An introvert in the office kitchen

Being an introvert is waiting until nobody is in the kitchen at work before going to make a drink.

The deflation when someone comes in halfway through is torture. “Plans for the weekend?”. You want to shrivel away into non existence. Why is the kettle taking so fucking long?

So with resignation, you fumble for an answer. My usual tactic is to jazz up some mundane chore into an event that seems worthy of their social approval. For example, knowing I’ll need Netflix snacks from the corner at some point I might say I’m going shopping which seems to be an acceptable use of my precious time, usually eliciting a nod from your small talk loving colleague nemesis.

It’s all bullshit though. You know, I know it. The small talk loving extrovert can smell it. Next time someone asks me if I’ve got anything planned I’m just going to say “no”. I might add a “you?” out of politeness but there are no guarantees in life.


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