Thursday, April 5, 2012

i cannot talk to the people downstairs.

Okay let's talk about social skills for a minute.

My social skills. Or lack of.

See, I'm basically a pretty intelligent human being. I read oodles of books and keep updated on current events and I'm empathetic. So you know, you'd think I'd have the ability to make basic conversation with pretty much everyone with whom I come into contact.

And usually that's the case. Especially after I knock back a couple of beers and start chatting up randos for the hell of it.

Because I'm social too, see?

I'm social and I'm at least minimally smart and booze gives me courage, so I'm all kinds of fun to be around. I make friends faster than people grow alarmed and reactionary over global pandemics. I'm not actually sure about the last part.

I'm contagious. I'm a pandemic. PEOPLE LIKE ME. You're getting this?

Cool, because now I'm about to fuck up everything you think you know.

I AM SO AWKWARD IT HURTS ME. Sometimes. Like I said, not always. But you know, enough that it's a thing.

This isn't like an omg I need to be medicated because I'm crippled with anxiety or omgz I'm standing in the corner at a middle school dance waiting for someone to talk to me because I'm the new kid.

This is like. Ugh. Let me describe a scenario. And before I do I just want to say that maybe this is all just the biproduct of a little too much inner dialogue, a little too much sobriety introversoin.

So I work at this job right. I'm part of the upstairs people. There are five of us. We handle paper shitstorms and tap on our computer keys and basically wreck our vision and insure ourselves carpel tunnel later in life for approximately eight hours per day. Also we're not really encouraged to make any noise of any kind. Ever. I've got pictures of my loved ones hanging in my cubicle and a space heater under my desk, I'm a sweater over the back of my desk chair 'just in case' away from frumpy at this point. Oh my god, I almost forgot. We also give ourselves papercuts a lot. Actually, that might just be me. Really not vital to the story.


Then there are downstairs people. These people are not chained to their cubicles for eight hours a day and they're allowed to talk to each other. They wear actual business clothes and make an effort with their hair. IN FACT, many of them don't even have cubicles, but rather, OFFICES, WITH DOORS. Doors that can be closed. Who knows what they do. I don't, because they have the power to close their doors and shut out the world. Also, they often have 'meetings' at other buildings so they get to get into their cars and drive away and be elsewhere for a lot of the time. They converse with people in ways that aren't limited to passive-aggressive emails. They sell things. Or something.

It's all very confusing. Probably because of all the closed doors.

I feel a great deal of resentment toward these people, naturally, because they are allowed to talk and they have offices with doors and they get to drive away and they make more money than I do despite the fact that as far as I can tell they are basically bottom feeders with superiority complexes and not as smart as I am.

I'm not for sure on the intelligence level, just a prediction. But I mean, I'm almost always right. Take that as you will. Plus they aren't really that nice to us upstairs people and kind of all all-important. Like we're their minions and we have to drop everything and help them anyway, so why should they bother learning how to use the color copier? When I'm over here thinking "Oh my god, seriously?" And a lot of other pretty bad stuff.

Oky, here's where my awkwardness comes in.

I think I've lost the ability to converse with these people. It just slipped through my fingers one day and now it's gone. I can't/won't look them in the eyes when they address me. I'm actually really jumpy when they talk to me at all. I don't address then first. Ever. One of them said good morning to me this morning in the kitchen while my back was turned and I was pouring my coffee and shit went everywhere because I was so startled. Well, coffee went everywhre, but you get the idea.

It's gotten to the point where I walk downstairs to get more coffee and take routes back upstairs that don't have me passing anyone. I actually avoid coming into contact with these people.

I'm sure they don't set out every morning to leave me feeling inadequate every time we speak to each other, but really, that's what I get out of it. I've lost the ability to interact.

I walked past two ladies about my age downstairs on my second trip to the coffee machine this morning and I just smiled into space as I walked past them. I mean, I don't want to scowl like a bitch, but I don't want to talk to them either. So I guess looking like a maniac is the obvious solution for that.


I used to be this crazed, confident, devour the world person and now I cannot even look the people that work downstairs straight in the face?

This place is bad for me.

Thank G I'm only here three more months.

And I've already started to fantasize about what I'd like to say on my way out, but I would never probably actually say because it's riddled with curse words and really not prudent.

But you know, that's a post for another day.

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