I don’t really like people.
Okay, that sounds harsh, but I guess when you grow up with only a handful of other people, enjoy quiet activities, surround yourself with people who also do the low-key thing…but then again…I’d kill for New York, I love the hustle and bustle of the mall and I think it’s really neat that there are tons of different stories and paths and memories out there…
I’ve got it; I don’t really like TALKING TO people. I can definitely mill around a store by you or scrunch up next to on the sub, but if our convo goes beyond, “Where’d you get that bag?” or “Please stop pinching my arm,” then I’m probably going to start sweating and stammering.
I did fine in speech classes always come out of interviews on top. And my parents’ friends always used to marvel at how maturely I could chit-chat with them.
It’s all an act, though. Fake it ’til you make it. As long as they can’t hear your heart pounding and feel your clammy palms, you’re golden.
Now, however, my job forces me to do customer service, which means I must answer a phone and take orders and help these strangers figure out their lives (or at least figure out which Bloom product they want).
After my first call, my boss looked at my face and was laughing. He said I sounded fine, though. Yay, again, for apparently glorious acting.
Later on in the job, I had to run to the bank for him once. So I’m strolling though downtown Austin – something I do NOT do enough (There IS more to DT ATX than just Sixth?!) – with all these other young, successful people, and I realized as I was talking to the bank teller that a.I wasn’t nervous and b.I really liked my present situation.
Rewind two years back: I needed a distraction in life, so I randomly decided to start volunteering at a hospice. I have no idea how this happened or why I thought it’d be a good thing, but this is where I met Homer.
I was paired with several people that semester, but my last one was Homer. The first day we met, I had just found out I would be interning in NYC for the summer, so he told me stories of traveling overseas when he served in the Army and of all his vacations with his wife. While Homer was wild and crazy, even at the age of 73, his wife was more reserved and laid-back, and I remember him telling me she particularly didn’t care for the busy Big Apple – especially the subway system.
When I finally reached the city, I thought of her on my commute to work sometimes. Then, one day at work, the company I had been volunteering through – Angel Heart Hospice - called and told me that Homer had passed away. Though I only visited with him once a week for a little over a month, I still cried for that man and for his gentle wife.
So, the moral of the story is that I guess I do like people!
The thing is, maybe I’m just picky, and I’ll only admit and accept and not completely freak out if I’m good with the circumstance.
Or maybe my insecurities will always cause me to freak out…but maybe I’ve also been lucky enough to be paired with awesome companions (of all types) and bosses and classmates…So, thanks!:)<3
tight thursday shows how much i admire my loved ones