So, I've had this really deep-rooted anxiety all day for some reason. I don't know what it's all about, but I'm about ready to start calling people to make sure they're still breathing.
It's like that feeling (I don't know if you're particularly familiar with it) right before you're about to go up and give a speech to the class. But, last I checked, I don't think I have to give my report on Louis Joliet for another couple weeks. I think I might have an idea of what it might be, and if that's the case it may go untreated for a while.
See, in my most non-humble opinion, it just seems like a total douchebag jackass type of move. They're there to provide a service to the public, not to stand there and get hit on by every loser who crosses their path. And, you know what? That pretty lady who brought you that plate of pasta, the good-lookin' woman who mixed you an extra stiff drink, the hot chick bagging your groceries: they're all the same person. They're a public servant who offers service with a smile. And they're paid to give you that smile and provide a little pleasant small-talk banter when necessary.
This is my dilemma. That, and the fact that I'm running out of reasons to shop at Saar's Marketplace. Seriously, that place is a dump. If it were a bar, it would make Earls look like a 5-star establishment. See, I've got these convictions, these stupid, God-damned convictions that plead with me constantly. "Don't be that Douchebag Jackass! You're better than that." And then I take a step back and I realize the obvious that's slapping me across the face. I'm NOT better than that. You're talking to a guy who buys three bars of soap for a dollar at the dollar store. I HAVE no standards! I have no shame! But honestly, you can't beat that deal. Three for a dollar, that's just pure SAVINGS.
And with this inner war going on in my brain, there's this cloud-cover looming just inside the horizon. This giant ball of anxiety that will only worsen the longer I put it off. Of course, that blade's sharpened on both ends, though. See, there's the "longer I wait" anxiety, and there's the "I've made up my mind I'm gonna go do it and as I set in motion the course of action the closer the moment comes the worse the anxiety's gonna get" anxiety. And, I know, I know, it's like pulling off a Band Aid. Just rip it off and be done with it. But, you know with me it's never that simple. I need a plan.
If I were a smarter man, I'd find a way to manipulate this girl and trick her into going out with me. But, I'm not a smarter man. Now, it would most likely be fruitless to just walk up there, a complete stranger, and ask her out point blank. Most likely, this would result in rejection but would ease my anxiety. And, I could always go with the course of action that if I pester her enough about it, I'll wear her down. I like to call this the Steve Urkel approach. And, in eight short television seasons, she'll be mine.
Were I a better orator, I'd find a way to smooth talk this girl and find out what her interests are in a way that's not socially awkward and completely uncomfortable for the both of us. But, I'm not a better orator. Golly, if I could only write an eloquent, witty, amusing piece on the benefits of dating me and hand it to her without opening my scum-sucking mouth and not have it be a freaky, creepy scene ...
Here's the thing. When I'm around people I don't know, I speak only out of necessity (incidently, when I'm around people I'm quite familiar with, you can't shut me up as I'm bringing up inanity after loud, booming inanity). Really, I'm not gonna be able to change that overnight. I don't think my Fairy Godmother has the kind of powers to change me from a Stammering Introvert to a Debonaire Socialite. Damn my pumpkin-less hide! OK, so really I just gotta work with what I got.
Hmm, what do I got? Well, I have a story-teller's mentality. So, I can ponder (are you pondering what I'm pondering?) all kinds of different scenarios and how they'll play out. With that, I can concoct multiple responses for different ways of handling what she's gonna throw back at me. Only problem with that is, no matter how long I sit away pondering, I'm still only coming from one point of view: my own.
In the end, since I only speak out of necessity, I need a reason to strike up a conversation. Now, I have an idea, and I'm more than willing to use the "New to Renton" card, but I'm hoping something else will just come out more naturally. Because I can practice what I want to say, I can write it all out and study night and day, I can have it memorized and practice it on my dog and in the mirror, I'll have it down pat, a lock much like the Patriots this Sunday, but when I get flustered, my brain completely re-boots and I lose EVERYTHING. I revert to my default . . . driver (OK, so I'm not good with this computer analogy) and everything just shuts down. Blue screen, and I'm back to stammering and tripping all over myself to get the hell out of there before the redness in my face remains permanent and the sweat dehydrates me to the point of utter kidney collapse.
I guess the only thing to do now is finish this loaf of bread so I have a reason to go back up there. You better believe I'll be waiting in the longest line with my lone loaf of bread if it comes to that. "Oh, you can help me over there now? I'm sorry, I think I'll stay behind this old lady with the full cart of groceries who doesn't seem to grasp the concept of how to use a debit card. Wonderful! Now she's pulling out her giant bag of pennies!"
Current Mood: I know I'm not the greatest rapper in the world, but would you be my girl?
Current Music: 1000 Clowns - (Not the) Greatest Rapper