An introvert's survival guide

Hi.  I’m Clark and I’m an introvert.  A situational introvert, more accurately.  I am not reticent in any medium that relies on the written word.  There’s time to gather thoughts and self-edit without the concurrent worry of maintaining eye contact or wondering what to do with your hands.  I can also muddle through interactions with strangers when I have a well-defined purpose.  No dread when explaining to the kid making my sandwich at Subway that I want my foot-long club on wheat with provolone to be toasted.  No stammering when quibbling with opposing counsel over the distinction between sections 9(d) and 9(e) of the Reclamation Project Act of 1939.

What I'm not good at is small talk.  Commonplace interactions with strangers devolve into disasters that I manage without a trace of grace or polish.  Brain functions slow down while things around me speed up.  My hands twitch in spasmodic gestures, searching for useful service.  My self-consciousness begets paranoia.  Are my pants zipped?  Did anyone notice I just touched myself to see if my pants were zipped? Why am I still touching myself? Wait, am I even wearing pants?  I am not the guy who could sell ice cubes to Eskimos.  I’m not even the guy who could sell meth to that guy who stands by the Albertson’s exit with the hand-lettered cardboard sign that reads: “Not Gonna Lie, I Need Meth.”

Organized “networking” breaks between sessions at professional conferences provoke anxiety. I have fled these 15 minute nightmares by making a show of looking at my watch and adopting an expression (basically raising my eyebrows really high) intended to convey to potential networkers that I suddenly remember an important appointment somewhere else.  I then take the elevator to my hotel room and watch TV until it’s safe to return.

The other day I posted the following on Facebook while in the midst of another stranger encounter:

 Sitting in park with group of parents I don't know waiting for kids to arrive for end of camp potluck. My personal hell. Smart phones: an introvert's best friend. . .crap. I just made eye contact with someone.

The post struck a chord with fellow socially awkward travelers.  My brother Clay reminded me that alcohol, not the iPhone, is the introvert’s best friend.  True.  Give me an open bar and I can endure almost any uncomfortable function I am dragged to by my wife.  I lurk, alone in a crowd, fading into some dimly lit corner offering access to both the bar and exit.  One hand wraps comfortably around a glass filled with a member of the whiskey family mingling with cubes of ice.  The other rests on my fly.  Am I wearing pants?  Check.  Life is good.  Good enough, at least.

But getting buzzed at kiddie events in the middle of the work day is not career smart.  That's why the smart phone is important.  I can pretend to check work email while adopting a stern expression (basically squinting while gazing into the middle distance) intended to convey that I am a busy man with whom you do not want to trifle.  My friend Kim recommended bringing a book in case my "fancy phone" should fail.  My cousin Nancy suggested an iPod (insert ear buds to warn off intruders, doesn't need to be charged), camera, large and important-looking bag to take up space on the seat next to you, and sunglasses.

These are good survival tips for introverts. I’m also adding a hand-lettered cardboard sign that reads: "Will Lecture on Section 9(e) of the Reclamation Project Act of 1939 for Whiskey."  Engage me at your peril.