I’m not much of a joiner. And yet, I reluctantly registered (read: was duped) to compete in the most recent Shamrock Shuffle. This decision was based largely on the fact that I am a fan of shuffling, be it on an iPod, or when it’s performed by the 1985 Bears. Thankfully, the luck of the Irish smiled upon me and the rest of my apprehensive ilk by dumping a bunch of snow on the ground the morning of race day. And I decided to, in the grand Cubs tradition, wait until next year.
The thing is, I should be a joiner because I do have a strong competitive streak and I enjoy playing games of all kinds. I think the reason I don’t join things is because, frankly, I’m not what you would call an extrovert. Due to this penchant for reclusive behavior, I also spend a lot of time looking down, which is odd considering I don’t like to look at feet very much. Mostly, I do this to avoid small talk with neighbors, seeing as, well, I’m not very good at small talk with the neighbors.
Over the course of three years in my building, I’ve mastered the art of the “casual look away,” the “have to bend down to tie my shoe” and the “I forgot to grab something in my backpack” maneuvers, so as to look busy and therefore not have to engage in a superfluous conversation with someone I don’t know. And yes, I understand that this type of aloof behavior makes me seem like a jerk. But it’s really because I feel that I don’t have much to offer in the type of situation that only affords a few minutes of conversation.
Usually when I meet someone, I tend to resemble Billy Bob Thornton in a Canadian radio interview, not because of disinterest, but because of shyness. Of course, this type of behavior is usually met with disdain and as a result, I am initially disliked by most people. But, when I’m given the opportunity, I tend to blossom over the course of six months to a year, and eventually come out of my shell. And when that happens, people generally like me. Well, appreciate me. Well, endure me.
Sure, most people don’t want to spend a year trying to cultivate a friendship, but when that happens, it is magical. This is the reason why I don’t think I would be a very effective speed dater. Plus, the humiliation of being rejected by 20 women over the course of an hour isn’t very appealing.
So anyway, the building that I live in is populated by people who seem to thrive on the interactive nature of living like a normal human. My neighbors are always having parties and events that encourage getting to know other people in the building. There have been meet-and-greets of every kind, from holiday cookie crawls to monthly Happy Hours, all held in the effort to help to the neighbors get to know each other.
And I suppose this is a good thing, because in addition to helping people get acquainted, it makes everyone keenly observant of strange intruders. Sometimes I fear that as a result of my reclusiveness, if I ever get murdered (not that far fetched in Rogers Park), the various news stations would come to interview my neighbors and they would say things like, “well, he was kind of creepy,” or “he usually kept to himself,” or “my children were scared of him.”
Because I don’t enjoy interacting with my neighbors, I am very careful to avoid putting myself in precarious situations that might have me unexpectedly coming face-to-face with other people in the building. This came into play last weekend, when my neighbors had their annual spring cleaning get-together, which is when residents gather in the courtyard to pull weeds or plant flowers, all the while seeming to enjoy each other’s company. Though I admit to staring longingly at them from my window, half happy that I wasn’t out there and half sad that I wasn’t a part of the group, I did not participate.
In fact, over the course of this particular weekend, I didn’t once leave through the main entrance. I instead came and went through the back entrance, leading me to refer to myself as “Back Door Pete” until I realized this moniker would only be good for use at a gay bar. So “Enter Through The Rear,” it became and all was well with the world.
I got into radio because I liked the idea of interacting with an audience without the need to actually see anybody. But that is all going to change this Wednesday, when Brendan and I record our podcast at Crimson Lounge (333 N. Dearborn Street). We’ll be there from 5:30 – 7:00 p.m., and I encourage everybody to come out. Heck, I’ll even do my best to make some eye contact. Join us, won’t you?