Lindsey Tries: Introvert Day

The beginning of Introvert Day. Look at how happy I was. I had no idea what was coming. 

Last week, I decided I needed an “Introvert Day.” After work had a massive giveaway on Saturday (meaning we were inundated with customers), and other employees started paying attention to some little things I do to make my shift more fun*, I wanted some time alone. This is probably a good time to explain in addition to being an introvert, I also have massive social anxiety, which is triggered by feelings of standing out. You would think that I would do everything I can to blend in, but my brain doesn’t follow that logic. I continue to draw cats on bank sheets, but get super embarrassed when an employee exclaims “She drew a cat for me! Look!”

The plan for Introvert Day was to finish an errand, grab some lunch, then spend the afternoon at Ulta (makeup store), Target (another store), and finish with dinner. I figured the errand would be the hardest part of the day, because it would be the only time would I HAVE to interact with people. As soon as that ended, I could go on my merry way and blissfully spend the day in my own head.

When I finished my errand, I found a Chipotle for lunch, and sat down with my favorite meal--steak burrito bowl with a tortilla**, extra rice, and guac. Pretty much as soon as I sat down, I noticed a kid staring at me. Hard. He was probably around three, six, ten, I don't know how to tell ages--and in a fifteen minute period, he did not turn his head once. I was like some animal he had never seen before. I wanted to switch tables, but he and his family were black, and I was worried if they saw me moving away from them, they would think it was a race thing, rather than what it actually was--their son was paying attention to me and making it hard to enjoy my burrito over the taste of anxiety.

Luckily the family left about five minutes later and I was able to finish off my burrito exactly how I wanted to--with NO ONE PAYING ANY ATTENTION TO ME. I headed off to Ulta, ready to silently swatch every matte lipstick in the store until I would ultimately decide to read the reviews online at home before I purchase any of them.***

This Ulta seemed, though, like their employees just came back from a Customer Interaction Conference or something, though, because every damn employee in the place talked to me. Multiple times. I understand that talking to customers is important in preventing theft, but daaaaaaaaaaaamn Ulta. I’m not going to steal, and I’m not an extrovert. So please, leave me alone. Yes, I am finding everything I’m looking for. No, I don’t need any help, thank you. Yes, I am still doing alright--even moreso than when another employee asked me TWO SHELVES AGO.

I started to feel like I needed another Introvert Day for this Introvert Day, and left to go to Target where no one would talk to me and self-checkouts would guarantee I wouldn’t have to interact with anyone. And that’s exactly what happened. It was glorious, and I loved it, and realized I should consider renaming Introvert Day to Antisocial Day.

Even though I wasn’t very hungry, grabbing dinner was the last thing on my list of Introvert Day activities, so I started driving and decided on this bar I knew had sweet potato fries. Spotted Cow beer and sweet potato fries, I thought. Sounds perfect..

As soon as I opened the door, I was in shock of how busy the place was. It was a Tuesday, during summer, in a college town. What all these people were doing there, I have no idea. But I didn’t see any open bar stools, so I waited for the hostess to come. Surely she would be able to find one, and I could sit with my back to everyone and draw no attention to myself, thus finishing a semi-successful Introvert Day.

“Just me!” I replied when the hostess asked “How many?” And then she turned and started walking away. Away from the bar. Away from all the barstools where I could blend in and no one would look at me and I could eat sweet potato fries and drink one beer and then sit there for another two hours eating more sweet potato fries while I wait for the alcohol to wear off so I’d be okay to drive. That’s all I wanted. A precious little bar stool.

And then I saw it. A table, with one chair, in the dead center of the place. Obviously meant for four people, this table only had one chair left. The hostess explained all the other chairs had been moved to other tables (like I said--they were busy), and laid my menu on the table. I froze. I thought about telling her I was uncomfortable sitting BY MYSELF at a TABLE in a CROWDED RESTAURANT, that I don’t want to draw attention to myself and just want to sit at the bar. But telling her that required drawing attention to myself because it needed more than the Minimum Required Interactions. She would probably have to move a chair to the bar, and that would draw attention to myself. Even thinking about telling her was hard. Sitting was easier. Sitting was the Expected Customer Response. So I sat.

And then I realized I, Lindsey, who has massive social anxiety and fears drawing attention to myself, was sitting alone. In a crowded restaurant/bar. At a table in the dead center of the room. Where everyone could see me. I grabbed my phone and opened the list of “Bars and their Wifi Passwords” I made a few months ago. This bar was on it. Yessssssssss.

And after the waitress brought over my beer and I had a chance to look over the menu, I realized they didn’t have sweet potato fries anymore. She also waited until that moment to tell me there was a 45-minute wait for food, because they were so busy. I wanted to leave and find a bar that DID have sweet potato fries, but leaving a bar when there’s a full drink on the table wasn’t the Expected Customer Response, and not following protocol would draw attention to myself. Staying seated was easier. So I stayed.

I ended up eating whole meal, alone in the middle of a crowded bar/restaurant, all because the anxiety of people looking at me as I got up to leave was worse than the anxiety I had staying at my table.

Anxiety is weird sometimes.
Thank goodness they had wifi.

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*I like to make puns on the text portions of paperwork, and draw “appreciative cats” whenever another employee helps me with something in the paperwork margins. I am slowly branching out into other “appreciative animals,” but turtles are hard and cats are totally my comfort zone.

**Literally just an unrolled burrito, but this way I can CHOOSE when to eat massive bites of tortilla, rather than having it spaced out with every bite.

***I put lip colors on my forearm to see how the color looks against my skin tone. I would never actually put testers on my face. Ew.

Lindsey Tries (Again): Going to a Bar

During one of the last weekends of the semester, I called up a friend and asked if he wanted to grab a beer. He replied that he had already planned on going to a bar later for pool and drinks, and I was welcome to join him. I don’t play pool well (true story: a guy once tried to let me win, but ultimately gave up after 40 minutes of me not getting a single ball in a hole).

Two hours of “Oh em gee I'm so excited I have plaaaaaaaaaaans!!” later, I arrived at the bar and grabbed a drink while he and a friend of his tried to lay claims on the pool table. Almost instantly, I ran out of things to talk about, and began to peoplewatch. A team of two guys playing beer pong caught my attention.

“DO YOU THINK THEY’RE GAY?” I tried to whisper-yell to my friend over the bar noise, nodding to the two guys. They were obviously close, and both were attractive. If they were together, they were adorable.

Minutes passed, and my friend had now begun to play pool, but my eyes stayed on the cute male couple, trying to decipher their body language. I like to think I’m quite good at reading situations, but those skills vanish when the person’s had a few. I kept watching them, and decided they probably weren’t gay—they hadn’t shown any affection other than typical “bro” fist bumps, and they were playing against two very pretty girls.

When I had finished my drink and my friend began another game of pool, I strutted past the beer pong guys, who had just finished their game. One of them leaned over and asked if I wanted to play them next. I’m terrible at bar games, so I said no, and we began to talk about bar games we were good at. A few minutes later it was me and the beer pong guy talking at a table, while his friend sat with us too drunk to make conversation. We must have been sitting there for a while, because my friend came over no less than twice to subtly try and see if I needed to be rescued. I declined both times—these guys were super attractive. And nice. And the one was wearing this captivating shirt with pineapples on it.

Through my conversations with the lesser drunk Beer Pong Guy, I found out that he was not gay, and worked as a DJ at the same bar where my parents met. “NO WAY!” I yelled. “MY PARENTS MET THERE. MY DAD WAS THE DJ. NO. WAY.” (I get a little repetitive when I drink.)

Considering my parents met in the bar where he works, I was pretty much the 2015 version of My Mom, and my #1 goal instantly became to learn everything about this guy, who was basically the 21st century version of my dad. I mean, can you imagine if we dated? We would be a damn near carbon copy of my parents 25 years ago. I tried to focus my energy on listening rather than on his pineapple shirt's hypnotic powers.

A little while later, he decided he needed to take his beer pong partner home, and we exchanged numbers. We started texting nearly immediately, and kept on through the night. When I left town for a music festival the next morning, the hourlong drive felt much longer without the constant back and forth of Office references and random banter. It made my day every time I checked my phone to see one (or often two!) unread messages from him. Since I was constantly running from venue to venue or enjoying a concert, it was almost effortless to play that I-have-to-wait-a-certain-amount-of-time-to-text-back-or-I'll-seem-desperate-and-he'll-lose-interest-but-not-TOO-long-or-he'll-think-I'm-not-interested-at-all game we all play when texting someone new.

“Can we be Facebook friends?” he texted the last night of the festival. I knew this conversation was coming—I’ve been facebook free for 3-ish years but forget that literallyeveryotherpersonontheplanet is still on Facebook. I told him I wasn’t on Facebook, and explained why.

He replied saying, “Really? I can’t imagine not being on Facebook.” and I could feel something shift. After I replied saying "Yeah, I miss it sometimes but not enough to go back," he didn't immediately reply like usual. I wondered if something was up.

And something was up, because that was the last text I got from him. After three unreplied-to texts and three viewed-but-unreturned Snapchats, I stopped trying. This guy may be the 2015 version of my dad, but it looks like the 2015 version of my mom needs to be on Facebook.