Like Talking to a Brick Wall

September 15, 2023

I got invited to do a “hot sauce interview” at work. We filmed it today. When I read the invite for the initial discussion about the “hot sauce interview”, I shrugged and thought “must be a code name for something.” In my line of work, projects often have funny little names – lots of teams named after wineries or kingdoms in Game of Thrones. I once had a teammate in utter agony, trying to come up with a code name for a dataset we generated synthetically before he named it “slip n’ slide” or something like that. But when I got on this informational pre-interview call, the man on the phone said “Well, it’s pretty simple. I’m going to ask you three questions and make you eat hot sauce on a chicken nugget in between each one. The sauces will get progressively hotter, and it will be funny to watch you give meaningful answers about our Analytics practice at Deloitte while your eyes tear up and your mouth is on fire.” Look, I think he may have underestimated who he was dealing with because I have never met a spice I couldn’t handle. I am a consumer of spicy pickles and salsa made with Carolina Reaper and Ghost peppers. I have never been satisfied by the spice level of a spicy margarita. My mom made me some spicy salsa last weekend and texted me “I thought it was going to melt my pot!” On average, I’d wager that I eat an average of one jalapeño per day. The hot sauces they provided during my interview didn’t bother me at all – the one in the little black bottle called “The End – Flatline” made me take a drink of water, and my mouth watered a little bit. All in all though, I crushed it. My stomach is made of iron. I was also proud of the banter and personality I brought to the interview. I made the interviewer laugh a few times with a few silly topics (e.g., my “pickle guy” who moved to Chile last year, my love for the “Chicago Brown Bears”, and how much sauce on the “chicken nuggie” is considered brave). I really tried to lean into the spirit of the interview, which seemed to be “let’s talk about serious topics, but also, let’s not take ourselves too seriously.”

Last night, I was spamming my Microsoft Teams chat for one of my projects trying to get some emotional support for the hot sauce interview. I was a little nervous about being filmed. The last time I did a video for work, they made me do finger guns and I remember having to watch myself on a giant screen at an all-hands meeting just a week or so after my last breakup. I was feeling…ahem…less than confident. I saw the finger guns and my stupid, ugly face on that screen and cried in the bathroom a few minutes later. So, I found this interview where I was supposed to be filmed looking a little uncomfortable and silly to be a bit daunting. Most importantly, I needed guidance on what to wear. My only instructions were that I shouldn’t wear black because they were going to use a black backdrop for the filming. My friend Lacey said I should wear blue since the hot sauces would be orange (except for one that was actually BLACK)…blue and orange are complementary colors, you see. She knows these things, she’s a graphic designer. After my outfit was selected, one of my other teammates said “I’m going to need a link to this video as soon as it is available.” I replied, “They’ll play it at my funeral. You can watch it then.” Lacey “responded” to my message with the “laughing” emoji, so I knew she enjoyed my banter.

Banter is my favorite form of communication. Whether it’s on Teams chat, in person, on dating apps, via text message voice memos, or through inappropriate one-liners in the comments section of every picture my friend John posts on Facebook (one time he posted a picture saying he smuggled bacon into his country and made Carbonara and I posted “I wish you’d smuggle me into your country and take a big bite out of me”), I love it. I was dating the nicest man I’ve ever met in July – he sent me flowers, he planned cute activities for dates, he cooked for me, he brought me dinner one night when I had a migraine – the man brought me my own loaf of bread. He was like a handsome ass Uber Eats driver that I didn’t have to tip. NO man had ever given me a loaf of bread before him. He was just so kind and was always calling me beautiful and stuff like that. But I had to break it off with him because there was no banter. That’s one thing I’ve learned about myself in my 30’s: If you can’t make me cry from laughing, I will not be attracted to you. It was horribly unfortunate because this guy was a saint and there are a lot of other men on this planet who love to make me cry from anything but laughter. He was so graceful when I told him it wasn’t going to work out. That situation was a huge bummer. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that having a sense of humor is extremely important to me and I’m sometimes all too eager to make fun of myself and the people around me. I love telling stories about myself and frequently tie my own trauma up in neat little packages and present them to the people around me as banter. Men love to put “I’m looking for someone who doesn’t take herself too seriously” in dating profiles, which makes me very uncomfortable because it’s toxic-date culture language for “I want to treat you badly and have you not get upset.” But, despite my feelings on this, I do think I am a person who generally doesn’t take herself too seriously. I love to poke fun at me and other people, and it’s sometimes how I show affection. My humor is one of the things I like best about myself, followed closely by the warmth I can provide when I am comfortable with someone.

You know who was “taking herself seriously”? This woman I met at a bar the other day. She was absolutely lovely. One of those beauties who walks into a room and all the men stare. She saw me scanning the bar for a seat, and waved me over, “this one is open!” I sat down, and she introduced herself. She was wearing this stunning little white jumpsuit, and I complimented her on it. She said “OH it’s so soft” and grabbed my hand to implore me to feel the fabric. It was soft. She chatted with me for just a few moments before she abruptly got up, told me to have a good night and left the bar. I looked over, and saw that there was a man who had been sitting on the other side of her all this time. He tried to strike up conversation with me by saying “I left my crew to come over here and talk to that girl and it was like talking to a fucking brick wall.” Hmmm. A brick wall. I wondered if we were talking about the same woman. She was vibrant and fun and warm. Anything but a brick wall. I wasn’t around to see their interaction, but my best guess is that something about her conversation with him caused her to build a brick wall around herself. See the difference? She’s not a brick wall, she’s standing behind a brick wall to protect herself. I think these moments are often the ones that prompt people to beg others not to take themselves too seriously.

Have you ever experienced this? When you’re meeting someone for the first time or perhaps seeing someone under new circumstances and every part of your being colludes to build that brick wall that stalls productive conversation and all hope of enjoyment. If you’re like me, you know who you are when you’re comfy. I know I’m funny and sweet and vibrant, just like the woman I met in the white jumpsuit. I know I’m intelligent and witty and can make you double over with laugher. I know it. Yet I’ve found myself interacting with people with a personality that is blurred by that brick wall. All the good things about me, all the parts of me that make me warm and interesting get numbed by…something. Is it fear? Panic? General discomfort or unease? Lack of tequila? If you have a dog, you may be able to relate to this. Sometimes Maudie gets uneasy about things, and I don’t think she could explain it to me if I were able to get into her doggie brain and hear her speak in plain English. When I take her to the groomer, her whole little body starts to tremble and she foams at the mouth. No treat, no hugs from mom, no sweet reassurances of “It’s okay, baby, you’ve been here before” will calm her. I don’t think she’s capable of reasoning “I hate taking baths, therefore I hate this place. I am uncomfortable.” but her body reacts. She builds a brick wall. I’ve seen a more frightening version of this when we go out on walks, particularly at night. Typically she’s such a people-dog. She loves to give snuggles and kisses to everyone around her. But sometimes we pass a person on the street and she stares and growls and pulls on her leash as if to get me away from them. I’m sure she doesn’t know why. She’s just reacting to her environment. Something about a person’s vibe – their stature, posture, walking tempo, voice, clothing, whatever – puts her on high alert.

I experienced this the other night. This man who was about my age was at a bar with a man who was about my father’s age. They walked up to me, obviously trying to hit on me. Now, believe it or not, I have been approached a time or two by men who I did not find attractive. In these cases, I have always been “myself”. I’ve always politely responded to conversation starters, answered questions, politely declined free drinks. I can smile at them and laugh when they are funny. It’s all very human and normal. But when these two men approached me, I felt my body start to build that brick wall. I stared at my shoes. I did not smile. I did not respond to their questions in any meaningful way. I remember my inner voice telling me to be polite and then excuse myself, but it was like I was paralyzed – not physically but like…my personality was paralyzed. My heart was beating fast. I wanted them to walk away from me. At one point, the younger man got frustrated and said “Oh well, it’s obvious that I am the only good looking person in this group” to which I said “Hey, why don’t you go fuck yourself?” He laughed and said “Lady, haven’t you ever heard of banter?” Man, yeah, I have. I just physically can’t do it, not with you.

Even now as I reflect on this moment, I can’t describe it. I don’t think these men threatened me in any way. They were no more unattractive than the many men I’ve had polite conversations with in crowded bars or on bad dates. They didn’t offend me until well after I had finished construction on my brick wall. But my gut told me to keep my distance. And as we established above, my gut is made of iron. Maybe I should just trust it and move on. I should add this to my dating profile. Rebecca, 33, Atheist. My gut is made of iron and I am sometimes as easy to talk to as a brick wall. I have many opinions on aioli and various creamy sauces. Small boobs, big heart, bigger ass. I’m a writer.