because it would be a “good experience”; I assume, for his sake, that he meant it would make a good column.

I said, “What kind of ranch is this again?”

“It’s our nudist colony.”

Click.

Lesson learned: I give off the impression that I enjoy sexual harassment and I am the type of free spirit who wants to let it all hang out.

+ + +

It’s fair to say that the above assumptions aren’t exactly well-founded.

Up until a few nights ago, I thought people had the right to judge me but knew they usually just got the wrong impression.

And that’s when text messaging stepped in to prove that if people assume I’m a complete moron by what I write, they are probably correct.

So, I’m a bit bored on a Tuesday night and I think to myself, “How long has it been since I talked to my buddy Daniel?”

Daniel, a former co-worker, moved away a while ago (I say “a while” because I have no clue how long ago it was, though it was definitely pre-Shark Week).

So I text message Daniel:

“I ain’t no holler back girl.” (A “holler back girl” is loosely defined as a cheerleader, but I just like saying it because it makes me feel like a gangster.)

Daniel: Ur not????

Me: Eh, maybe I am a little bit

(Note: I’m 23 and I text message people things like this. Twenty-three. Little too old, don’t you think?)

Daniel: I got a new phone with no old numbers. Who is this?

Me: Kate Meier

Daniel: What school do you go to?

At this point, it was painfully obvious that I was not conversing with Daniel — who clearly changed his phone number — but likely a prepubescent living somewhere in the 704 area code, who probably took his phone to his mother and asked why the girl talking to him, whose name is Kate Meier, said she was “a little bit” of a holler back girl.

Lesson learned: I’m an idiot who lacks class and sophistication. And I assume that after this incident, I may have to serve some jail time and will find myself in need of that blind date. He can accompany me to the nudist colony after I’m laughed out of the Miss Statesville competition.

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