Things That Make Me Extremely Uncomfortable

– When people come into my work and try to get really personally close to me. Listen, a sex store is probably somewhere you want to really consider your actions and the context thereof. A random creepy guy asked me for a hug in my store recently, and I backed away saying “uh, no, absolutely not.” He got really pissed off and this made me more uncomfortable than ever. Why the fuck should I owe anybody physical contact? I can’t deal with the amount of people that don’t understand how to not be offensive.

– When you go to a wedding and there is someone at your table who is a complete fuckhead. Forced socialisation with assholes is scary! Chris and I went to a wedding once and there was a girl at the table who kept yelling out inappropriate shit during the speeches and kept yelling at Chris for not having a drivers licence. She kept screaming at him how it was only $32 to renew the licence and how he shouldn’t be so lazy, instead of listening to him calmly explain that he doesn’t drive for ethical reasons, not financial or otherwise. That night, he admitted that he had really wanted to “glass her in the face”. Which, trust me, is VERY unlike Chris. She was an ignorant person and we missed parts of the wedding speeches because of her rudeness. I never want that to happen again!! 

– Polite small talk, or rather, saying so much whilst saying so little. I understand that this is important in order to get by in life, but I find it quite unbearable most of the time. In my mind it goes a little something like this .. “hows work? … good thanks! …. How about you? … oh, you know, working hard/hardly working!” (polite tittering ensues). Talking about work is possibly the most fucking boring thing ever, to the point where I only know the occupations of like, 4 of my friends and don’t understand/know the occupations of the rest. I’m interested in people as people, not what they sell their time for to pay the rent. Unless they are actually passionate about their jobs and enjoy them, then I really don’t care. When it comes to polite small talk, what I feel I am really doing is lying through my teeth. I feel like this is a scenario where I box myself up for later and go about “being a normal person”, talking about boring things and agreeing with things that I actually disagree with, just to keep the situation polite and cheerful. Great chats are right up there on my happy list, therefore a ghost of a chat is somewhat depressing at best.

– When someone severely bitches out someone else to me, especially in the workplace (thankfully my current job is fine and this isn’t an issue). The whole time, my mind is wildly thinking, “is it a trap? How do I answer sympathetically without bitching the person out myself? What if these people make up and then somehow cast all the blame and bitchiness on me? Where is the nearest exit?” I then look around wildly for an escape, mumbling about having to prepare for a banquet for seven German guests that evening. Whilst I do have my own opinions, the only person I trust with those opinions is myself. You won’t be able to get me to bitch about our friends to you, sorry.

– The possibility of making eye contact with those people outside the supermarket that try to get you to talk for great lengths about various causes when you are on a very short (and timed) work break. It’s not that I don’t care, but if they could possibly just give me a card saying where I can read about the cause and donate money online, they’re a lot more likely to get my cooperation. Once when I sped past them, the girl shouted at me, “don’t you like animals?” to which I replied “no, not really”. Because what else can you say when you don’t have a spare 10 minutes to listen to an uninvited monologue? She probably thought I was a real jerk. (For the record, I do like animals). People at shopping centres offering paintball group discounts and hand creams are another anxious moment for me … I feign interest in store windows real hard when I’m walking past those guys, or have a great imaginary phone conversation. I get it; you guys need to make a living, but at the same time I fucking HATE paintball and I’m far too young to enjoy hand cream, so please don’t make me be that bad guy that says “no” to you. I promise that when the time arises where I want to experience either of those services, I definitely know where to find you.

– The elevator at my apartment block. When I walk into the building and there is someone else nearby, I purposely go and jiggle around with my keys in the mailbox until I can hear that they have already gotten into the elevator. I wait until the lift has left before I go to get one myself. I have no idea why it’s so awful for me to be in an elevator with a stranger, but it really is. I think that 2014 just might be the Year Of The Stairs for me. 

– This one isn’t an issue for me anymore, but I thought I’d include it nonetheless. When I was eleven years old, I got my period and it was before all of my friends, so naturally I was extremely self-conscious and embarrassed about this. For some reason (probably the 80s), my mum was into pads and so there were times that I would run out and have to run into the supermarket to pick myself up some tampons, so that I could go swimming and horseback riding and all that good stuff that you can’t do with a loaf of bread rustling around inside your knickers. I was so anxious about buying tampons that I would wait until the aisle was clear, then go and stand there, looking furtively around should anybody else enter the aisle. If they did, I would quickly whirl around and pretend to be looking at baby products or hair gels until they left. I would then hastily make my selection and roll it up in a magazine or something else bulky, then nervously scan the checkouts until I found the oldest woman working. Because I would be fucked if I was going to allow some young person to laugh at me for having my period!!!

Love, Chelle xoxoxoxoxox

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