I think people everywhere are wonderful and fascinating … and by everywhere I mean not here.
I prefer to linger on the edges of places, slipping in and out unnoticed. I don’t like attention and people who stare make me nervous. I’m overly aware, highly sensitive and very private (despite these submissions of idiocy). In short, I’m an introvert.
This behavior recently led me to stop going to my neighborhood Publix because I was tired of the check-out people grilling me on my food selections in front of other customers.
“What kind of meat is this?” a girl named Tina asked, fumbling with a hunk of plastic-wrapped pork loin.
“It’s pork,” I said, wondering why she didn’t read the label.
“What do you do with it?”
“Um, put it in the oven?”
“Are you a good cook?”
“I haven’t killed anyone yet.”
She looked puzzled and I could feel my face glowing. I just wanted to pay for the goods and escape without giving up my first born. I knew she was trying to make her day ringing up lettuce heads more exciting by engaging strangers in conversation and any normal person would be happy to oblige. I’m just rarely in the mood for such idle banter … and I’m rarely normal.
Following my reclusive instincts, I started going to the Kroger next door. It is a highly inferior store with wilted produce and a meat department likely laced with E. coli. It does, however, have four self-check out registers for people like me who want to avoid human contact. Unfortunately, the other day I had more than the 25 items required to use them and had to go to through the regular checkout. I knew I was headed toward an inquisition when I heard the clerk asking the customer in front on me how many carats her engagement ring was.
“Are you a nurse?” she asked, swiping my frozen Lean Cuisine across the scanner.
“No,” I said, trying not to make eye contact in an effort to deflect additional probing.
“It’s just ‘cause your shirt, it’s white. It looks nice. You look very professional. Oh and I like your necklace. It’s so retro.”
“Thanks.”
“So if you’re not a nurse what do you do?”
I got the impression that she didn’t really care about my answers and the interrogations were for amusement to pass the time. I considered an assortment of palatable answers such as, “I’m a streetwalker,” or “I perform abortions,” or perhaps, “I maintain a variety of Internet porn sites that involve girls and barn animals.”
I’m a big baby, that and the growing line behind me was making me nervous. So I finished the conversation with honesty (it went on for a few more minutes … something about her sister and the meaning of life) and grabbed my bags. I feel terrible inside being such a miser, even if she had no clue I secretly wished her to shut up. It’s a shame that I like people and yet I can’t seem to get comfortable around them.
