I am an anxious person. I've started going to the gym right when it opens at 5, because I get preemptive stress about how many people are there by 6:30-7. Like, what if I need to use the squat rack and someone is already there…? Or more importantly, what if someone tries to talk to me?
This behavior is one in a long line of quirks that span back to high school when I was at my stressed-out peak. Looking back, it's hilarious because… why?! I was fifteen and my biggest concern was getting As in geometry and hiding my sexuality (Oh… wait, there it is.)
All this high school stress manifested in the most bizarre ways possible. The one I still don't understand was band class. In band, I developed a mental distortion where I thought everyone was listening to my tenor sax. Yes, the tenor sax, that in a marching band has the melody or lead about 1% of the time. But I was sure that everyone in the band was hearing my horn and sure that I was offkey. (I was actually quite good at the sax and rarely majorly out of tune, so once again… no idea.) When I was sure everyone was listening to me, I'd begin to break out in cold sweats. This created this bizarre cycle where I was sure that people were listening and judging me and also looking at me and seeing the sweat accumulate on my brow and armpits. This is why from 9th-12th grade I wore undershirts beneath my t-shirts; it was not for style, but to try to ward off mammoth pit stains.
I also had this fear of the mall. I think this was tied to the fact that all the cool kids hung out there and I was never invited, so I was sure when I was there with my mother I would be seen and harangued for months.
(As a side note, I think it's important to point out that recently I hung out with one of my old high school friends and they literally said: "Oh yeah, everyone made fun of Tedd all the time. Like 'He's gay' and 'What a gay!'" – So, this was not entirely in my head. You can imagine what the village queer being at Talbots with his mother would have done to my already stellar, fifteen-year-old reputation.)
But the weird thing is that this anxiety overflowed into any and all mall interactions. If I had to go into a store and someone said "Hi" to me, I would go into a tailspin. I couldn't talk. I'd start sweating. I'd go hide in the corner. I wouldn't look at anything I wanted to look at if it was in the line of sight of the individual who said "Hello."
All very healthy stuff, right?
Well, the thing is, as a 37-year-old, I'm a fully functioning member of society with a mortgage, a 401K, and professional job. But I still have MOMENTS.
The best/worst was recently at a Gamestop. Yes. A Gamestop.
The mall anxiety is still present, even when not at a mall. If it's a small, boutique store where direct eye contact is possible, you can bet my heart rate will be elevated. Once again, no idea why. It's probably the same distortion where I think I'm the center of the universe and every worker in every boutique shop questions why I exist… Who knows?
Well, I have recently discovered the brilliance of Gamestop. I have a PS5 and partake in the delightful loop of buying a game, beating it, then taking it to Gamestop to get 30-50% of the cost back to use toward another game. It's ideal capitalism… Everyone wins! (Except, maybe, the poor kid who comes in and buys my used games for like $1 cheaper than the new price.)
I've been into the store like three times in the last six months and I ALWAYS get nervous. I don't know why!!! Every time I go in, everyone is delightful. They ask how I am. They give me tips on games. It's always a great experience.
I'm laughing out loud right now because the following story is so ridiculous.
I went into a store this past week to exchange a couple games. When I walked in, there were two women working and neither of them said hello, which of course started mental gymnastics.
Why didn't they say hi? Why didn't I say hi? Do they think I'm some old weirdo? What vibe am I putting off? Do they hate me?
Once again… I'm at a Gamestop.
This is all going on in my brain, but then my physical body is also not well. This particular day it was 50 degrees and lightly raining out, literally my ideal weather. But that means I had a rough time adjusting from the 50-degree, rainy weather to the 80-degree store. My brow is starting to sweat and pit stains are emerging. I also was wearing glasses, so they were fogging up nicely, too. So, now, on top of the emotional mental gymnastics, I'm also thinking how weird I look sweating profusely on a cold day.
I look around, trying all my adult rationalization to get through this.
No one cares that you are here. You are not the center of the universe. Other people have lives, and you are not the focus.
But, of course, the other half of my brain is like: FREAK. EVERYONE HATES YOUR SWEATY ARMPITS AND CHEEKS! WHY DON'T YOU JUMP IN FRONT OF A TRAIN!
Then, there is that small sliver of consciousness, which is like: Should I get Bravely Default II or this Zelda figurine with my store credit?
Eventually, I have to give up and call it. I had 2 games to turn in for credit, so I get in line and wait to get called.
Of course, the woman working doesn't acknowledge me, but she has been super nice to everyone else. So like the FREAK! Part of my brain is humming along with new fodder: SHE WON'T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE YOU. WHY IS AN OLD MILLENNIAL LIKE YOU EVEN IN THE STORE?!
By the time I get to the counter, my entire human CPU is overworked and not well and my face is covered in sweat and my glasses are fogged up.
"Hi," the woman says.
My natural, human response is to push my two games across the counter and then say, "I—well—I—uhhh---I wanted you to have these."
"What?"
"Like, I'm giving them to you."
"I'm sorry?"
I think for a moment: "Buyback? I'm selling them.”
"Ohhhhhhhh!"
"Haha," I say, "Words!"
She goes to town on her computer entering in the information. My brain has finally unified behind the feedback I deserve: "How could you say anything that stupid? 'I want you to have these' followed by 'Words!' Great work, Hawks."
So I stand there (still sweating profusely, mind you) and she starts talking to me again:
"Do you want to join our Power Up Plus program? It's usually 14.99 but it's 9.99."
"So it's 9.99?"
"….Yes." She then reads off the benefits (which are actually great) and I agree.
"That sounds good," I say. Then, because I haven't acted oddly enough, I somehow bring my hand down and crack my knuckle on the counter. She ignored this, but I'm pretty sure she by this point, she thought I was either selling stolen games or a serial killer.
We finally end the transaction and I bumble out of the store, pit stains, fogged glasses, bruised knuckles, et. al.
I emerged in the cold, rainy day and take a deep breath of air.
On the walk home, I contemplated why I had a level-3 anxiety meltdown with a 25-year-old stranger trying to sell me a Power Up membership, and I can honestly say, I have no idea. There is really no reason other than that I'm a human and, therefore, a pile of neurosis and buried trauma that somehow equates to erratic behavior at a video game store. I can say that afterward, I treated myself to pizza.
In the future, I may try to train myself to at least appear human in boutique store interactions. I could enter a Gamestop and say "Hello!" rather than ferreting my way into a corner and sweating. And, maybe, I'll see what my mom is up to. She may want to take an anxiety-laden test run to Talbots.