The Four Levels of Social Entrapment

One of the most difficult aspects of interacting with other people is figuring out how to extricate yourself from a conversation without appearing rude or mentally unstable. You aren't allowed to just walk away - you need to have a reason to stop talking. And the reason can't be that you want to stop talking. You need to find a way to end the conversation without making it seem like you want the conversation to end.

This unspoken set of rules can turn an otherwise rational person into a flailing, helpless victim in a sea of self-perpetuated social anxiety.

It's like we're all competing in a game that no one wants to play.  And even though you can't ever win the game, you can prevent yourself from losing by pretending that you like playing long enough to be allowed to stop playing.

The game has four levels of difficulty.   

  

Level 1: Brief encounters with kind-of friends

There is a special kind of awkwardness between two people who don't know each other well enough to interact effectively, but are familiar enough that ignoring each other's presence 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 and once you've covered those two things, there is nothing else and that is terrifying because you aren't good at ending conversations and that makes the horrible, strained silence all but inevitable.

But eventually you do run into one of these acquaintances and even though you both sense the impending awkwardness and desperately wish to avoid it, you have a social obligation to say hello. So you do, and the conversation derails even more quickly than you expected.

And then there you are, standing clumsily in the parking lot of Best Buy, frantically 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.  

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.  

Luckily, your artless delivery doesn't matter. The other person is just thankful that they finally have an excuse to stop talking to you.  

Level 2: Forced proximity 

 Trying to end a conversation in the grocery store is like battling a sea monster that has an infinite capacity to revive itself.  

As soon as you figure out how to disengage with the person, you run into them again and you have to figure out how to start a new conversation. And then you also have to figure out how to end that conversation.  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.  

Soon, however, you 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 have no choice but to 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.  

Level 3: The Trap

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 sitting by yourself in a café, enjoying a cup of coffee.  And then you see her squinting up at the drink menu.  

She's trapped you at social gatherings a few times,  backing you into a corner and then standing at just the right angle so that you'd have to physically push her out of your path to escape.  She's extremely passionate about a variety of things that you have no real interest in, like veganism and the healing properties of soy.  She can talk about these things for hours without pause.  While you don't mind that she feels that way, you don't particularly want to hear about it in such great detail.  But she 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 she doesn't want to talk about what you want to talk about.

The first time you escaped her conversational death-grip, you thought that she had probably said all she needed to say and that the next time you saw her, you could maybe talk about something else.  But no.  She checks up on you.  She wants to know if you've tried any of the things she suggested.  When you tell her 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 chair away, hoping that she won't see you when she turns around.   

But it's too late.  She's spotted you. 

She's not quite sure if it's you yet, but you can feel her eyes focusing on you.  You risk a glance to see if she's still there, even though you know that she is.  

And then you accidentally lock eyes with her.

Once eye contact is established, she begins to lurch toward you in slow motion, like a zombie in a bad horror movie.  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 soybeans.  A lot.  And you are going to have to pretend that you like it.  To protect your dignity.    

Level 4: Well-intentioned social terrorism

The well-intentioned social terrorist does not alert you before they invade your safety bubble.  It's always a surprise.  You'll come home, exhausted and eager to finally feel safe from unwanted interaction. 

But then... 

You're cornered like an animal. There's nowhere to go.

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.  

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 your friend 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 some next-level shit.  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.

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 are forced to live in a constant state of slight uneasiness. Someone could surprise you at any time.  What if your friend 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.  

You are no longer in control of your life.  

This comic was inspired by an experience I had a few night ago. I was pulling into the parking lot of Safeway when I saw one of those gratuitously bright shooting stars. I tried to think of a really good wish, but the shooting star had surprised me and I didn't really have any good wishes on deck, so I wished for the first semi-intelligible thing that came to mind: for the rest of my life to be totally awesome.

As soon as that ham-fisted jumble of words left my mouth, I immediately started thinking of all the ways my wish could backfire and how the phrase "I wish that the rest of my life is totally awesome" could be misinterpreted and taken out of context and turned around to cause me great misery. I silently berated myself for not choosing my words more carefully. I could have used this opportunity to secure a bright and wonderful future for myself, but no, I was stupid and just blurted out the first dumb thing to barge into my head and I'd wasted my wish and possibly also earned myself an untimely death or a crippling brain injury.

Then I realized that I was sitting in a Safeway parking lot, consumed by anxiety over whether some fictional being that grants wishes was going to screw me out of my wish through a technical loophole involving death, brain damage or prolonged unconsciousness.

It made me feel slightly uncomfortable that I'm the person making all the decisions about my life.

Anyway, I'm sometimes reluctant to post short comics, but I should probably get over that because I love to draw them and it gives you guys something to read while I'm working on the longer comics. Oh, and you may have noticed that I changed my banner, sidebar and buttons. At first I just wanted to mess with the post column width so that three-panel comics like this one would fit, but I got carried away.

Expectations vs. Reality

The other night, I randomly decided that it would be a good idea to watch a horror movie.  For some reason, I thought that everything would turn out okay even though I hadn't watched a horror movie in years exactly because nothing is ever okay after I watch a horror movie.  

But on that night, for no particular reason, I felt like I could handle it.  

Immediately after I turned off the TV, a feeling of apprehension welled up inside of me.  I could feel my psyche organizing what I had just seen into a highlight reel that will be freely embellished by my own imagination and then called upon to torture me for the rest of my life.  It will be dredged up over and over, turning innocuous everyday occurrences into terrifying threats against my survival.  Every noise that is not immediately identifiable will make me think that there's something in my house that is trying to kill me.   

I know that this is what will happen because it has happened before.  In hindsight, there was absolutely no reason to believe that it would not happen.  But for some unknown reason, I ignored a lifetime's worth of cautionary evidence and pranced merrily onward into the unavoidable consequences.   

Blind optimism and impulsivity often cause me to ignore logic and instead make decisions based on a hopeful projection of what's going to happen next.  It's like I forget everything I've ever learned about the things that generally don't end well when I do them.  And then I'm somehow surprised when things don't happen the way I expected.  

Take dancing, for example.  Despite hours spent watching instructional YouTube videos, I still lack the ability to move my body in a way that does not resemble a structurally unsound robot.  

But then I go somewhere where people are dancing.  I join in and, at first, I just try to keep it simple.

But after a little while, I get tired of repeating the same dance moves.  I start wanting to try something new. This is when that little bit of blind optimism creeps in and makes me believe, deep down in the very core of my being, that not only am I capable of shaking it like Beyoncé, but that is exactly what I should be doing. 

But something about the move I've just attempted feels "off."  

This is usually the point at which I am abruptly snapped out of my fantasy where I am graceful and sensual, into reality where my body is contorted into a vaguely gargoyle-like shape.

I am immediately filled with shame and regret. 

I begin to wonder why I would ever assume that I was capable of making my body do what I had pictured it doing.  My coordination is questionable even while performing simple tasks like walking or putting food in my mouth.  In college, I took a dance class and at the end of the year, the only thing my teacher wrote on my evaluation was "Allie tries hard." Nothing I have ever done would indicate that I have the potential to dance like Beyoncé.  But I didn't consider that.  

Another thing that almost always ends in direct contrast to how I had imagined is singing while other people are present. 

One time I went on a road trip with my college roommate, Julie.  I really liked Julie and I desperately wanted her to like me back, but she was quite judgmental and there is a lot about me to judge, so our time together was usually just a series of tense moments in which I tried my hardest to escape judgment long enough to win Julie's approval.

We had just left town, the sun was setting, the windows were down, the radio was playing and I was suddenly overcome with the desire to be a part of a montage-worthy car-singing duet.  In my head, it was the perfect opportunity to bond with Julie.  

I decided it would be a good idea to just start singing enthusiastically in order to get the ball rolling on fulfilling this pointless fantasy of mine.  

It soon became clear that Julie did not wish to participate in this potentially idyllic moment.  My enthusiasm imploded, leaving behind a black hole of awkwardness and insecurity.  

But I knew that if I stopped singing and just sat in silence, it would alert Julie to the fact that I was feeling awkward and insecure.  I had to pretend that I was unaware of the awkwardness I'd caused.  I had to keep singing.  

I mumbled the rest of the song quietly, turning my head toward the window to give the illusion that the sudden reduction in volume was due to the sound waves being impeded by my head and not because I was embarrassed.  

This discrepancy between the way I imagine things unfolding and how they actually happen is most dramatic when I overestimate my ability to perform a pointless feat of athleticism.  I'll walk past a low-hanging branch and be struck with an irresistible desire to see if I can jump up and touch it with my face.  I'll see something heavy lying on the ground and suddenly need to know if I can pick it up.  There are absolutely no tangible benefits to doing these things, but the consequences are often significant.   

As I'm lying there, crumpled and broken from my most recent attempt at meaningless success, I feel complete bewilderment at the motivation behind what I just did.  There was no point.  I'm sure that the decision was based on some scrap of reasoning, but in retrospect it seems that chaos and unbridled impulsivity just collided randomly to produce a totally unexplainable action with no benefit and all consequences.  

Cat Safety Propaganda

I originally wanted to write a short comic to tide you guys over until I finished the really long comic I'm working on (hopefully I'll post it on Monday), but then I got totally carried away and ended up making an overly dramatic animated film about a childhood experience with my mom's friend's cat.