Social anxiety is no laughing matter... but it sure can lead to some humorous outcomes... sometimes.
I knew that my beautiful bride had social anxiety before I knew the name for it. I guess we all change our behavior to suit what we think is appropriate for whatever social situation. For me, I tend to get more quiet, more alert, as if waiting for some threat to emerge, for the tiger to leap out of the darkness. Must work cause I've never been cornered by that tiger. Although I have had some nasty confrontations with occasional assholes... another story. Not this one.
My wife, of 41 years yesterday, does just the opposite. She starts to chatter and talks and giggles her way through every situation. How do you know when Connie is nervous? Her lips are moving... She talks to everyone; people in lines, people in stores, receptionists, waitresses, police officers, TSA agents... And that's where this story begins as we embarked on our journey North on JetBlue for a baby shower. We parted the car at the discount, long-term parking lot, got on the van and she started talking. The Russian van driver loved the chance to practice his English and to hear the most intimate details of his passengers lives.
At check-in she informed everyone that our daughter was having her first baby and that we were going to a baby shower. Most people are kind. They smile and engage, especially when the talk involves grandkids, babies, puppies, kitties and rainbows.
We proceeded through the security lines. I asked her to relax, to stop talking. I would sooner have asked the tides not to ebb and flow. We got split up in different lines approaching the X-Ray machines and I could hear her anxiety cresting.
"Oh...Oh... Wait. I'm with him. Can I just get over to that line?" she babbled as she turned around and walked into the oncoming flow of people cueing up to remove laptops and bags of 2.5 oz beauty products, removing shoes and belts and jewelry, preparing to pass through security, like herding hogs to slaughter. The snag in the process attracted several TSA agents. They escorted her to my line and provided her with the gray plastic trays in which she was to place her personal effects for the x-ray screening. She never missed a beat and proceeded to inform them that when she went trough the x-ray machine all the alarms would go off, because she had a new knee and a new hip put in this past summer, and this was her first time flying since then, and, now that she was bionic, she was sure she would have trouble going through airport security.
I was in quiet mode on one knee removing shoes just listening to her stream of consciousness rant when I heard her say, "And one time, HE WAS CHECKED FOR EXPLOSIVES!"
It was true that on one occasion the technology at Reagan International Airport decided to flag me for detected explosive residue. The technology was subsequently found to be faulty and taken off line. But for her to relay that story, at that time, just blew my mind.
I slowly stood up and placed my shoes in the tray. Several TSA agents busied themselves around me and Connie was escorted through the gate, happily telling everyone about her surgeries and how good the outcomes had been.
I was directed through a different gate and halted.
"Please go back through the metal detector" said the huge black man who had just materialized out of nowhere. I complied, once, twice and then a third time.
"Please step over here," he instructed.
He pulled out a wand with a swab on the tip which he rubbed on various parts of my clothing and then placed it in a machine for evaluation. "BEEEP" went the machine. Still not satisfied he approached me closely, face to face, actually my face to his chest. Biggg black man!
He didn't make eye contact as he recited the prescribed words. " I am going to conduct a thorough body pat down using my hands. I will be touching your groin and buttocks. I will do this with the back of my hands. I will wear rubber gloves." I nodded.
At this point he made eye contact. "Do you want this pat down to take place in a private room?"
"Hell no! This is fine." I blurted.
I was cleared and instructed to gather my belongings. Finally I stumbled out to the security gate and found Connie talking to a maintenance woman pushing a cart filled with cleaning supplies and trash. "This woman is so nice. She's from Afghanistan. I told her our son-in-law was from Azerbaijan... where have you been? They were so nice to me. I told them I had a new hip and a new knee. The machines went off... beep, beep beep. Why are you smiling?"
I started laughing. All to way to our gate.
Funny story.
I knew that my beautiful bride had social anxiety before I knew the name for it. I guess we all change our behavior to suit what we think is appropriate for whatever social situation. For me, I tend to get more quiet, more alert, as if waiting for some threat to emerge, for the tiger to leap out of the darkness. Must work cause I've never been cornered by that tiger. Although I have had some nasty confrontations with occasional assholes... another story. Not this one.
My wife, of 41 years yesterday, does just the opposite. She starts to chatter and talks and giggles her way through every situation. How do you know when Connie is nervous? Her lips are moving... She talks to everyone; people in lines, people in stores, receptionists, waitresses, police officers, TSA agents... And that's where this story begins as we embarked on our journey North on JetBlue for a baby shower. We parted the car at the discount, long-term parking lot, got on the van and she started talking. The Russian van driver loved the chance to practice his English and to hear the most intimate details of his passengers lives.
At check-in she informed everyone that our daughter was having her first baby and that we were going to a baby shower. Most people are kind. They smile and engage, especially when the talk involves grandkids, babies, puppies, kitties and rainbows.
We proceeded through the security lines. I asked her to relax, to stop talking. I would sooner have asked the tides not to ebb and flow. We got split up in different lines approaching the X-Ray machines and I could hear her anxiety cresting.
"Oh...Oh... Wait. I'm with him. Can I just get over to that line?" she babbled as she turned around and walked into the oncoming flow of people cueing up to remove laptops and bags of 2.5 oz beauty products, removing shoes and belts and jewelry, preparing to pass through security, like herding hogs to slaughter. The snag in the process attracted several TSA agents. They escorted her to my line and provided her with the gray plastic trays in which she was to place her personal effects for the x-ray screening. She never missed a beat and proceeded to inform them that when she went trough the x-ray machine all the alarms would go off, because she had a new knee and a new hip put in this past summer, and this was her first time flying since then, and, now that she was bionic, she was sure she would have trouble going through airport security.
I was in quiet mode on one knee removing shoes just listening to her stream of consciousness rant when I heard her say, "And one time, HE WAS CHECKED FOR EXPLOSIVES!"
It was true that on one occasion the technology at Reagan International Airport decided to flag me for detected explosive residue. The technology was subsequently found to be faulty and taken off line. But for her to relay that story, at that time, just blew my mind.
I slowly stood up and placed my shoes in the tray. Several TSA agents busied themselves around me and Connie was escorted through the gate, happily telling everyone about her surgeries and how good the outcomes had been.
I was directed through a different gate and halted.
"Please go back through the metal detector" said the huge black man who had just materialized out of nowhere. I complied, once, twice and then a third time.
"Please step over here," he instructed.
He pulled out a wand with a swab on the tip which he rubbed on various parts of my clothing and then placed it in a machine for evaluation. "BEEEP" went the machine. Still not satisfied he approached me closely, face to face, actually my face to his chest. Biggg black man!
He didn't make eye contact as he recited the prescribed words. " I am going to conduct a thorough body pat down using my hands. I will be touching your groin and buttocks. I will do this with the back of my hands. I will wear rubber gloves." I nodded.
At this point he made eye contact. "Do you want this pat down to take place in a private room?"
"Hell no! This is fine." I blurted.
I was cleared and instructed to gather my belongings. Finally I stumbled out to the security gate and found Connie talking to a maintenance woman pushing a cart filled with cleaning supplies and trash. "This woman is so nice. She's from Afghanistan. I told her our son-in-law was from Azerbaijan... where have you been? They were so nice to me. I told them I had a new hip and a new knee. The machines went off... beep, beep beep. Why are you smiling?"
I started laughing. All to way to our gate.
Funny story.
