Grave Concern

I think that I worry the assistant manager at my store. It’s not because I constantly hum, or whistle, or sing under my breath. It’s because I’m antisocial.

Supposedly, my store gets a day (or maybe it’s just a night, I’m not sure) where other managers and district managers take over and us regular folks get the day off. We get this because we had three 5-star snapshots (secret customers grade our store) in a row.

Last week, the assistant was bitching that a couple of the employees want to take the day to go rafting on the river, then she turned to me and asked if I’d want to go rafting for our day. I told her that I wasn’t planning on going to any store social gathering.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I don’t like people in large groups and I don’t much care for people.”

She looked at me. And looked at me. And looked at me. The look was on the verge of turning into a stare when she asked, “These people, or all people.”

“People in general,” I said and headed off to my lunch.

Today, early in her shift, while we were working on the bar together, she started whispering to me about this thing again. She wanted to know if I’d be willing to go bowling, or on a picnic, or out to a restaurant, and on, and on. Each time I said I didn’t know because I figured it would get her off my back, but it didn’t. Eventually, I told her that unless I’m getting paid for my time, it’s very unlikely that I was going to do anything with a group of my co-workers.

“Are you agoraphobic?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said. “It’s not going out that I don’t like, it’s people. Being around too many people makes me nervous. Being in a situation with lots of people I don’t know is hard.”

“But you went to that wedding a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but I was with some really close friends and that made it easier. If it weren’t for them, I would have gotten a stomach ache to go along with my clammy hands.”

“Oh,” she said.

Later, while I was counting out my drawer, she started talking to me about this again. I wanted to scream that we’ve been over enough already, but I didn’t. This time, she started talking about drugs to help me. I said I’d rather not take drugs if I don’t have to, that I can function in the world when I need to, that drugs should be a last resort not a first strike, that I doubt anything could make me like or trust people more than I do now, and that I needed her to double check my money. She started to count and also started to tell me about how drugs aren’t a stigma and that she’s on Prozac and it just helps to even her out. On and on. When she finished, she pulled out a piece of paper and started to write the name of a doctor who I should go to and asked if I had benefits. I said I didn’t and she stopped writing. I dropped my money, grabbed my book, and hauled ass out of there.