giver vs. taker

Niggling thought which may explore later, just trying to capture it before it escapes -

Thinking of this woman who works at the convenience store. Always irritated that she makes no attempt to be friendly to me. I try all kinds of things - jokes, ignoring her, aggressive friendliness, silence, what have you. Nothing works. She's impervious.

The thought knocking at my brain comes from re-reading my 'conditional love' post, and having this flashing thought that maybe people resent it when you need something from them, even the need to be appreciated!

So it's sort of like, if I do something in order to be appreciated, they resent having to appreciate me. If I'm nice to them, or try to get them to like me, they resent it.

Hm. Not sure if I can unravel this one just now.

And it also occurs to me that not everyone is like this.

I also noticed that this lady was really friendly one day when I came in in my black gig clothes, fresh from a gig. Who knows if the two things were related, but my brain is constantly working away at these little 'patterns', trying to solve them, trying to make sense of them, work them out. There are times when I wish I could find a switch to shut the damn thing off, but it seems to be such an indelible (?) part of my nature that I've just about given up on the fight and just spend my energy letting that be part of the flow of who I am. Two-edged swords and all that...(meaning that it's both a feature and a bug - I learned to do this to survive my non-communicative and unresponsive parents, and now I 'use' this brain function all the time, whether I want to or not. Constantly seeking the patterns that never existed with my parents. Seeking that predictability, that 'explanation' that makes it all suddenly make sense. Order out of chaos and whatnot.)
***

Feels like I'm responsible for everything that happens. Instead of seeing it as a flow, a give and take, with people like this who remind me of my mother in their unresponsiveness to me, I get caught in that same pattern of trying to please them.

Well, maybe I can just stop giving a shit. Or, I give a shit, but I don't *do* anything about it. Like I feel the feeling come up, but I just go (in zen fashion), "Oh, there's that feeling again. How nice." Then I let it go, and say, Don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out.

But really I'm not angry at the feeling, I'm angry at having grown up with a mother (and a father, too, though in a different way) who were so clueless, so unconcerned, distant, uninvolved.

It was as if I had nothing to do with them, I was this - jeez, I can't even describe the feeling. I don't like any of the words and images that are coming to mind. They piss me off.

I want to move on from this, replace these painful ideas and images with something that feels good, that makes me happy to contemplate.
***

Maybe she just finally feels like she 'knows' me well enough to be friendly. Since I always came in during the day at random times, she seemed to assume that I don't work, or something?! When I finally explained (not that she asked, I was just sick of being treated like some rich bum) that I'm a musician and I mostly work nights and weekends, she seemed a little friendlier.

It also reminds me of a little exchange at the cash register at the local shi-shi organic grocery a few weeks back - I was again wearing my musician's black, and had hoped to change before going shopping so that I wouldn't look like an oddball, but had no good place to change (other than the car) and didn't have the time or energy to hunt for someplace. So I said fuck it, I need a couple of things here, fuck these people and their bullshit intolerance of anybody who's not dressed *exactly* the way they are - REI, Eddie Bauer, Gap, whatever. What.EVER. Fuck!

So I'm standing there in line, getting my purchases totted up by the cashier, and to make conversation I ask this lady next in line (who was radiating an icy, unapproachable air) if those were grass seeds on her shirt. (And I admit I'm drawn irresistibly to these people - as if I get them to crack a smile, to open up to me in some way. I have to make some dent in their facade, make an impression, get them to notice me. Ah - layers. The onion, she hab many, many layah. Ah, so, grasshoppah.)

Now admittedly this is probably not the all-time winner in the tactful question department, but I was curious, and I figured anybody bold enough to go around with their gardening clothes on wouldn't mind. Must be pretty self-confident, right?

But no. She came back with this crack about "not feeling any need to dress up to go grocery shopping".

Picture me befuddled. WTF???

It wasn't til I was out in the car that I realized that maybe she thought I'd dressed up to go shopping!!! That maybe she thought, that I thought, that wearing all black to the grocery store was cool and hip.

Wow.

That's when my brain starts hurting, starts overheating.

Even now, in retrospect, I'm still trying to figure it out.

Like, was she maybe feeling a little bristly and defensive at having made the choice to go shopping without changing her shirt? And so she took a pot shot at me assuming that I was trying to make her feel bad?

Truly, I was only curious. I couldn't quite see that far, and at first couldn't figure out what those little specks were on her shirt. I realized they weren't a printed-on pattern, and then suddenly it came to me that they were those little burrs that you get from walking through tall grass.

I was so pleased with my deduction that I just had to find out if I was right, but she was standing far enough away (and seemed to be trying to keep her distance from me) that I couldn't really tell. So I just asked. And got slammed for my question!

It occurs to me also that her keeping her distance may partly have been that she assumed I was 'dressed up' to go shopping (my god, the very notion that we have to be so concerned about what we wear just in order to go fucking shopping makes my head hurt. Jesus FUCKING christ. Get a GRIP, people. This shit does not matter!!!!! To have to calibrate so closely, so perfectly, what I'm wearing so that I blend seamlessly into every environment I pass through, even if it's only for the briefest instant. Maybe it's part of the whole classist thing? AAAAAAAaaaaaagggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!! Get me out of here!!!!!!!)

Then I found myself wishing I'd said to her that I was a musician and this was my gig clothing, but she could have denied that she was making any comment about my appearance. Fuck. Endless loops. And this was fucking weeks ago.

Classist bullshit. I fucking hate it.