The wait staff dash madly back and forth, bringing food from the kitchen and money to the cashier.
Suddenly, a loud crash from the back of the room stops the conversation. A tray of glasses hit the ground.
"I didn't do it," I exclaim immediately. My companions look at me as if I'd lost my mind. I check to see if my dishes are intact.
It's my own very special brand of paranoia. Everything, everywhere, anytime, might somehow be my fault. I worry about all of it. Anything I say will be taken the wrong way. No matter the distance between me and an immovable object, I will bump into it. If it's the most absurd thing in the world, it will happen to me.
For instance....I learned to drive when I was 25 years old. There are those among us who contend that the process is not yet complete. I worked at a newspaper in Chicago at the time and was in the market for My First Car. A friend of a friend of a friend was selling his Volkswagen and I reasoned that since he visited the paper periodically he wouldn't dare sell me a lemon.
I know. There is one born every minute.
My First Car. This car was not ordinary. I never owned a key for it. You started this vehicle by lifting up the back seat and rubbing a wire on the battery. It had no windshield wipers, heat, radio or locks. Every seven blocks or so it stalled and smoked. Once it stopped dead in the middle of a sidewalk (trust me, you don't want to know the details) and had to be pushed back onto 53rd Street.
I, of course, apologized to the person who sold me the car when he heard me badmouthing it one afternoon. Obviously it was my own damn fault it didn't work.
I worry about everything. I think about things other people never imagine.
One year my older daughter forgot her mittens at home on a cold winter day and I called her MIDDLE SCHOOL and asked her if her hands were cold. She hung up on me.
When I moved to Washington I drove to see a friend in Anacostia and (yes, a lot of this is about cars) made a wrong turn and wound up in the middle of the Juneteenth parade. I decided I'd just smile and wave.
Sometimes I worry so intensely about saying the wrong thing that I get this disease called Professional Lockjaw, which manifests itself in large group meetings when I am trying to make an impression. Like the time I pretended to listen intently to the most boring speech in the world and, when trying to stifle a yawn, let loose with the loudest burp known to mankind. This happened during a pause in the speaker's presentation.
You get the idea.
I used to think it was only me, but when I broach the subjects of Guilt, Paranoia and Clumsiness with others, I find that practically no one is as secure as they seem. EVERYONE is suffering from it in one form or another.
Knowing this makes it somewhat easier for me. I now make a conscious effort to help people feel comfortable. If someone says something that is some form of foot in mouth disease for instance I let it pass, knowing that what they'll do to themselves later is much worse than anything I could ever say.
And I'm trying to be easier on myself too. I keep remembering a phrase from my teens - "don't sweat the small stuff."
I suggest, when you can, that you try that too.
But first - a quick question - do you think I am personally responsible for global warming?
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Cheryl Kravitz, President of CRK Communications, is respected nationally for her expertise in community relations, motivational speaking, crisis communications, media relations, media training, feature writing, diversity training, fund development and issues management. You can contact her at: Crk725@aol.com
