Must be nice.
Then there's the low-grade misery that life becomes when you're an introvert. All the little tasks in life are made worse by a constant, nagging anxiety and pervasive fear that everyone will see you as the fool you are. Even the most mundane of tasks become completely intolerable.
The phone is one of my personal nemeses.
Nothing about the phone is appealing. It might lure you in with siren calls of anonymity and the option of not personally interacting with people, but all it really presents you with is a disembodied voice with no comforting context or distractions and a quick, vicious tendency to judge and belittle you, made all that more poignant because you're sitting in the "safe" surroundings of the familiar.
I fumble around ordering takeout, despite having the menu directly in front of my face with my pre-chosen selections clearly marked and the pronunciations of said items worked out in my head. Still, I fail.
When I call a company to "check in" on a resume I've submitted (an unequivocally stupid process), I've no idea what to say. It usually comes out as, "Hi. I submitted a resume. Now I'm required to call to let you know I didn't do that by mistake. This is that call. It's your turn to talk now." Seriously, what am I supposed to say? I'm just calling to call, and we both know it.
I would never have a job that involved cold-calling people. I'd move back in with my parents before that, and I'm pretty convinced that I'd be homeless first, too.
Where to sit in a classroom was another problem that plagued my days of college.
Upon entering any classroom, I would immediately size up the seating situation. There are clear zones with positive and negative attributes (see diagram below). I'm assuming a normal, rectangular room here.
Zone A is the worst possible place, of course. At the front, you're not only face to face with someone who might talk directly to you, but you're perceived as wanting such things by being there. Also, everyone can see you, but you cannot see them. This zone is unacceptable at all times. The only time you would actually sit here is when arriving to a class late (horrible enough anyway) and the only options are to quickly sit in the front, or climb over people for a more desirable seat further back, while everyone waits and watches.
Zones B, the sides - but not in the front or back row - are the best possible introverted zones. You have the cold comfort of the inanimate wall beside you, less people around you, and are rarely a priority target for instructors.
Zone C, the entire middle, is somewhat of a balanced place. It's awful in that you're surrounded by people with whom you might inadvertently make eye contact or that might initiate a quiet conversation or inquiry, but you're also lost in a sea of people and your chances of being called upon are low.
Zone D is a gamble. The back of the room is the knee-jerk place for introverts to sit, and a lot of times this is the best place, far away from the front, with one or possibly two walls for comfort. However, this can sometimes, with sadistic instructors, turn into a front row situation. Some people are unfamiliar with the mindset of the introvert and are personally offended by our lack of speech. Unable to let this aberrant behavior slide, they will mercilessly call on the back row, whom they know sat there because they didn't want to answer questions in front of a group. Jerks.
Any room situation can be processed by the introverted mind instantaneously, because pausing at the door and thinking about where to sit appears foolish, which is, of course, the worst thing ever. We must walk unflinchingly into rooms and choose seats quickly and as if we gave it little thought. Because that's what everyone does, right? If only.
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