When we were in college, BrownFriend, Roommate, and I had a discussion about which one of us was the most intimidating. I won.
Before they argue that point, let me explain. What we decided in the course of that conversation is that everyone is intimidating in some way. BrownFriend, for instance, is intimidating because she was/is drop-dead gorgeous, in that Venezuelan way that can't be achieved through surgery, make-up, or tanning booths. Roommate was intimidating in that she was/is so overwhelmingly nice. But me? I was just downright intimidating, in the most conventional understanding of the word.
People have tried to make this sound softer. I have been described as a "fierce friend" on more than one occasion, and that is a title I accept gladly. I have also been told that I have a "very strong personality," which is essentially a roundabout way of calling me a stubborn mule with loud, unswerving opinions (better a mule than a giraffe, I suppose). This is also something I admit to. I am who I am; there is no malleability in this personality.
But the plain and simple truth is that I am an intimidating person.
It is possible that this perception of me stems from my complete inability to interact properly with other humans, especially in a first meeting situation. Despite the number of colored friends I mention with every post, you ought to know by now that I am actually an introvert. I live more in my own head than outside of it, and my friends are the people that accept, and sometimes appreciate, the depth of insanity that results from that mindframe.
My tendency to retreat into my imagination is amplified upon a first encounter by the fact that I am watchful. Besides just being a people watcher, I find it comforting to observe before venturing forth. I am the clown fish of the social world (sorry, BrownFriend). I would rather chill in my anemone for a little bit, if you don't mind. Don't get too close, or my buffer will sting you.
I have been forced to recognize the fact that the combined force of these bashful tendencies probably comes off as frigid. This is particularly likely in situations where the new person I'm introduced to has had ample opportunity to observe me with my Friends, with whom I am crazy and loud and quirky and all over the place. The contrast must be shocking, particularly when I throw out my anemone stings in the form of scathing sarcasm. I can understand why people might be... a little... cautious with me.
Add to that the very real possibility of me kicking your butt (be it verbally or literally) if you ever hurt someone I love, and you arrive at the summation of all these aspects of my socially challenged self: I am intimidating.
As an intimidating person, you can imagine that it is not often I meet someone who can, in turn, intimidate me. I admit that I am a person who makes snap judgments. I evaluate you the first time I meet you. If we meet again, I assess my original impression for accuracy. After the third meeting, I will interact with you as loudly as with my friends, through the lens of my fully formed opinion.
This means that after I have made a decision about you, you become just another person in my scope of acquaintance, and I will treat you thusly. I have three interaction modes: strangers, acquaintances, and special friends. Once you get to special friend mode, you are stuck there forever, unless you completely betray my confidence in every way possible (this has actually happened only once). Most people get acquaintance treatment, in which I tell you whatever I think and you may respond accordingly.
Now that I have been in my office environment (a quite literal Hell for a socially challenged individual) for almost eight months, and now that Coworker is no longer working with us (three cheers for justice! Hip, hip!), I have hit acquaintance mode with everyone.
Except Supervisor.
Supervisor intimidates me.
Supervisor is very, very nice. She is understanding and accessible, and she has a sense of humor. But honey, she commands respect. I have now seen firsthand the definition of that expression.
I have downplayed this inferiority complex in the office, but I am more than aware of the complete cowardice she alone can create in me. As such, I have strived to be invisible. I tread lightly, I do my work, and I don't make waves. Our working relationship is, therefore, consistently indifferent.
But last week, I got a glimpse into Supervisor's private life, and now I don't know how to act. Apparently, her boyfriend called her as he was on the road to his job, and proceeded to inform her that he thought he might be having a child with another woman.
Understandably, Supervisor got loud.
She got loud enough that I could hear her over my headphones (which were currently blaring We The Kings), and thinking that perhaps she was trying to get someone's attention, I freed up one ear to assess the situation.
"Tell me who it is," she was saying. Then, "What do you mean you don't know?! Of course you know! You're going to tell me who it is right now."
This was the "oh, crap" moment for me. I knew now a) that she was on the phone, b) that whoever was on the phone was in serious trouble, and c) I couldn't inconspicuously stop eavesdropping.
A moment later, the boyfriend coughed up a name, and upon hearing it, Supervisor got louder. She repeated the name he had supplied, tacking on a last name for verification. When he responded in the affirmative, she got deadly serious and fast.
"Do you mean to tell me you're having a baby with a woman living in my house?! While you're living in my house?!"
By now, she was so loud that people were coming down from the second floor to check on her. She was, not surprisingly, oblivious to the audience she now had.
She slapped the desk hard, saying over her boyfriend's audible protests, "You are going to turn that car around right now, get your sh*t, and get out of my house right now!" She repeated this sentence three times, and hung up. Then she broke her phone throwing it onto the desk.
Not long after that phone call, she took the rest of the day off.
I actually admire her for handling the situation so well. If that had been me, I would have broken more than my phone. And they would have heard me three buildings down. I think, considering the information she was assaulted with, she comported herself with considerable poise and great aplomb. The others in my office must have thought so, too, because it has not made the gossip mill runs that all office happenings must endure. The incident died then and there.
But I have a dilemma. I have to ask Supervisor about an approaching Monday, when I will be in Houston, Texas (I know, I know -- only BrownFriend could be enough incentive for me to brave travel to a state that means me mortal harm). That Monday just happens to be Valentine's Day, and the following Monday just happens to be Presidents' Day. Presidents' Day is an optional holiday for us, and I need to ask permission to take the holiday a week early, and work on Presidents' Day itself. But I don't know how to act.
After you bear witness to such an intimate exchange in someone's life, how do you treat them with the usual professionalism and degree of separation without seeming like a heartless jerk?
I have mulled over this question for days now, and I have not come up with an answer. Therefore, I have decided that I need to move to the Grand Canyon, where my socially challenged disasters and dilemmas will be completely irrelevant.
Hopefully the Native Americans there won't be too intimidated by the crazy, pale-faced recluse in the caves.
Before they argue that point, let me explain. What we decided in the course of that conversation is that everyone is intimidating in some way. BrownFriend, for instance, is intimidating because she was/is drop-dead gorgeous, in that Venezuelan way that can't be achieved through surgery, make-up, or tanning booths. Roommate was intimidating in that she was/is so overwhelmingly nice. But me? I was just downright intimidating, in the most conventional understanding of the word.
People have tried to make this sound softer. I have been described as a "fierce friend" on more than one occasion, and that is a title I accept gladly. I have also been told that I have a "very strong personality," which is essentially a roundabout way of calling me a stubborn mule with loud, unswerving opinions (better a mule than a giraffe, I suppose). This is also something I admit to. I am who I am; there is no malleability in this personality.
But the plain and simple truth is that I am an intimidating person.
It is possible that this perception of me stems from my complete inability to interact properly with other humans, especially in a first meeting situation. Despite the number of colored friends I mention with every post, you ought to know by now that I am actually an introvert. I live more in my own head than outside of it, and my friends are the people that accept, and sometimes appreciate, the depth of insanity that results from that mindframe.
My tendency to retreat into my imagination is amplified upon a first encounter by the fact that I am watchful. Besides just being a people watcher, I find it comforting to observe before venturing forth. I am the clown fish of the social world (sorry, BrownFriend). I would rather chill in my anemone for a little bit, if you don't mind. Don't get too close, or my buffer will sting you.
I have been forced to recognize the fact that the combined force of these bashful tendencies probably comes off as frigid. This is particularly likely in situations where the new person I'm introduced to has had ample opportunity to observe me with my Friends, with whom I am crazy and loud and quirky and all over the place. The contrast must be shocking, particularly when I throw out my anemone stings in the form of scathing sarcasm. I can understand why people might be... a little... cautious with me.
Add to that the very real possibility of me kicking your butt (be it verbally or literally) if you ever hurt someone I love, and you arrive at the summation of all these aspects of my socially challenged self: I am intimidating.
As an intimidating person, you can imagine that it is not often I meet someone who can, in turn, intimidate me. I admit that I am a person who makes snap judgments. I evaluate you the first time I meet you. If we meet again, I assess my original impression for accuracy. After the third meeting, I will interact with you as loudly as with my friends, through the lens of my fully formed opinion.
This means that after I have made a decision about you, you become just another person in my scope of acquaintance, and I will treat you thusly. I have three interaction modes: strangers, acquaintances, and special friends. Once you get to special friend mode, you are stuck there forever, unless you completely betray my confidence in every way possible (this has actually happened only once). Most people get acquaintance treatment, in which I tell you whatever I think and you may respond accordingly.
Now that I have been in my office environment (a quite literal Hell for a socially challenged individual) for almost eight months, and now that Coworker is no longer working with us (three cheers for justice! Hip, hip!), I have hit acquaintance mode with everyone.
Except Supervisor.
Supervisor intimidates me.
Supervisor is very, very nice. She is understanding and accessible, and she has a sense of humor. But honey, she commands respect. I have now seen firsthand the definition of that expression.
I have downplayed this inferiority complex in the office, but I am more than aware of the complete cowardice she alone can create in me. As such, I have strived to be invisible. I tread lightly, I do my work, and I don't make waves. Our working relationship is, therefore, consistently indifferent.
But last week, I got a glimpse into Supervisor's private life, and now I don't know how to act. Apparently, her boyfriend called her as he was on the road to his job, and proceeded to inform her that he thought he might be having a child with another woman.
Understandably, Supervisor got loud.
She got loud enough that I could hear her over my headphones (which were currently blaring We The Kings), and thinking that perhaps she was trying to get someone's attention, I freed up one ear to assess the situation.
"Tell me who it is," she was saying. Then, "What do you mean you don't know?! Of course you know! You're going to tell me who it is right now."
This was the "oh, crap" moment for me. I knew now a) that she was on the phone, b) that whoever was on the phone was in serious trouble, and c) I couldn't inconspicuously stop eavesdropping.
A moment later, the boyfriend coughed up a name, and upon hearing it, Supervisor got louder. She repeated the name he had supplied, tacking on a last name for verification. When he responded in the affirmative, she got deadly serious and fast.
"Do you mean to tell me you're having a baby with a woman living in my house?! While you're living in my house?!"
By now, she was so loud that people were coming down from the second floor to check on her. She was, not surprisingly, oblivious to the audience she now had.
She slapped the desk hard, saying over her boyfriend's audible protests, "You are going to turn that car around right now, get your sh*t, and get out of my house right now!" She repeated this sentence three times, and hung up. Then she broke her phone throwing it onto the desk.
Not long after that phone call, she took the rest of the day off.
I actually admire her for handling the situation so well. If that had been me, I would have broken more than my phone. And they would have heard me three buildings down. I think, considering the information she was assaulted with, she comported herself with considerable poise and great aplomb. The others in my office must have thought so, too, because it has not made the gossip mill runs that all office happenings must endure. The incident died then and there.
But I have a dilemma. I have to ask Supervisor about an approaching Monday, when I will be in Houston, Texas (I know, I know -- only BrownFriend could be enough incentive for me to brave travel to a state that means me mortal harm). That Monday just happens to be Valentine's Day, and the following Monday just happens to be Presidents' Day. Presidents' Day is an optional holiday for us, and I need to ask permission to take the holiday a week early, and work on Presidents' Day itself. But I don't know how to act.
After you bear witness to such an intimate exchange in someone's life, how do you treat them with the usual professionalism and degree of separation without seeming like a heartless jerk?
I have mulled over this question for days now, and I have not come up with an answer. Therefore, I have decided that I need to move to the Grand Canyon, where my socially challenged disasters and dilemmas will be completely irrelevant.
Hopefully the Native Americans there won't be too intimidated by the crazy, pale-faced recluse in the caves.
No comments:
Post a Comment