Lying is a choice. A choice that I have never been very good at making. My lies do not affect anyone but myself, and the only effect it has on me is pure shock of the way my mind works. I panic lie. This happens when I’m asked a question and, for some unknown reason, believe the answer will get me in trouble. These lies are neither better nor worse than the truth. In fact, they are almost always boringly comparable. For example:
Random individual in place of power: “did you bring a jacket?”
Me (panicked): “yes, but it’s in my car” when in reality it is in the bag I’m carrying.
This started in high school and I think stems from the fact that high school was the first time I was actually doing anything against the rules. I was part of a group that wore a “Muck Fullen” shirt to show school pride at the football game against our Catholic high school rival, Mullen. I got a curfew ticket because I was TPing a house with my basketball team. Oddly enough, this was our annual team bonding activity when the Varsity team TPs the JV team. This made it even harder to explain to the cops why we were TPing the house of a girl who had just transferred schools. High school was the first time in my life I had legitimate reasons to lie. Unfortunately I still hadn’t fine-tuned what to lie about. I have traced this problem to the fact that my brain can’t process whether my truth is against the rules quickly enough to know whether I need to lie. Which only leads me to lie about incredibly unimportant things.
In high school I would come home from a night out with my friends. And naturally my mom would ask what I did. I would find myself flustered. My mind would take on two forms; a logical, honest side and a guilty rebel side trying to outwit the parents.
The rebel would caution me to think my answer through: Wait. Think about this first, Anna. Did you do something wrong? Does she know and is trying to trick you? The logical side would counter the rebel and point out the boring and completely acceptable truth: You just watched a movie at a friend’s house, you didn’t do anything wrong. But the rebel would always come through with an undeniably good point: Oh, really, Anna? You think she’s going to buy that?
I had to say something that would keep me in the clear, and in the midst of the chaos going on in my mind, I blurted out, “We went bowling!” A blatant lie to cover up the fact I innocently watched "Mean Girls". Of course then I would have to give details. And by details I do mean more lies. What is an average score of bowling? 90? 150? It turns into a real disaster real quick.
Yes, it was those types of things I chose to lie about. Not important things like the beer my dad found on our back porch/basement/garage. Luckily the only punishment for that was advice to drink better beer. Sorry, Keystone Light.
I truly thought I had outgrown “panic lying” but this habit reared its ugly head just a few weeks ago. I stopped by Starbucks on my way to my nannying job and because I don’t drink coffee and, apparently, am 5 years old, I ordered a hot chocolate. It was sitting on the table as the mom was leaving for work, she noticed my cup and asked what my usual Starbucks drink was. Of course I panicked.
I remembered the very first day we had met she revealed that she and her husband didn’t drink soda (I casually nodded without actually agreeing because an ice cold Coke is one of my favorite things on earth. Get out of here, Pepsi). I knew I didn’t want to seem like a caffeine freak, which I wasn’t because it was hot chocolate. BUT I also didn’t want to be honest and seem immature. What kind of nanny drinks the same thing a 2 year-old would order? A nanny unfit to care for your child, that's who. So I answered, “oh I don’t drink coffee soo…” I was pleased that I averted the question with grace. But then she said “neither do we…” leaving an opening for me to explain myself. “Umm, it’s a vanilla steamer!” I lied. A vanilla steamer? I thought to myself.
The logical and rebel sides in my mind were in agreement. That doesn’t make you seem any more mature than a hot chocolate would. The rebel adding, yup. You’re a dumbass.
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