Review Mode: Sorry That I’m the Friend Who Was There for That
If two people are about to have an interaction that could get awkward, my presence certainly isn’t going to help.
Welcome to Review Mode, a biweekly newsletter where I mark up my social interactions, mining my, like, medical-grade self-monitoring for your reading pleasure.
In uncomfortable conversations, I’m not much of a buffer. Really, I’m more of an awkwardness amplifier.
I was recently at a barbecue with a bunch of friends from college. I was catching up with this guy Harry, who I really like. Sweet guy. We’re the kinds of friends where, if we happen to run into each other while something’s going on in either of our lives, we’ll be totally open about it, but neither of us is going out of our way to keep the other updated.
A few months ago, Harry broke up with another member of this same college friend group, Simon, a fact I only knew from Simon’s overshare-y Bluesky presence.
I had no intentions of asking Harry about the breakup, since I know those kinds of conversations can get tricky when everyone knows each other. I figured I’d let Harry decide whether/how we talked about it.
The decision was taken out of his hands.
About five minutes into our conversation, Simon, who had just come in, approached us.
“Hey,” Simon said a little shyly, mostly to Harry. “I figured I’d come over here and say hi, so it wouldn’t be awkward.”
I looked at Harry to get a read on him, to see what he might need from me, but I don’t know him well enough to really get a sense.
If I’d been talking to Simon first and Harry had approached us, I would’ve done the same for Simon. I know the two of them about equally well, so my loyalties were purely a matter of circumstance.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Harry replied with a chipper-ness that sounded forced, but what do I know?
“Not bad,” Simon said, looking more at the plate in Harry’s hands than at either of us. “So uhh you went the hot dog route rather than burger?”
“Yep,” Harry said.
Then the conversation just kinda sat there.
Say something, Carson, I thought. Ask Simon about what grilled meat he’s gonna get. Ask him how he feels about hot dogs. Condiments, maybe — the possibilities are endless. Anything. Just get in there.
I didn’t say anything.
Finally, Simon said, “Clearly the inferior meat.”
“Well, I like hot dogs,” Harry said.
Simon laughed uncomfortably.
Oh god.
I mean, I got what Simon was trying to do, I think. Taking a bold stance on something totally unimportant to keep the conversation moving in a low-stakes way. But somehow it ended up all combative.
Or maybe there were other dynamics at play here that I didn’t know about. Like, maybe Simon always had to have some kind of opinion on Harry’s choices, and Harry was sick of it, or something.
Who knows what happens between two people? For all I know, Harry killed Simon’s pet bunny by feeding it hot dogs. Or maybe Simon’s mother was a hamburger.
You’ve gone too long without saying anything, Carson. Get in there. You’re not the one who has any reason to be awkward here.
Joke’s on me — I never need a reason to be awkward. Still, I figured I’d give normal human conversation a shot.
“I feel like there are hot dog days and hamburger days for me,” I tried. “Depends what kind of mood I’m in.”
Smooth, Carson. Stay on this hot-dogs-versus-hamburgers thing — that’ll help.
Also, very subtle. At that point, you may as well have just said, I’m not taking sides here. Please both of you still like me.
“Oh?” Simon said. “What’s a hot dog mood?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe it’s just a matter of how hungry I am.”
Not much to say to that either.
Another moment of dead air between the three of us.
“Oh, I think Emily just got here,” said Simon. “I should go say hi.”
Ughhhhhhh.
I feel like I had a pretty straightforward job there, and I botched it pretty bad.
I was supposed to be the buffer. I’m a neutral party who’s friends but not close friends with both of them. All I had to do was be normal to them. Little did they know, being normal is the thing I’m worst at in the world. Kidding — they both totally know that.
“You okay?” I asked Harry after Simon had left.
“I’m alright,” said Harry. “Sorry you had to be there for that.”
“I’m sorry for you that I was the one who was there for that.”
Harry shrugged and sighed, then looked at me for a second.
Then he said, “You’re not going to write about this in your Substack, are you?”1
The Lesson That I Should but Probably Won’t Learn from This: There are times in this life when you’ve just gotta talk to fill space. When your job is to say random bullshit. Doesn’t need to be interesting or insightful. Surely you can muster up some thoughts about relish.
Carson’s Life Updates
Show in Portland, ME on 8/17 — tix here.
After 10 months of this little plant (the only plant I own) refusing to die no matter how much I neglected it, I’ve finally accepted that it’s alive and put it in a real pot (not pictured). Learning a lot about my parenting style.
I just learned how to crochet, and it’s giving me gender dysphoria.
The Boilerplate
Carson Olshansky (still they/them, despite the haters) is a Brooklyn-based comedian and writer. You can follow them at @carsonolshansky on Instagram and TikTok and at @carson-olshansky on YouTube.
I don’t mean to misrepresent my social circle as being full of people who know or care that I have a Substack. Harry just happens to be one of the few. I’m quite aware that even my closest friends could not be less interested.
