potlucks and carpools

Really, sometimes I think there's something wrong with me, times when I am having a strong reaction to something that no one else is having, when stuff that's just regular, no-big-deal business for other people, is pissing me all the way off.  If I'm home and only Joe can see me, then at those times I'm flailing around like a demented Muppet, possibly whining in a super-dramatic voice, saying something like,

Gross.  You're inviting me to dinner and then asking me at the last minute to bring a dish.  If you don't want to cook, why are you even inviting me?  Jesus, just come here.  I'll cook.

or, this morning, 

Eeeeeeeew, no, I don't want to carpool to an all-day class about death and grief an hour away with people I've never even met just because we share the same zip code.  Eeeeeew, gross.

I know, right?  I'm supposed to be all about sharing and caring and loving other people and saving the freakin' planet, but ask me to carpool -- especially ask me to carpool with a stranger in an email also copied to that stranger -- and I'll start whining and swinging my arms instantly.  I'm not Muppet-ing right now only because I'm at the keyboard, but I assure you I'm doing it in my mind.

It's just such a classic set-up.  One of those situations where either I'm a bitch if I say no or I'm a total sell-out to my own needs if I say yes.  Because I was counting on the time in the car, there and back again, probably in the rain given the weather report, to trip out in my own head, to get mentally prepared for the day, to then de-process on the other end.  Because I was looking forward to not talking during that time, unless I was on the phone with my sister.  Because I was looking forward to not having to be On, to not having to tell My Story or whatever, to just be.

Already, I have to be honest that I'm having some resistance to this course -- not to its content but its possible trappings.  I'm trying not to make a big deal in my head about the fact that it's held in Sebastopol, which is pretty much (my estimation) ground-zero for freaky-deaky hippie carry-over -- and I say that with LOVE, I swear, since I haven't been able to eradicate the hippie from my insides, child of the 60s as I am cursed/blessed to be.  So already, the ethos of the logistics -- do you require a vegan meal? bring socks because we are a shoeless establishment. please carpool to save the earth. -- is chapping my hide some.

And honestly -- queuing up favorite question -- honestly, who does that?  Who sends an email saying, oh, if you wouldn't mind, and you can totally say no, can you carpool with this stranger in your area AND COPIES IT TO THAT PERSON.  Who has, naturally, already responded, oh yes, that would be totally fine, I look forward to meeting you and riding there together.

Ugh.

OK, trying to bring my flailing arms to rest -- and knowing that you're probably rolling your eyes at me for what a baby I am -- I will say this in a reasonable, quiet voice:

As an introvert, I can't possibly share the car with a total stranger there and back again on Friday.  OK, I could obviously, but I won't.  In order for me not to be drained of every ounce of energy I possess, I cannot add on to a day that is already 9am to 9pm about DEATH, for Pete's sake, two more hours in which I have to make chit-chat (good as I am at it) with someone I've never met.  

I'll be saying No, as awkward as that now is, given that my proposed passenger has already excitedly agreed to the arrangement.  Even if that makes me a total bitch. 

Joe would totally say Yes.  He would have no problem with it. He may be a bigger person than I am.  But I also think it's because he's not an introvert.  I know I will need that time to get ready, to debrief, to be quiet, to make the transition from home to there and back again.  If I say Yes, I'll be the one with the tension headache from holding it all together for 14 hours.  Not a chance.  No matter how it looks.

I'm also remembering that the last time I reluctantly agreed to such an arrangement -- the time that Trixie, innocently, unintentionally, set me up to have to drive a total weirdo from Larkspur to SF for 5 consecutive days of yoga with John Friend  -- the last time was a total disaster.  I'm not kidding: that woman I drove, a woman I'd seen for years at Yoga Studio, now YogaWorks, was a nutjob.  From the moment I would pick her up in Larkspur (she doesn't own a car) all the way to the city, she'd drone on and on.  Sometimes The Kid was in the back-seat, since I was also giving him a lift to school, and he'd be completely stunned at her lack of social graces, too.  Once we'd arrive at the class, she'd disperse into her corner and never speak another word to me for the rest of the day, as if I didn't exist.  Then she'd chatter her nonsense all the way back to Marin, and so on.  In the years since, whenever I've seen her at the studio, I shit you not: she has looked through me like she has never seen me before in her life.  So yeah, even though carpooling with her was total bullshit, I went through it.  To be nice.

Gross.

And never again.  I'm sure the woman who is so enthusiastic about riding with me this weekend is nowhere near as big a freak as that other one (few are).  But still, I have to say No.

I'll send a carefully-crafted email saying No in just a few minutes.  I wish it were otherwise, but it ain't.  And I'm too old to just make nice, to give myself a headache just because someone else had a different idea of what the rules are, sandbagged me into having to drive somebody I've never even laid eyes on.  Nope, not happening.

And really my thing with the potluck and the carpool, I get over it most of the time.  But not this time.  Not this time. 

Comments

[Martine]

‘No’ is self-preservation! I’m learning this more and more.