April 21st - Social Anxiety
Social Anxiety
What kind of thing do you wear to a thing like this? It's not about fitting in, but a certain amount of blending in would make the conversation a little more comfortable, more approachable. What kind of questions would I have to answer? A little bit of research would give me a better foundation to start from. "But no," I answered myself, "armed with just a few flat facts, I'd likely just corner myself into being a thinly veiled charlatan, easy to root out." I'd look like a fool, pretending my way through it, better to show my awful cards and take all the advice I can get. It's so easy to fool people though. You can fool people for years. Tempting, but ultimately self-defeating. A drink would help, but it also wouldn't, so I won't. I should put on some deodorant. It's amazing how not smelling bad can really make a difference. "Well, I suppose." I guess I'm ready, but I still have a half hour before I can leave. Being early is definitely not a good idea. A half an hour is a really long time to anticipate being nervous. I hate these things. Everybody starts talking to you like you have the answers already and you can either nod along or you have to point out right away that, actually, when it comes to this, I don't know a damned thing. But YOU have to point it out. No one ever assumes that you didn't pick up these specifics along the way, but why would I have? Everything requires some past experience to gain some level of proficiency. They don't know me, so why do they assume that I'll know what we're talking about? I suppose they're just trying to be polite. No one likes being treated like an idiot. Maybe I should try to break the ice by saying something really goofy like, "hulloooo," really holding onto the "oooooo" until its clearly uncomfortable, but do it with a big 'ol smile that says, "you're with a friend," maybe give people that really off-guard handshake where you grab their thumb when they extend their hand so you're in an arm wrestling kind of thing and pull them into a shoulder bump, pat 'em on the back with the other hand. Instead of even trying to remember names, I should just give them random names that better fit their faces and stick to 'em. That'd be funny. I wonder how many would correct me? You meet a guy once in a while named something corny like "Grayson" or "River" or something, and you gotta wonder whether their parents know that they really have a "Glenn" or a "Jon" on their hands, a "Jon" without the "h." They're definitely an h-less Jon. But I suppose it's the first thing that every parent gets to get wrong. Plenty more failings to come. If I did all that, well, then they'd know who they were dealing with - anything smart that came out of my mouth would be surprising and impressive. Calling people "Marty" and shit and being a bro about handshakes, even with the women. Still fifteen more minutes before this "get-together." It's not a get-together or social function, it's a meeting, or it's like an intervention where no one has a real problem. Why call it a "get-together?" I should have been cleaning that sink instead of just sitting here. I've been meaning to for days. Still could probably. Wouldn't take me more than a few minutes. But then again, I gotta watch the time, not get distracted. Is this the right shirt, did I overdo it? I look nice, but if they're sloppy or something, they'll think I feel superior or something. Maybe I'll wear that shirt that's nice, but old. I'll look like a guy that's trying to look nice but doesn't really think about it much and can't afford to look too nice. That'd be more approachable. "I'm just a guy, same as you, thinking about the same kind of stuff, a guy that likes boobs and red meat and I don't know, like pancakes." I'm gonna make my expression as I walk in the door exude "guy who likes pancakes and maple syrup." Everybody relates with that guy and doesn't expect too much. Everybody just wants to drink beer and talk about lawn fertilizer and politics and I don't know, like where you're from and how'd you get here, and when you answer with the most cursory details, they rub their chins and say, "really?! I know a guy from there. You know Larry Martin?" And they're so disappointed when you don't, it's like playing the lottery with a real emotional expectation to win. Seems like people used to talk about TV more. I wonder if there will be coffee there? I feel tired. It's kinda late for coffee though. Why do I feel like I should know what I'm doing? It's not like h-less Jon was born knowing this stuff. You just learn by doing. So, good for me for trying. I'll get smarter through the process. Why don't I ever just let someone else do it? I blame my parents. I complained to my mom once, "I wish that dad had taught me any of this stuff," and she answered, "he taught you, by example, that you could figure it out for yourself." He always seemed so confident though. But, come to think of it, that's probably why he swore so much. He probably didn't know what the hell he was doing either. I'd call him for advice, but he'd only pretend to know, better to call mom and have her hear me bitch and say something like "I know, honey," and "I love you." That's not advice, but it would be better - a vote of confidence. So, I suppose I'll just stand there and try to look smart but not too smart, do my best to field questions like a tennis player, but do it honestly, and hopefully I start to catch on and it becomes easier. That's the way of it. At the very least, it'll be something new. I'm gonna change my shirt quick. I should have eaten dinner. They always have cookies at these things, but as soon as you take a bite, someone slides in like they've got oily shoes and asks a question and then you're spitting peanut butter sugar cookie bits as you try to answer. Your mouth is so dry and you're both just standing there smiling at each other, a really unpleasant, competitive kind of smile, just seeing whose face will twitch first. Even if you don't want a cookie, you have to hold a cookie. You have to hold it gently in one of those church basement napkins that's thicker for some reason than any other napkins. They're like special ordered for these events and there's broguing along the edges in like doily patterns and they're stiffer too so that, if you actually wipe your mouth with it, it feels mildly unpleasant - subliminally bad - and Stacy or whoever is watching you not enjoying wiping your mouth and she, with her toothy smile, is waiting for you to answer her question about what you do "besides this, of course." I could just not go, tell them later that I was feeling under-the-weather, but they have you on their list now. If you don't go, there will be phone calls and emails. It won't be quick. You'll have to hear perspectives. Lots of different perspectives. And notions. There will be notions and translations of what people were really thinking when they said the things they said but wanted to say other things. "What I heard is..." Better to reinterpret for yourself. These pants aren't right for this shirt. Too much blue going on. Why do I own only black, gray, white, and blue clothing? Is that who I really am? "Well, I suppose..." Time to go. I shouldn't have eaten that egg-salad sandwich for lunch. It was good though.