Greetings, earthlings. Your favorite little ray of sunshine is back.
I didn’t have the greatest day. I blame it on a phone call. I hate making phone calls. Most people don’t understand what it’s like living with social anxiety. The stress. The paralyzing fear of having to speak. Today, during an exchange with an especially miserable employee at the Social Security office, my friend watched in near disbelief as I crumpled so easily under the woman’s attitude and disrespect. What the hell was wrong with me? Why didn’t I fight back? But it’s almost impossible to explain to those who don’t experience this particular brand of torture. My chest constricted. My mind went blank. I was doing my best to keep the tears from spilling over. In the end, I failed. And I felt like a cowering fool.
It’s always afterwards that I think of the things I should have said. I should have reminded the woman I wasn’t the one who killed her mood, that I distinctly remember peeing in the toilet this morning and not in her bowl of Fruity Pebbles. I should have suggested she find a job better suited to her unparalleled charm.
What I really should have said was “fuck off.” I wish I had the courage. Just once. Though far from classy, unleashing a nice big “fuck off” on special occasions probably does wonders as a means of catharsis.