I’ve always been introverted. Painfully so. Some people say they don’t see it in me, but I’ve had years to perfect my impression of a well-adjusted, confident person. The reality is, most of the time I’m around people I don’t know, my insides are like a cat feverishly trying to claw their way out of a filled bathtub. Social anxiety doesn’t help. Seemingly normal, commonplace things become ridiculously huge ordeals. I’m taking meds, but occasionally they fail me and I become a ridiculous ball of nerves, glistening and exposed.
I’m sitting in a coffee shop as I write this, waiting while my daughter interns at a theater around the corner. It’s a low lit place, after 8 PM, not terribly crowded. Relaxing music plays at a pleasurable volume in the background. The people next to me are playing Go Fish with over-sized cards and drinking beer, old friends catching up, I presume.
At the moment, I’m in an awkward position because when I arrived at 6:45, I ordered (and paid for) a chocolate filled croissant.
The barista forgot about it.
I’m sitting here ten feet from the covered glass cake stand in which it sits. It’s right there. Taunting me with its chocolatey goodness. I own the damn thing, so why can’t I get up and tell the guy he forgot to give it to me?
At first, I just thought he was busy, he gave me a number after all. The number twelve is perched in a little stand on the table, peeking at me from over the top of my laptop. No problem. I’m patient. The number twelve says I’m in the queue. Then I started thinking that maybe the kitchen would bring it out, that the ones up front were just for display. No such luck. Now it’s awkward, I think I’ve waited too long to claim it. I can’t go up there two hours later and say, “Excuse me, you forgot to give me my croissant.” The barista would think I’m a moron!
I hate it when people think I’m a moron. Or is it when they know I’m a moron?
I’ve gone from being slighted to partly culpable. What person in their right mind doesn’t get up and resolve the issue in a timely fashion? Had I pointed it out after twenty minutes, I might have gotten a freebie. At the hour mark, maybe I could have lied and said I just forgot about it, but it’s pushing two hours and now it’s just weird.
I’m trying to lose weight. I don’t need it. I’ll call the money I gave them rent for the table I’ve occupied all evening. Such is the life of an anxiety-ridden freak like me. On the bright side, at least I’m getting a blog post out of it!
I know one thing for certain, I’m leaving through the back door and that fluffy chocolate confectionery will wave goodbye to me when I do.
I bet it tastes like shit anyway.