Without a Parachute

People Anxiety... The beginning.

As kids, introverts are labeled as shy. They need to speak up more in class (how much did I hate hearing that?) And I always had a little anxiety mixed in with the introversion, which did not help my social standing in schools.

The first incident I remember came from either kindergarten or first grade. My mom had given me a envelope of money to turn into the teacher. I'm not sure what it was for, but I remember it consisted of a lot of change. Possibly a fee of some sort.

I waited for the teacher to ask us to turn in the money, but she never did. Just like that, my window of opportunity slammed shut. There was no way I was voluntarily asking the teacher where to put the money so I kept the money to myself. This probably would've been fine if it wasn't parachute day in gym. Does anyone remember parachute day??? It was the best. I'm not even sure why. I just know it was magic when that parachute would fly above our our heads and we would duck under. Like a giant kid filled apple turnover.

I can no longer remember how it happened, but it was during the time where we all were holding the parachute. The envelope just burst open and change flew from my pocket and landed on the parachute. Silver and copper coins jumped and bounced on the parachute as we flapped it up and down.

The teacher was flabbergasted. Where did the money come from? But I wouldn't...couldn't...say. I kept my mouth shut. I'm sure the rest of the my classmates were confused too. Maybe they still remember the day the parachute started crapping out money!

After that, it's a blur. I'm pretty sure I eventually got in trouble because the teacher told my mom I didn't turn in my money and my mom swore she gave it to me. But that part was less important and less embarrassing. The memory that sticks out is the anxiety I felt knowing I needed to turn that money in. Then realizing I was the one that made money fly on that parachute. Knowing I would never say a word.

At least it didn't ruin my love of the parachute. But it was just the beginning of a long line of stupid decisions ruled by anxiety that followed me throughout my life and all my jobs.

There are more incidents. There always are... Stay tuned.

Full Service

Another day in a life of an introvert...

This morning I was driving to work when I realized there was a big smear mark in my windshield. Like some crazy blonde tried wiping the window off with her hand.

The sun is usually rising when I leave the house so it's impossible for me to see through this smudge. It looks like I'll have to stop at the gas station to clean the inside of my window.

Pulling into Wawa, the only pump available is the one that has both diesel and unleaded fuel. I don't like this one because I know it's the only one that diesel drivers can use. But I'm only planning on topping off my tank since I hate using the window cleaner without getting gas and I still have a half a tank.

I pull up thinking I will get this done quickly and as soon as I get out of my car, a big diesel pickup pulls up behind, waiting for the pump.

Suddenly it's like I'm on some gas pumping stage where everyone is watching me. I'm also pissed because there is an empty diesel pump on the other side that he is too cool to use. I guess he had to be on the outside pump! More room to thrust his manly muscles around.

(I'm also assuming he's a man since I never really looked directly at the driver. I apologize for the stereotype. But in my town, mostly men drive the big honking diesel trucks).

So there I am suddenly harassed while the truck sits there, its engine chugging away. When I go to put gas in my car, I realize I'm way too close to the pump. That means I'm forced to sidle to and from the pump to my gas tank. Also, the window wiper fluid/trash can thingie the gas station provides is too far away. Almost at the truck, which is still waiting. At this point, I'm so flustered I don't want them to see me clean my car windshield, lest they think I'm taking my time while they wait. So I sidle back to my car and into the driver's seat, pouting the whole way. Like all of this pressure isn't ALL IN MY HEAD.

I end up pulling away without cleaning my windshield. I even forget to tell the pump whether I want a receipt or not! A voice inside of me--I'm pretty sure it was coming from the smear mark--is like, "What is wrong with you? Don't be such a wuss. You NEED to clean your windshield."

I end up pulling into the last pump on the other side of the gas station. (Do you think I'm crazy yet?) But the squeegee is not in the fluid. It's been taken by the lady on the other side, who is apparently detailing her car at the gas pump. She even has her windshield wipers up while she meticulously wipes every mark off. Annoyed, I pull out a paper towel from the dispenser and dip it into the fluid. It will have to do!

Of course the whole time I'm paranoid someone will come out and be like, "You didn't buy gas here! Give back that teaspoon of window cleaner!"

And I will be like, "I did buy gas! I have a receipt--oh...wait...yeah... Those guys might have my receipt!"

All of this probably happened within a space of 10 minutes, but it was very stressful. What is it about me that makes me so freaking anxious to do the simple things? Why couldn't I be like, "I was here first and I have a right to use this pump AND clean my windows. Maybe even meticulously like the woman way over there."

But no, I'm scurrying around like some mouse scared they were going to be like, "HEY LADY! We have get on the job some time today! You are too much of a wimp to handle the diesel pump!"

The wet paper towel does work and I get work smudge free. But sometimes I wonder how I've managed to make it these 42 years with this kind of crazy inside me. It really is a miracle.