My wife is exceedingly social. Everywhere we go another lengthy conversation is launched, and I’m left standing nearby with a charley-horse smile, and “Who the hell are these people?” dancing in my head. Whenever she runs to the store “real quick” for a gallon of milk or whatever, it’s not unusual for her to be gone for an hour or more. It feels like she knows everybody.
I, on the other hand, don’t know anyone. I can secure a gallon of milk so fast it’ll whip your head around. And on the rare occasion when I do bump into a person I know, I just give them the “How ya doing?” smile ‘n’ walk. I don’t mean to be rude, it just never occurs to me to hang out by the Bac-O’s, and talk for 25 minutes with a guy who might be named Glenn. Or possibly Gary.
I’ve been told that I’m intimidating, which makes me laugh. I guess there’s a thin line between intense and awkward, huh? There’s nothing intimidating going on, I’m simply ill at ease while talking with people I don’t know very well. It’s something that’s held me back in my so-called career, and also helped cause the breakup of at least one long-term relationship.
During my weakest moments, when the self-doubt is really kickin’, I curse the hand I was dealt. But I’ve been living with this weirdness for fifty years now, and don’t see any major improvements on the horizon. Oh, I can function. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a complete basket case. It’s just that my chit-chat ball never dropped, or whatever. And chit-chat seems to be what makes the world go round.
So, I’ve got that dysfunction going on. PLUS, I don’t care about the things I’m supposed to care about. I’m a suburban homeowner/dad/husband, and there are societal expectations for people like me. I don’t meet too many of them.
Golf, for instance. It ranks right above equine dentistry on my Big List of Life Passions. I’m supposed to love golf, but couldn’t give a matched pair of shits about it. So, that knocks me out of about 40% of the potential dadversations at block parties, right there. Even if I wasn’t a weirdo with no talk-ball.
I also don’t care about sports or cars, don’t have any money to invest, would gladly pay someone to mow my lawn if I could afford it, and am totally hopeless in the Mr. Fix-It category. And I don’t own any polo shirts or khaki Dockers, either. It’s a sad state of affairs.
Hell, I’m not even your standard suburban misfit. They usually have a graying ponytail, wear flip-flops all of the time, and work in the IT department at some corporation or college. That ain’t me, either. I’m an oddball among oddballs.
The only time I’ve felt somewhat part of a community was in California. Everybody on our street there worked in the entertainment industry and/or maintained a charming dependence on alcohol.
The woman next door (who had an ultra-rare translucent child), traveled around and bought knick-knacks, furniture, etc. to be used on television and movie sets. She’d get her assignment (say “1940s middle class living room”), and go to work. Pretty cool, huh?
The guy on the other side of us worked full-time for Adam Sandler, the man across the street was a carpenter for one of the big movie studios, and his next-door neighbor was a writer on King of the Hill.
The couple down at the end of the block worked in aerospace, and drank to excess. They had a lot of money, and no kids. Sometimes, when the wind would whip-up on trash day, there would be a vortex of plastic vodka bottles swirling around in the middle of the cul-de-sac, because of those two.
So, you see… I was much more at home in that crowd. It was an entire street of oddballs. It’s quite rare. Every summer we’d have block parties, just like we do here. And I had no trouble talking with any of them. I felt like I was part of the gang, and not just some freak with all the wrong interests. I didn’t like California very well, but did appreciate our neighborhood there.
In Atlanta we lived in a bohemian/hipster part of town for a while, and you might think it would be an oddball enclave, as well. But most of the people there were assholes. Go figure. There was a lot of posing going on, and manufactured eccentricities on display. I felt no connection.
Years ago, when I was in my late twenties, I was concerned about climbing the ladder at my job, and tried to “play the game.” I made an attempt at chit-chat, followed sports a little, so I could hold up my end of a conversation, and just generally tried to blend in with the cool kids. It was an awful week and a half. I felt like a whore, and was as miserable as I’d been during Junior High School. For many of the same reasons…
So, screw it. I’m old now, and long ago adopted an attitude of take it or leave it. I’m not overly concerned about the way I’m perceived anymore. When I was younger, I painted this stance as heroic in my mind: I march to my own drum… I don’t need the approval of others… I have a low tolerance for bullshit… etc.
But, I’m not taking some lofty stand here. Let’s be honest. If I were given the choice, I’d be more social — like my wife — and be an active part of the community. I have no real say in the matter, so there’s nothing heroic about it. Right? I’m perceived as a strange dude, who kinda wishes he wasn’t, but can’t do much about it, so to hell with it. Pass the beer nuts.
And that’s my Monday confessional, on Tuesday. Do you have anything you’d like to get off your chest? Post it in the comments section below, and use a fake name if you want. It’s all good.
I’ll be back tomorrow, my friends.
See ya then!
Now playing in the bunker
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Got tired of waiting for someone else to comment.
I hate being first.
Sorry Jed, I read at a third grade level.
Reading has nothing to do with commenting in its purest form.
You’re correct, my apologies, bad form on my part.
Jeez Louise, it was like I was reading about myself. I don’t think I’ve totally accepted it all yet, like you have, Jeff. But, there’s not much I can do about it. I’m a socially awkward weirdo among fried-brain desert weirdos. There’s very little hope.
Although, my husband is one of those flip-flop-wearing, graying ponytailed, IT dudes, so there’s that.
Also, “a matched pair of shits” is one for the ages.
Oh Jeff, as Billy Joel sang, “Don’t go changin’……”
It’s your role in life (or your pre-destiny, or your DNA, or whatever) to be an observer. Society needs you this way; your the one that holds the mirror up to them. They may or may not like what they see or even recognize themselves, but that’s sort of what gives you ‘job security’. And for every one you do make stop and think, realize that procreation is kicking out another one that doesn’t fucking know any better.
So shine on you carping bastard. We – at least – appreciate you.
That made me teary eyed, well said.
I hate those people that stand in the middle of the grocery store having a full blown conversation, blocking the isle with their shopping carts. They act all pissed off when you ask them to move so you can get by. You want to have a mini reunion, catch up on all the gossip?? Than make a lunch date and get the hell out of my way.
Indeed!
All I want is my microwavable vacuum sealed pale of butter flavored Mrs. Butterswoth maple infused chocolate breakfast syrup, and these chaty Cathy’s have to update eachother on the inner workings of the Mendez and Flatbottom family affairs.
“This is the way. (indicate they way). You are in the way. Get out of the way.”
pail
Oh man, I hate small talk. I blow through my grocery store in minutes. I make a list and go to just the aisles I need. No wondering up and down impulse buying shit I don’t need or want.
Beloved, on the other hand, can run for Mayor. He knows everybody. Plus he knows every employee at every supermarket within a 75 mile radius. Going shopping with him could be a 2 hour event. And I just don’t have the patience. I’d rather be home scrubing the shitter.
I’m with you Madz! IIf I recognize people who know me in the grocery store, I actually go several aisles away to try to avoid them.
My wife on the other hand, knows everyone in town. When I’m introduced to a person and they ask me how long I’ve been here, I tell them “going on 20 years.” Their usual reaction is, “Huh, I’m amazed that I’ve never met you.” I’m always tempted to reply, “Well, that’s probably because I generally hate and avoid all human contact.”
I’ve been having a spate of doctors appointments and ER visits within the past couple of years. When I give my name at admissions, the lab, or frequently the ER, the people generally ask me, “Oh, are you Pam’s husband?”
Oh, did I tell you I hate people? I do make exceptions for people like we commenters on the Surf Report.
Yours sounds like mine. Has to talk to everyone. Has to honk when he’s in the car and sees someone he knows. Makes me nuts. He’s a people person AND he loves to shop. I hate both.
Yeah, this is me. I have a tough time remembering names, and if I haven’t spoken to you in less than two years, you’ve probably completely dropped out of my mental database. Witty asides I can do, but chitchat is painful and awkward.
Couldn’t we all possible be named Gary, we just perceive that we are being addressed as some other name?
—–
I don’t like golf either. I know the general rules and stuff, so it isn’t like people are speaking Martian to me. I just don’t the value of reward for hitting a ball with a stick until it falls in a hole just so you can bend over in uncomfortable pants to pick the ball back up. All my coworkers and the husbands of all my wife’s friends are golf junkies. They all travel all over Arizona to play. Any time a congregation of two or more of them exists in the same relative space, they talk about golf. When, during these times, it is my turn in the natural progress of conversation, I start talking about stuff I know none of them know about.
It’s not strange to hear a conversation I’m part of go something like this:
Douche 1: Yeah, I got free round up at Camelback in Scottsdale for hittin’ that hole in one on the short par 4 at the back nine. So I figured I’d use the mulligan round to try some new clubs. I was runnin’ hot with two birdies and a par so I figured I’d go short and lay up using a new lob wedge my brother in law gave me. And wouldn’t you know it, it hit strong and fast and I chipped in from 40 out.
Douche2: Man, chipped in from 40 out on a lob wedge that’s a hell of a flat front. I don’t even use the lob wedge. I usually just open up my sand wedge and play fat. I’d never chip with that.
Me: yeah I recently switched over to using a solder pump when cleaning up circuit boards. It’s cheaper in the long run than copper wicking, even though it takes more space in the tool box. I’ve also been working with pre-tinned braided wire, man does it flow smooth.
Then everybody sort of just stands there thinking I’m a douche for ignoring their interests and talking about what interests me, how dare I be so inconsiderate.
—–
Speaking of golf, my niece is the number 4 best 12 year old girl golfer in the nation. Come on go pro, Uncle needs a new pair of solid gold diamond crusted shoes!
—–
My wife frequently has parties at my house. She’s a teacher so there are new school year parties, end of year parties, spring break parties, etc. All the husbands also come, I don’t know why. They all have mustaches and wreak of old meat. I hate those people.
In our new house I had a special room built for me. It’s triple sealed and sound isolated. There is one chair. All of my hobbies line the walls. If any of those assholes invade my sanctuary, by god they’ll have to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room. So shall be my vengeance.
—–
People think they know what to expect from the other depending on if they meet me or my wife first. If they meet my wife they think I’m going to be all jovial and shit; rattling pocket change and remembering peoples names. They expect me to give a Smurf-worth of effort into being overly concerned with their trivial life path. Then when they meet me they are strikingly offended that I care about them only enough for them to put the fucking meatball spoon down and get out of the damn way of the tiny food spheres in the crock pot.
If they meet me first they are pleasantly surprised that my wife is a bubbly little wierdo, interested in such menial events (like child birth and weddings) that they can’t help but wonder how much money I have or how huge my wang is. (a lot and massive)
—–
I feel like I was born an old man, too tired to be bothered with commonplace chatter and social niceties. All my life I’ve been waiting to age into my attitude.
“rattling pocket change and remembering peoples names” is the kind of sentence that could be spun into some very cool lyrics.
I was with you up until you said you preferred a solder sucker over copper wick. Wicking provides such a wonderful cleanup!
Oh, and congratulations on your niece being such a great golfer!!!!
There’s a local grocery store in my area I try to avoid because of the crowds of soccer mom’s, sporting their matching track suits, blocking the isles, gossiping about who was wearing what andiwhat they were driving and how fat someone got. All while their little angels are tearing down the isles terrorizing innocent shoppers.
I am not a good “chit-chatter”. I watch people at the bar we hang out at, including my boyfriend. What the FUCK are you people gabbing about? After so long, I run out of things to say. And I’m pretty much not even listening to what anyone else is saying either. I just lose interest, I guess. My attention span is like a fly at a picnic.
The booze gets their gums flapping. Beloved is a warrior and the booze fueled chatter. I, on the other hand, will pick up a menu or any other reading material and not raise my head until I request another drink.
I know lots of people thanks to my job, but damn if I have anything beyond, hey how are ya? hows the weather? outside of work related q&a.
I’ll observe and listen as multiple of the species congregate and begin to wonder, WTF? You really think talking about the wash you did last night, or how you selected the orange you are eating is remotely conversational?
Obviously it must be, it goes on endlessly by all present parties (except me). I’ve tried talking about nothing, but it doesn’t work. It is meaningless beyond the moment as a conversational piece. I do make the mistake of delving into the technical whys and hows of an oranges orangeness, and get shunned for it.
I’ve concluded long ago that the vast majority of people just want to hear mindless drivel, and somehow have the ability to go on endlessly about it. Bring some tech? Oh my, thats not for socializing with, they may need to activate a real brain cell.
Wow…….I could have written this piece,Jeff…..
I don’t drive or own a car, so I sometimes get into interesting talks while I am walking, or riding the bus.
Many people see me as a person who has probably served time. So they want to talk to me about jail or prison. I’ve never been in trouble with the law.
The other sort of person that often approaches me is biker types. I don’t own a motorcycle, and don’t even know how to ride one.
I have also had the weird phenomenon of old people coming up and talking to me since I was a kid. But – that is ok – as I like talking to old people.
I’ve had pretty much the same interest since I was a child. If I run across someone who know about those things, then we are good.
One thing I’ve learned is that I can talk about music with anyone. Even people I don’t like, or people who don’t like me.
Funny how an “oddball among oddballs” feels right at home in California, eh? 🙂
Maybe I ought to try it sometime!
I generally don’t care for small-talk either. I usually have nothing in common with most people, but I can carry on a conversation with them when I have to, I guess.
I’m one of those “grab it and growl” shoppers. Don’t park your cart (buggy) and chit-chat with your old high school buddy and get between me and the bacon, dang-it! It WILL get ugly–I promise!
As some others have mentioned, I feel that I could have written this. Just not anywhere near as well. Beautiful update, Jeff.
My girlfriend (whom I’ve lived with for years) is an extrovert who loves to gab with any one at any time about any thing. I do not. Oh, I love to talk, for hours even, but only with the right kind of people, who are interested in interesting things. Sadly, I haven’t been around such people for years now. Certainly not the people I work with. Shit, I really need to move.
Another “this could’ve been written by me” comment here–every single time I have an employee evaluation, they always say the same thing. I don’t talk enough. I don’t care–I know small talk rules the world, but fuck that. You wouldn’t ask a blind person to see red, would you? Then accept the fact that there are quiet people in this world! GAH!
Damn, I love you my fellow anti-social bastards.
Jeff,
I think you need to take your talents to Hollywood and write a TV sitcom about your old neighborhood in CA. I haven’t seen a good show since Northern Exposure.
And how the hell do people blocking the aisle in Kroger’s not realiize they are blocking the aisle. I’ve been staring at them for longer than politeness requires..
One more for “I could have written this but not as well”.
I despise golf: it’s for retired admirals, and clueless suits. The only sport for which I give a tiny seahorse-shaped shitlet (thanks Jeff) is baseball, and only that in an abstract way since it’s a) ancient and 2) quintessentially American by now, even though it way predates the US. Also skiing – I’ll watch that on the Olympics (because I do ski) just for the sight of the world’s best doing what I wish I could do.
icecycle: the pump is awesome, but I could never afford one. “Soder-Wick” FTW. I do own a Soldapullt.Also a Weller temp-controlled plug-in iron, which I use (with the 760F small tip) for soldering, and (with the 500F wide tip) for ski repair.
.
Hey Chill, where do you ski mostly? I.m from Washington and have done a lot there, and all three ski areas around Achorage, Alaska. In Anchorage, Alpenglow is fun on a nice day…but when it gets windy they shut down the chair, and you have to do a 15 minute trip up the slope on a T-bar at 30 below zero.
Alyeska is truly a world class resort with runs seemingly designed by Satan. Great place to ski.
Hilltop, right in Anchorage is really nice…it reminds me of East coast ski area that I have skiied. Compared to Alyeska, a Black Diamond at hilltop or a lot of ski areas back East is like the bunny hill at Alyeska.
My one regret in life is that I didn’t say “screw it” to the 9 to 5 gig and spent my time skiing more!
I mostly go to Liberty, Pa. these days. It’s not bad, and it’s close enough for a day trip. I used to make annual pilgrimages to Hunter Mountain, NY – good terrain, and the world’s finest cast of characters (being the closest decent ski joint to NYC).
I’ve also skied (skiid?) at Alta a couple of times, Snowbird, Apache, Killington a few times, and Valmorel, France, but never the Northwest. The Rockies are more like the Alps than they are like the East Coast. Killington is FUCK. ING. COLD but a huge playground terrain-wise.
Yes, the colors vary from place to place. Alta has a *traverse* which is black diamond, and deservedly so. It goes across a very steep mountainside and is about 12 inches wide with lots of ups and downs. I’ve seen people get stuck there and had to go around them, just lightly off-piste.
I do want to visit Mad River Glen before I die. Hardcore cold in the mountains of Vermont; no snowmaking; world’s only remaining (or one of the few) single-chair lift. “Mad River Glen – ski it if you can!”
.
Many years ago, my best friend’s husband talked about his inheritance of his grandmothers salt and pepper shaker collection. Oh how I wished I was dead. That’s all.
We are brothers from different mothers for sure. Other than my interest in sports, and lacking the eloquence of words that you possess we could even be twins. I used to depend on my wife to be the social one, so that the neighbors wouldn’t consider us the strange family that doesn’t interact with anyone, but lately she has crossed over to my side of the the social dividing line and seems to have given up on the endless chit-chat. Now we are becoming THAT house. I will wave to neighbors when I see them but have no interest in pretending I care about their lives. And being socially inept at work as well has left me with no career path, but fuck ’em I just want a paycheck to pay for my hobbies.
Jeff, I too have reached the “dont give a shit stage”.It hit for me about 48. Don’t care what you drive or what your house looks like. I’ve found that some people are interesting to talk to but since 95% of people are assholes that leaves 5% that I might talk to. Golf. Do it maybe 5 times a year..Good thing you can do it till the day you cant walk..if you want to be an old duffer…
Over the weekend we went down to Cincinnati to see one of my favorite bands. I still (at 36) question as I did in my late teens and early 20’s the stage aversion that hipsters have. The parking lot where the show was packed yet there was a 12 ft semicircle bounded by Chuck Taylors around the stage. Broken up by me of course. I don’t shy from the stage.
Not sure if this translates but here is a picture of me rocking out:
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151633682151271&set=t.1332131335&type=3&theater
that is chalk on my back from the ill conceived hallway design at the bar’s bathroom.
Another social/general misfit here. This seems to be the way of a lot of people on here. Hence why a Surf Reporter Jamboree will never happen. We’d all just be standing around grunting and nodding and eying the clock.
“an ultra-rare translucent child”
I’ve just gotta see that.
Okay, I just recently moved (as in last weekend) and we don’t have cable or internet yet. (I’m at work.)
So we’ve been watching DVDs nearly nonstop while unpacking and organizaing and all that.
Prepare yourself, i’ve just started watching the Harry Potter series for the first time. Last night we finished the forth movie, The Goblet of Fire.
So far I am enjoying this series, it isn’t TOO derivative. The actors are good, story is fine. It’s entertaining.
But, as with all movies, I see glaring plotholes. These are my top two.
1) Why doesn’t someone just use a damn gun? I know that once they are in in magic world everything is like it was in the 1500s, but the still have stuff like cars and trains. Bring a damn gun and just shoot somebody. Distract the bad guys with two or three wizards and shoot him in the head.
2) What’s with this time turner device? If Voldemort is so bad, just spin than fucking thing like a top and kick Voldemorts mom in the guts in month 8.
Oh, one more.
Why does the Dark Arts teacher change every year?
Hogwarts whould probably reassess it’s hiring practices and qualifications so they stop getting psychos and freaks in that position.
Just find some mogul with a masters degree in education and give them a training program.
No one has lasted more than a year since Dumbledore refused to hire Voldemort for the job. I don’t remember how much it’s discussed in the movies, but it is discussed in the books.
Jeff, I swear I was married to your clone. Your awkwardness has everything to do with your affect. My husband was just like you. His sense of humor was dry and slightly inappropriate. It really is your dead pan affect that turns people off. It really isn’t what you say but how you say it. You turn people away from you. I know that Tony gets you. She would absolutely say that people don’t understand you like she does.