We study humanity like a zoo exhibit, but with love.
There’s a special kind of panic that hits the human brain the moment you step into public and remember you’re supposed to “act normal.” Whatever that means.
Because let’s be honest — nobody knows what “normal” looks like. We’re all just freestyling adulthood like it’s improv night and the audience is judging our every move.
And the funniest part? The harder you try to act normal, the weirder you get. It’s science. Probably.
The Walk‑In: Where Everything Goes Wrong Immediately
You ever walk into a store and suddenly forget how walking works?
Your legs are like, “Boss, we’ve been doing this for decades… but now that people are watching, we’re shutting the whole operation down.”
Suddenly you’re overthinking every step like you’re auditioning for a role called “Human #3.”
Do I walk too fast? Too slow? Do my arms swing weird? Why do my feet sound so loud? Why am I breathing like I’m manually operating my lungs?
Congratulations — you’ve entered Public Mode, where your brain becomes a malfunctioning robot.
The Eye Contact Olympics
Nothing exposes your social awkwardness like trying to figure out when to make eye contact.
Too early? Creepy.
Too late? Suspicious.
Too long? Now you’re a threat.
Not at all? Now you’re rude.
So you end up doing that quick half‑second glance that says, “I acknowledge your existence but please don’t talk to me, I’m barely holding it together.”
And then you immediately look away like you just stared into the sun.
The Fake Phone Check
This is the universal move.
You’re walking past someone, or waiting in line, or trying to avoid small talk — and boom, you pull out your phone like it’s a shield.
You’re not checking anything. You’re not texting anyone. You’re not even unlocking the screen.
You’re just pretending to scroll like a raccoon pretending to read a menu.
It’s the modern version of “don’t perceive me.”
The “Don’t Trip” Prayer
Every hallway, every sidewalk, every aisle becomes a runway of potential humiliation.
One wrong step and you’re the main character of a story you never wanted to star in.
You’re walking like, “Please don’t trip. Please don’t trip. Please don’t—”
And then your shoe catches air, your ankle does a little salsa move, and you pretend it was totally intentional.
You hit them with the “I meant to do that” face.
Nobody believes you.
The Checkout Line Performance
This is where the pressure peaks.
You’re standing there rehearsing your lines like you’re about to perform Shakespeare.
“Hi.”
“Just this.”
“No bag.”
“Yes, card.”
“No, I don’t want to donate today, I’m barely donating to myself.”
Then the moment arrives and your brain betrays you.
They say, “Have a good one,” and you respond,
“You too— I mean, you as well— I mean, thanks— I mean, bye— I mean, I love you.”
You walk out immediately questioning your entire existence.
The Door Dilemma
Holding the door for someone is a social puzzle with no correct answer.
If they’re too far, you look weird for waiting.
If they’re too close, you look rude for not waiting.
If they speed up, now they’re stressed.
If they slow down, now you’re stressed.
And then there’s the worst scenario:
You both reach the door at the same time and do that awkward “you go— no you go— no YOU go” dance like two polite NPCs glitching.
The “Act Natural” Curse
Nothing makes you act unnatural faster than someone telling you to “act natural.”
Suddenly you’re posing like a malfunctioning mannequin.
Your smile looks like you’re being held hostage.
Your hands don’t know where to go.
Your posture becomes a crime.
You’re thinking, “What do humans do with their arms? Why do I have so many fingers? Why is my face doing that?”
The Elevator Situation
The elevator is the most socially cursed environment on Earth.
Everyone stands there pretending the floor numbers are the most fascinating thing they’ve ever seen.
Nobody talks.
Nobody moves.
Nobody breathes too loud.
You’re just silently praying the elevator doesn’t stop on every floor because you can only handle so much awkwardness before you ascend spiritually.
The “Did They See That?” Moment
You drop something. Or bump into a shelf. Or walk into a spiderweb that wasn’t there a second ago.
Your first instinct isn’t pain. It’s shame.
You immediately look around like, “Did anyone witness my downfall?”
If someone did, you pretend it didn’t happen.
If no one did, you still feel embarrassed because your brain is committed to the bit.
The Grand Conclusion: Nobody Knows What They’re Doing
Here’s the truth bomb:
Everyone is weird.
Everyone is awkward.
Everyone is pretending.
The people who look confident? They’re just better at hiding the chaos.
Acting normal is the biggest scam of adulthood. We’re all improvising. We’re all overthinking. We’re all one awkward moment away from deleting our entire personality and starting over.
So next time you’re out in public trying to “act normal,” remember:
Normal doesn’t exist.
Awkward is universal.
Awkward is human.
Awkward is us.