When I Was Sixteen, I Felt Deep Shame Ordering a Milkshake
When I was Sixteen, I visited California for the first time. As a longtime fast food aficionado, I knew I had to make a pilgrimage to the legendary burger chain In-N-Out. However, being an In-N-Out virgin, I made a mortifying ordering mistake that still haunts me to this day.
I walked up to the counter, ready to finally taste the famous burgers I'd heard so much about. As I glanced up at the menu board, a milkshake caught my eye. A classic trifecta of strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla ice cream. My mouth watered. I stepped up and confidently said, "I'll take a Metropoliton shake please."
The cashier looked at me puzzled. "You mean Neapolitan?"
My cheeks burned bright red. All I could sputter out was a meek "Uh, yeah." I grabbed my food and shuffled away, wanting to disappear into my oversized hoodie like a turtle retreating into its shell.
That single moment of utter mortification was seared into my memory. For weeks, I'd randomly relive it and cringe at my foolish blunder. I imagined the employees laughing about "that anxious little girl who ordered a Neapolitan milkshake." It felt like an embarrassing secret that all of In-N-Out-goers, no, all of California now knew.
The mundane truth is, customers, cashiers, and most everyone else likely forgot my face the minute me and my milkshake walked out the door.
Our deepest shame is often not as big of a deal to others as it feels to us at the moment. I may wince when this memory occasionally resurfaces, but I know it's an irrational embarrassment rooted in insecurity, not an actual reflection of me. We've all mispronounced menu items. mortification is a part of life. Cringe is essential to the human experience.
As John Green writes in The Anthropocene Reviewed, mortification has a way of sticking with us unlike much else. While memories fade, embarrassments remain vivid.
The minutiae of mortifying moments are burned into our brains, ready to be replayed in technicolor detail at our brain's behest.
Yet our perception is skewed. These moments loom large for us, but often barely register for others. I may cringe recalling that unfortunate millisecond, while those around me at the moment have long forgotten. Still, the feeling recurs. As Green describes, we mentally circumambulate the mortification catalog nightly.
So many of us lay awake, reliving cringe instances on a loop. For me, sometimes my head is on the pillow while my brain is reordering a Neapolitan milkshake - over and over.
Despite the discomfort, maybe remembering helps us grow. I now laugh rather than recoil at my burger joint snafu, embracing it as a shared human experience. We've all been there. With time, even the sharpest sting of embarrassment dulls. We must extend grace to ourselves, knowing we're all fumbling through. The only true mortification would be failing to learn from each foot-in-mouth moment, however excruciating.
The "blooper reel" of mortifications we internally endure feels monumental to us. In reality, they’re often short-lived and forgettable for others there. Dwelling on the unchangeable only harms us. As Green ultimately concludes, while mortification frequently resurfaces, "You shouldn't feel too bad about that one." We're all stumbling through.
