15 Totally Rational Reasons Why I Am Not Answering the Phone

I'm so sorry, I can't come to the phone right now. I'm:

1. At work. I'm a barista, because that's a grown-up job to have. As a barista, I am not allowed to carry my phone on the floor. Hopefully you're not the school calling because one of my children has had an accident, because I'm really not allowed to answer my phone. Baristing comes first.

I am currently unable to take your call, as I am cowering under
this blanket in terror. 

2. Sleeping. As a super-important, grown-up barista, I only get about four hours a night, so if I'm napping, that's some seriously sacred me-time. The sound is turned off on my phone, and I am not sorry about that at all.

3. Driving. Totally not safe to answer the phone under those circumstances. It's even illegal in some states. I'm a risk-avoidant rule-follower, so obviously, the phone will just have to keep ringing.

4. Thinking about driving. I'm going to be driving in a minute. I'm already in that mental space. Your phone call will just have to wait.

5. Having panic attacks every time the phone rings. The last time it rang, I threw it across the room, and proceeded to hide in the closet until the terrifying sounds went away. The sound is off now, and I've hidden the phone under a stack of pillows for good measure.


6. Filled with guilt for not returning your last phone call. I'm so filled with guilt that I don't even know what to say to you...so...maybe I won't say anything at all.

7. Not sure whose number this is, and I have a great fear of the unknown. What if you're someone from work wanting me to cover a shift I can't cover, but I answer, freak out, and accidentally say "yes" in a fit of panic? What if you're the Anarchist's friend's mom? What if that, huh? You're all nice, and normal, and want to set up a play date, and I'm all awkward and scared, and hear the word "playdate" and panic, because no one who is willing to host a playdate can possibly be sane. You're probably a psychopath, and it's never wise to answer the phone for a psychopath. Or what if you're some nice friend? The sound of your friendly voice will fill me with guilt for not having called you sooner. I will not be able to speak. I will choke on my tongue and die. Phone calls can be fatal. Best not to answer, in any case.

8. In the shower.

9. No longer in the shower. But I was in the shower two hours ago, at which point I hid my phone and promised myself that if anyone called, it would be completely ethical to pretend to be in the shower for the next three hours, so as to safely avoid phone calls. This is reasonable. This is how everyone does it.

10. Waiting for your warning text to alert me to your impending phone call. I'm sure you're planning on doing that, right? Because that's a need I have. A normal need. A need that all of the people have...not just me.

11. Eating.

12. Afraid you might be someone with good news. Good news is not to be trusted. Also, I don't deserve good news (because I am a jerk who doesn't answer her phone). This whole scenario is highly suspect. Please hang up and text me with some bad news. I'm really good at bad news. And texts.

13. An introvert. The internet has convinced me that this is the only, all-encompassing excuse that I need. I really love the internet.

14. Certain you hate me. Why else would you be calling me? You're either a complete stranger, or you know me. If you know me, you know my phone phobia. You know you shouldn't call me. You clearly want me to suffer. This is some diabolical plot to give me a heart attack. Well, I'm not falling for it. In fact, I've thrown that vile torture instrument across the room. It's currently lodged in a pile of dirty socks where it can't hurt me anymore. You'll have to kill me directly, by shanking me in a dark alley, like a respectable person.

15. Currently searching for my lost phone. Don't worry. It'll turn up, submerged in an Americano, under a pile of wet leaves, or in a snow puddle in the street. Or ya know, buried in a dirty clothes pile where it belongs. Leave a message and I'll call you back actively avoid it/become overwhelmed by paralyzing guilt for the next two months until you call again, and which point, I'm sorry, but I won't be able to come to the phone...I'm in the shower.*

*Or am I?

Introvert Bill of (Totally Reasonable) Rights

Lately, the internet has been overrun with helpful "How to Understand Your Introvert" memes. You know the ones. They usually feature a picture of a retiring individual pulling his/her head into the neck of a sweater like a tortoise in a shell. They contain introvert-related propaganda such as, "It's not our fault we don't want to spend time with you. Please just understand that we are way smarter than you so we have much more interesting things going on inside our brains than small talk with you could ever hope to compete with. Also, we are humble."

Introverts are profound. Not aloof. We're never aloof.
We're too amazing to be aloof. And also we are humble.

With all this introvert-awareness-raising going on, it almost seems as if there's a introvert-revolution afoot. I mean, when else would an entire people defined by its hesitancy to speak audibly suddenly find a soapbox and voice its assertion of rights unless...well...there's a change a-comin', my friends. The quietest 1/3 of the population apparently no longer wants to be ignored (unless they're burnt out, socially, and then you must ignore them).

I say "they," but of course I mean "we" (as much as any group of people who refuses to socialize even within itself can be considered "we"). I am a stark-raving introvert, as is my darling little Dictator, whose stock phrases include "I just want to be left ALONE!!!," "Not a hugger!" and "Don't TALK to me!!!" As an introvert myself, and an advocate for my precious offspring, I feel compelled to join the movement. The (super duper) silent minority is ready to overthrow the extrovert-dominant system of noisy oppression. Viva la Personal Bubble!

Thusly, I hereby present an List of Demands Introvert Bill of Rights for immediate adoption by the entire human race. Listen up. I'm only going to say this once (and then I'm locking myself in my quiet room to read Neil Gaiman for two days straight, and don't even think of calling/texting/knocking).

INTROVERT BILL OF RIGHTS

1) All introverts shall hereby be granted a five foot personal bubble that shall not be violated except  in cases of grave emergency (e.g., escaping large parties, fleeing overcrowded concerts, sharing an elevator in an attempt to leave a bar/club/room full of excited toddlers).

2) In cases where an introvert holds a service/public relations/sales/customer service/other job that deals with the public, said introvert shall be limited to a 20 hour work week, but shall be paid double what an extrovert working a similar position is paid. This measure is to compensate for the fact that when an extrovert leaves such a job for the day, the extrovert goes to the gym or the bar or a party. When an introvert leaves the same job for the day, the introvert goes comatose in a dark room, rocks in a fetal position while drooling, or searches out hard drugs to dull the pain.

3) Every introvert shall be granted one of those sweet turtle neck/hooded/hide-your-whole-head sweaters that keep showing up in all those introvert memes. Said sweaters shall be snuggly and amazing.

4) All terms previously used to define introverts--however true--shall no longer be used. Dorky shall become interesting. Eccentric shall become unique. Awkward shall become either charming or endearing. Instead of aloof, introverts shall be referred to as profound. Instead of standoffish, introverts are cautious. Instead of snobbish, introverts shall be called discriminating. And shy is humble. Oh so humble. The humblest.

5) Hereafter, any extrovert wishing to be "considerate" in the direction of an introvert is forbidden from providing unasked help, company, gifts, or hugs (unless the introvert wants a hug, in which case the extrovert must read the introvert's mind and provide a hug, for in no case will an introvert initiate a hug). The introvert definition of "considerate" shall be adopted in all cases pertaining to introverts and is as follows: Considerate is defined as being careful to avoid invading the introvert's thoughts/time/space with unasked help, company, gifts or hugs (unless mind reading has indicated that hugs are actually secretly desired).

6) No party or social occasion shall last for more than three hours. No more than 5% of party attendees shall be strangers, and only 10% may be casual acquaintances. No party may contain more than 10 guests. (Parties of exclusively extroverts are exempt from these restrictions). Introverts must be notified of parties and other social events at least 2 months in advance (to give introverts time to obsess about  get used to the idea). Parties shall be free from small talk. Snuggly-awesome turtleneck head-hiding sweaters are considered appropriate party attire.

7) Introvert parents shall be granted a minimum of three hours locked in a quiet room per parenting day without repercussions (except those to society, because you know those kids are going to be going all Lord of the Flies on you).

8) The inner thoughts of an introvert are sacred and shall not be violated. A glazed-over, daydreamy, zoned-out stare is indicative that an introvert is lost in glorious, glorious thought and shall not be disturbed. Introverts shall not be held legally responsible for any physical violence or destruction of property than ensues if said glorious thought is interrupted.

9) Plans for a nice day/evening out should reach a maximum at two events. For example, dinner and a movie. The eager exclamation of, "Hey guys! Let's go to a bar or seven!" after dinner and a movie is completely unacceptable.

10) An introvert is never required to answer the phone or to return phone calls. This is asking too much. Acceptable introvert communication may include: texting, limited emailing, subtle body language, knowing looks. Please consult with introvert to determine which method will not send him/her into a state of paralysis.

11) When asked of reluctant introverts, the answer to the (often rhetorical) question, "What are you waiting for, a personal invitation?" shall always be: Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! And handwritten, if possible. Calligraphy would be nice, just so we know you're serious. However, the introvert should not be expected to RSVP, as this would cause far too much social exertion terror.

12) No conflict shall arise from the adoption of this Bill of Rights. Introverts totally hate conflict.

And also, you aren't allowed to think we hate you. We love you oh so much. We just have a terrible special way of showing it.

Okay. That's enough revolution for me. I'm going to go find a nice place to lose myself in my super-brilliant, highly-personal, oh-so-humble thoughts.

*pulls head to into sweater and ceases to acknowledge the rest of the world*