There aren't many occurrences that I look back on and then hang my head in total embarrassment.
I'm sure awkward things happen around me daily, but they tend to go unnoticed.
I'm pretty comfortable in my skin, therefore I (almost) never regret the things I say or do. So, causing social discomfort for anyone is not something that happens purposefully.
While everyone occasionally copes with uneasiness and loosens their collars to let the steam out, I sit unaware of why eyes are so big and mouths are so wide.
Maybe I'm that person that causes the awkwardness.
Whatever the case, there is one instance that's never void of awkwardness, despite my efforts to save face and remain confident.
Whenever I see someone in person that follows me on social media it is always a painfully odd moment.
Last week, I finally decided to be productive and get a long-delayed oil change.
I walked into the shop, snacks and beverage in hand, ready to take on the boring afternoon.
While speaking to the receptionist, I couldn't help but notice a small figure way back in the lobby, extending his neck to peer over the head of an old man sitting next to him. He was trying to get a better glimpse of me.
Having no idea who this creep was, I dusted my face off because clearly there were bagel bits plastered around my mouth from breakfast.
I didn't recognize him at first. But as I trekked to the waiting area his features appeared more and more familiar.
It was a guy I "knew" from Instagram, where I exist at instagram.com/superzeehi.
I'd never met him in person, so I didn't know whether to smile, wave, speak or high-five.
I also was unsure if I should have referred to him by his real name, which I only knew because others posted it under his pictures, or if I should have used his @name.
I'm sure hollering out his online alias would have intensified the already cumbersome scene.
It was mostly agonizing because he's one of those belligerent people who posts something every hour of every day of every week. He refuses to give his followers a break.
I can even remember searching for him so that I could hit the unfollow button. I was just tired of refreshing my timeline and seeing his face there, like Instagram personally endorsed him.
Luckily for him, he had changed his user name so I couldn't get rid of him just yet.
As I sat quietly, two chairs away, I opted out of speaking and faced forward, trying my best not to turn in his direction.
I could feel the hairs on the side of my face stand up as his laser-sharp eyes focused undeviatingly on me.
It amazes me how people can flirt, laugh and argue with almost anyone online, but face-to-face-interaction with that same acquaintance leads to hesitance, like they'd never met before.
Meeting someone on a social network is an introduction, but it's almost like people separate their online selves from their human presence.
On social networks, you can be whoever you want. You can fool people into thinking you're rich, with a closet full of couture pieces. You can even have people think that you drive a Benz when your Honda is parked in the driveway.
In person, you're forced to be more of your true self.
I've met popular people online who in real life are introverts who can barely hold a conversation.
Virtual friendships and followerships — someone remind me to copyright that word — mean absolutely nothing.
"Friends" is the wrong word to use in reference to the people who track your social moves. Stalker is a much better word.
Seeing, "Zahara, you have 5 new stalker requests," is much more realistic to me.
In the meantime, I'll continue to play the silent game with my hundreds of friends who have added unprecedented awkwardness to my life.
Zahara Johnson's column appears regularly in b.