Social Interaction. One of the toughest things about it is figuring out how to pull yourself out of a conversation you are ready to end without appearing mentally unstable or seeming like a jerk. I mean, you can't just stop talking in the middle of a sentence and walk away - you need to have a reason. And the reason can't just be that you want to stop talking. You need to come up with a way to end the conversation without making it seem like you want the conversation to end.
This unspoken rule can turn an otherwise "normal" person into a flailing ball of emotions, swimming in a soup of self-perpetuated social anxiety and/or building rage, stuffing down all of that emotion into the fiery pit of their stomach, folding it over and over, squeezing it, forming it into a bright, shiny, hard as a diamond and as sharp as a razor...
But I digress.
Scene 1: Trapped in a Brief Encounter
There is a special kind of awkwardness reserved for two people who really don't know each other well enough to interact effectively, but are familiar enough that ignoring each other isn't really an option. No matter how much you like the person, you dread encountering them because you only know two things about each other. Once you've covered those two things,
that is it. There is nothing else. This can be terrifying, because neither of you are good at ending conversations, and you can see the horrible, strained silence coming at you like a freight train in the distance.
So eventually you run into one of these acquaintances, and even though you both sense the impending awkwardness and desperately wish to avoid it, you know that you have an obligation to say hello. So you do, and the conversation goes south even more quickly than you expected.
"Work?"
"The same. Your job?"
"Okay. That thing we are both interested in?"
"I still like it."
And then there you are, standing in Home Depot, trying to keep the conversation afloat until one of you can think of a decently acceptable way to end the encounter. You stop caring about whether you make sense or not. You'll say anything to avoid silence. You consider faking a seizure.
At some point, the rapidly deteriorating subject material forces you to give up on being polite and just settle for the first bumbling phrase that comes out of you. "I gotta go to the bathroom." Luckily, your artless delivery doesn't matter. The other person is just thankful that they finally have an excuse to stop talking to you.
Scene 2: Trapped in the Grocery Store
The grocery store. Trying to end a conversation there is like battling a monster starfish that has an infinite capacity to revive itself and grow more arms.
"Hey there!"
"Howdy"
"I see that you intend to buy some groceries..."
"Yep"
"Alrighty! Good to see you!"
"Ciao!"
As soon as you figure out how to disengage, you turn the corner and there they are. The next aisle. You have to figure out how to start a brand new conversation. And then you also have to figure out how to end that conversation. And so it goes. No matter how many times you come across each other, it never really seems acceptable to not say anything.
You try to joke about it.
"Ha ha, stop following me."
"Ha ha we both must need the same groceries."
At some point, however, you both will exhaust your supply of pleasantries and lighthearted banter.
The awkwardness of each new encounter is magnified by the awkwardness of the previous encounter until you either give up before you are ready and check out, or you pretend that you are so fascinated by the ingredients of what you're buying that you don't even notice the other person is there.
Scene 3: Trapped in Line
However, some acquaintances don't share your desire to avoid awkward encounters. In fact, they often seek your company despite your complete inability to relate to each other. This person is seemingly immune to awkwardness and once they latch onto you, you are not allowed to leave until they are done with you.
For example, you might be at the local coffee shop, getting ready to order a COD. And then you see him squinting up at the drink menu.
He's trapped you in public a few times, backing you into a corner and then standing at just the right angle so that you'd have to punch him in the throat and physically push him out of your way to escape. He's extremely passionate about a things that you are not as interested in, like NASCAR, golf, or the healing properties of hydrogen peroxide. He can talk about these things for hours without pause. While you don't mind that he feels that way, you don't particularly want to hear about it in such great detail. But he tells you anyway. Over and over and over. You might make a feeble attempt at steering the conversation to a topic of more mutual interest, but he doesn't want to talk about what you want to talk about.
The first time you escaped his conversational death-grip, you thought that he had probably said all he needed to say and that the next time you saw him, you could maybe talk about something else. But no. He checks up on you. He wants to know if you've tried any of the things he suggested. Like golf. When you tell him that you "haven't gotten around to it yet," the cycle starts over again.
You want to avoid this kind of interaction, so you turn your back, hoping that he won't see you when he turns around.
It's too late. You've been seen.
He's not quite sure if it's you yet (you are wishing you had worn a cap or didn't shave your head today), but you can feel eyes focusing on you. You risk a glance to see if he's still there, even though you know that he is.
And then you lock eyes.
Once eye contact is established, he begins to lurch toward you in slow motion, like a zombie in a bad horror movie. Your fight-or-flight mechanism kicks in and you are consumed by a desire to bolt, but you don't. Your obligation to adhere to social decencies outweighs your sense of self-preservation. You stay right where you are, unable to look away.
You are going to have to talk about golf. And you are going to have to pretend that you like it. To protect your social dignity.
Scene 4: Trapped at Home
The well-intentioned unannounced home visitor does not alert you before they invade your inner sanctum. It's always a surprise. You'll come home, exhausted and eager to finally feel safe from unwanted interaction.
But then...
"Ding Dong"
bark-bark-bark
You're cornered like an animal. There's nowhere to go.
"Hadn't seen you in (such-and-such place) recently; just checking to make sure everything is going okay..."
You'd always assumed that your own home was a safe place - a place where you were not in danger of sudden, undesired social interaction. But your pathetic delusions of safety implode into the realization that nowhere is safe anymore, as you both stand there in silence and you realize that the rules of etiquette require you to invite them in, just as they say "Mind if I come in?".
You could tell them no, but you aren't busy and you don't have any immediate plans, so you don't really have an acceptable reason to decline their company.
You could try to lie and say that you're just coming home to drop some stuff off before you have go somewhere. But if you do that, you'll have to spend the rest of the night in total darkness, because if the person walks by and notices that your lights are on, they're going to know you were lying.
But if you allow this person into your house, you are no longer in control of when the interaction ends. This is not as simple as finding the right opportunity to walk away. No. This is a whole new level. You can't just walk out of your own house and leave the person there. Where would you go?
If you want to be left alone, you're going to have to wait it out until you can convince the other person to leave. Maybe by being as annoying as possible.
But even then, it isn't over.
Now that you are aware that your home is not the impenetrable fortress of protection you once thought it was, you live in a constant state of slight uneasiness. What if an acquaintance decides to surprise you with a visit every day? Now you have to worry about keeping your place picked up, "just in case." You're scared to play music or watch movies because then you can't pretend to not be home if someone knocks on your door.
Stick a Fork in Me...
...'cause I think I may be done. Having described these scenarios, I will add that I have said these things in jest (mostly). We have an opportunity to learn something about ourselves and others with every encounter we have, and each experience can be viewed as a blessing in some way (even if it is learning better was to avoid people).
As
C.S. Lewis said; "Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival." You may not need social interaction to survive, but would you really want to survive without sharing your life with others?
