Tuesday, 8 June 2010


I'm feeling sour and snarky tonight, but I'll turn the evil inwards and tell you about my current belief system, which reveals that in my head it's still the Dark Ages. The world is a terrifying place in my underdeveloped reptile brain, where arbitrary forces may turn on me at any time if I do not behave according to my own demented rituals and superstitions. I don't have an inner child, I have an inner Medieval serf, and he's SCARED. I should probably go back to therapy, but that would require me to use the telephone. Dare you take a peep back in time? Here's a small glimpse of the primitive thought processes that govern my days.

1. The saga of the luncheon vouchers

I get luncheon vouchers at work. Yeah, I know, it's just like the 1960s except noone in the office looks like Don Draper. ANYWAY. You have to collect your luncheon vouchers each month at designated times, and sign a piece of paper to confirm you, and noone but you, has the precious envelope of puzzlingly denominated meal tickets in your clammy hands. I have not managed to do this at any point in 2010. This is tantamount to throwing money in the bin, since they have a relatively rapid expiry date. Such is my maddening stupidity, I have even been given permission to go and collect them at non-designated time. I have not done this either. Several reasons. Firstly, I am ashamed. I have left it so long I look like a fuckwit (yes, correct, I am a fuckwit). Secondly, it requires me to go up to the third floor. I have developed an irrational terror of the third floor and now believe that to go up there will cause certain disaster. On the map in my mind the third floor is indicated with a skull and crossbones and the legend 'here be dragons'. Intellectually, I know that there is a pleasant lady who will hand me an envelope and make me sign a piece of paper. But the lizard brain is screaming DANGER! Why, lizard brain? Why?

2. The telephone

It is somewhere in the house. I know, because at one point the children rang me on it recently as I was walking the dog down the street, encouraging it to pee on all the neighbours' doorsteps.

"C'est nous"

"Yes, I rather hoped it was, because if it wasn't something would be badly wrong. I'm just standing outside the door whilst Oscar does caca, what do you want?"


"Ok. How about you hang up then?"

Since then it has been lost, deep in the bowels of the Poké-kingdom. I am relieved. I hate the telephone and have all but forgotten how to use it. It's like a malevolent household god that I am failing to honour. At least this one doesn't have voicemail. I'm not even going into my profound phobia of voicemail. I cannot, will not listen to voicemail. Like some kind of amazonian tribesperson, I believe voicemail will steal my soul. I cannot hear those voices Something Terrible will happen, you cannot make me, no no no. Speaking of no..

3. "No"

I cannot, must not, will not utter this word. What might happen? I DO NOT KNOW. Perhaps the very earth under my feet will tremble, Belgium will be split asunder and I will be cast into a fiery furnace for all eternity? Who knows? Not me because there is no way I will ever manage to say it. Sigh.

So I say 'yes' and hope it sounds sufficiently like no to get my message across. It doesn't. I create more distress and confusion than a polite and compassionate no ever could. Perhaps this works when I'm talking to someone as brokenly British as myself, but thankfully for the state of the universe and human relations, there aren't many as broken as me.

I used to be able to use the telephone (fear #2) to at least call Taxis Bleus. Now, due to an unfortunate fear #3 incident on Sunday which involved me failing to tell an old and insistent taxi driver that NO. I WILL NOT GO OUT FOR A DRINK WITH YOU, YOU ARE IN YOUR MID SIXTIES AND I AM THIRTY FIVE AND IN ANY CASE, JUST NO. I am utterly buggered. What if they send him? It might be a tiny probability, but that's probability enough for me. I mean, I've already had him twice in my five years in Brussels. It could totally happen again. I will probably be cornered into buying a car just to avoid this happening.

Sigh. Headslap. Moving on.

4. Other irrational fears

The lawnmower (I know I will lose a limb). The bank (obvious). Reading any official document relating to me. The Post Office (can't even analyse that particular one, satisfactorily, it's 100 yards away and always empty. Scarred by Paris, probably). Asking questions (terrible breach of etiquette! Oh, the pitfalls!). Knocking on the neighbours' door to ask if one of their perfectly aged, pocket money hungry, teenagers might like to babysit. Arranging social events (yes, with my FRIENDS, because how terrifying is that?).

Somewhere, in a tiny rational corner of my lizard brain, I know I COULD get over these fears. I got over my fear of sparklers (aged about 16, but I did get over it eventually). I am so blasé about maggots now that when I found one in my handbag after a monkey feeding, it barely registered. It can be done. I just, well. Not now.

Please make me feel better by telling me ways in which you are basically a medieval peasant. Thank you.


Alison Cross said...

I am scared of clowns - but loads of folk find them a bit freaky, so that doesn't really count...

I don't like the words 'tights' or 'oxters'. Being Scottish, life can be difficult if you can't say those words without wanting to retch.

Other people's bare feet make me feel squeamish.

I too am piss poor at saying 'no' - especially to cake.

Ali x

peeks said...

Things which terrify me:
trees with diseases
being overdressed

betty said...

I can't seem to ring for a takeaway. I have no idea why this is a fearsome experience, but I just can't bear it. Nor can I cope with answering the door to the delivery man and paying him. I have to get Herbert to do these things. There is probably some bizarre takeaway-induced trauma lurking in my subconscious, but I am not aware of it. Damn you, lizard brain!

Jaywalker said...

Betty - I was exactly the same when 'en couple', ditto room service. I used to stand at his shoulder tutting and hissing as he got my order wrong.

Now, on my own, I order takeaway, since greed beats lizard brain. I'm not sure I could do room service though, but since I'll never have enough money to stay in a hotel better than an Innkeeper's Lodge in Cumbernauld, the problem doesn't arise. Sorted.

Lisa-Marie said...

I can't use a public toilet without cleaning and then putting loo paper on the seat (except when drunk).

Also (problematic in public toilets) I got locked in a toilet at school for 2 hours once, and therefor am terrified of locking toilet doors. I can only go in ones where the door is close enough to the loo that I can hold it shut with my foot.

I am afraid of putting binbags out in this flat. I have to go out the back of the close through a lockable from the inside door, and am convinced that the wee neds will look me out there should they see me.

Though I am quite computer literate, dealing with any new software or bits scares the shit out of me. I am convinced I will break it, and therefor make my husband do it.

The City Road said...

Lizard brain can currently be blamed for me renting a completely empty and unlocked storage unit because it is too reptilian to organize returning the access pass. This kind of behavior is positively Pre-Cambrian, lizard brain.

Am sympathetic to your list of agencies with whom you'd rather not deal. I put off going to the passport office for at least 2 years, then had to pay the fast track charge so I could leave the country even though I knew of the trip for months.

MargotLeadbetter said...

I am scared of social encounters with acquaintances. I always think either a) they won't recognise me or b) as they already met me, they have decided they hate me. It makes the school run difficult.

puncturedbicycle said...

Oh my. Where to start? Anything that requires me to leave the house alone on foot - sans car - gives me the heebie jeebies and just getting beyond the threshold can take much longer than one might expect. When the dog dawdles on walks I get short-tempered because I must must must scurry back home to my lair and instead I am loitering pointlessly in the street. On a bad day, I hide from the phone as well.

Bryony said...

I need a new phone as I am currently using one recommended to me by my 12 year old son. Nuff said. I cannot enter any of the many phone shops that desecrate my high street as I am afraid someone will approach me and try to sell me one. Although I want to buy one, I do not wish to speak to anyone in the process.

(ps stick notes through neighbours doors seeking babysitters - if they are interested they will call on you, if not, they won't and no harm done....) x

Madame DeFarge said...

I am very bad with other people's sweat. I hate it, it creeps me out, even if it doesn't smell. I hate the sight, want to heave and run away.

Lisa-Marie said...

and when I said 'look' obviously I mean 'lock'.

katyboo1 said...

forms, naturally, make me feel sick, paranoid and angry all at the same time, which is a winning combination.

Sometimes I fear going on the bus in case I don't have the right change and the bus driver shouts at me. On those days even driving seems preferable.

I too fear going out with my friends. I am also afraid of checking my balance via the ATM. Umm. I am afraid of putting petrol in my car. I have not done it yet. I cry, and make other people do it.

There are zillions of other things. Positively zillions. It's a wonder I ever get out of bed.

Oh, and I also fear falling asleep.

Fat Controller said...

Fear of the telephone, fear of official letters with one's name on, fear of having to go and face the nice and almost painfully helpful lady at 'kommunekontoret'?

Surely these fears are all perfectly normal...aren't they?

I've had unfinished business with the bank and the council for over a year which would probably be cleared up with just an amiable conversation and a couple of signatures, but it's JUST NOT THAT SIMPLE.

hairyfarmerfamily said...

Hmmmmm. Not sure these are terribly reptilian-peasantish, but here goes:

I'm unnerved by the Haa-hoos (the giant inflatable... Things) from In The Night Garden, which, unless you harbour a secret cBeebies passion, I suspect you have not had the opportunity to be cortically-atrophied by. I am anxious that they will somehow Boiinnnng out of the TV and smother me.

I am utterly squicked by the broken bits and crumbs at the bottom of the cereal box. If every individual Rice Crispie is not whole, I don't want any of 'em. Broken Weetabix make me shudder. Eating powdered All Bran is a crime against God and humanity, damnit.

Soft pillows scare me half to death. Can't! Breathe! I prefer something resembling a breeze block with a thin layer of foam.
Unsurprisingly, I have a lot of neck trouble.

And the End Of The World, of course. When the seas rise to my 60m-above-sea-level doorstep, I worry that I may not have enough barbed wire to fend off the dingy-toting hordes that will come hunting for my stash of tin cans.

I could go on. I will spare you.

Jaywalker said...

Wow, HFF. Firstly, I do of course know the HaHoos. And secondly, I ONLY like the crumbs at the bottom of Weetabix packets. I shake the packet, leaving the whole ones behind, to fill my bowl with crumbs. We should live together probably. And broken All Bran? Mmmmm. Bran mash. Like a horse.

Mara Rose Gaulzetti said...

Oh yes, this post is right on the nose. I fear all of these things, in addition to:

Speaking to strangers over the age of 4 (I'm 31).

Constant fear of having excessively sweaty armpits. In the winter this fear is compounded by trying to wear cool clothing without looking insane.

When the doorbell rings I think about hiding.

Sarma always scared me when I lived in Beligium. Just saying Sarma is disgusting. Sounds like a fungus.

People seeing me exercise makes me nauseous, just the thought of it is making me ill.

Despite being a squeaky clean citizen, each time I see a policeman I have a mini panic attack and believe they're going to arrest me.

Knackered Mother said...

I don't have a particular scared-of thing but do like mead which makes me a medieval peasant by rights.

HFF and you should swap cereal boxes.

hairyfarmerfamily said...

I have a un-lived in section of house. If you can bring some more barbed wire with you, consider it yours!

jonathan said...

A disastrous teaching practice in a former life back when I was a PGCE student has left me with an irrational fear of the suburb of Gorton and by extension East Manchester in general and parts of Tameside.

Also, postboxes. I'm convinced they will somehow contrive to repel my letters or that I will manage to miss the slot without realising and cast them to the four winds, so I have steel myself for the encounter, then mutter a mantra to myself which goes 'I am going to put it in the box. I am putting it in the box. I have put it in the box. It is in the box. It is definitely in the box'. This is usually enough to convince me, at least 80% anyway, that it is actually in the box.

Em said...

Like Ali, feet make my skin crawl.

And saying the wrong thing. Or, saying something then worrying about it being the wrong thing. A time consuming, head slapping, get a grip on yourself type of fear.

Makes my head hurt.

Margaret said...

E: I only got as far as the telephone entry and had to email my dad this message: "Remember when we were kids and you said The telephone is the devil's instrument! and we were all, Oh we love the phone you're just old Bah to you! Well, many years ago I realized you were completely right but I forgot to tell you."

Fat Controller said...

Pierced ears. I could not even watch H. putting in her earrings it made me so queasy. I got over that one by going on a course and becoming an ear and nose piercer myself. Now I positively relish the crunch of titanium through cartilage

Laurel said...

jonathan, if you were a little old lady living in the U.S. about fifteen years ago, I saw you put a letter in the mailbox. Or at least, this little old lady then opened and shut the mailbox at least thirty times to check on the letter. (I'm sure she had OCD, so in truth I am not mocking her, but the image always stayed with me.)

Ways in which I am a medieval peasant: I cannot look at anything regarding my savings, or rather lack thereof. (OK, peasants didn't have savings. Insert wheat saved for the winter, or something.) I am convinced that I am loathsome and strange and unclean and people, even other peasants, only tolerate me at best. But at the same time I harbor a fear and loathing of a lot of other people myself. It is much like superstition.

However! I did confront and master the lawnmower the other day, and it was cathartic. Once upon a time I also learned to use a chainsaw, which is even more cathartic, though also much more legitimately dangerous.

Persephone said...

Being alone in a house at night, opening bills and statements, and depositing cheques in the bank. All three of which are fairly necessary if one is nominally an adult. And don't tell me to do the last thing through the ATM. I don't know how to do that either. I was shown, but I forgot. Also anything to do with numbers: making change, figuring out tips, etc.

You won't believe this, but my word verification is really and truly "undaring"....

Margaret said...

Persephone: How much of a tip do you need? If it's 20%, then just double the total and move the decimal one to the left. $19.00 tab? That's $38.00, move the decimal one to the left and you get a $3.80 tip. See?

moosh said...

The sound of other people eating sends me into paroxysms of equal parts fear and rage.

Maggie said...

Oh, I wrote a whole thing about this! The inside of my head is fascinating to me, apparently. Here it is. http://bootstrap-two.blogspot.com/2010/06/medieval.html

AQ said...

Asking for something from a stranger that is due me. Cannot. Will not. Horrid. And so I have many thousands of pounds of year-old rental deposit money sitting with an estate agent in South Kensington, just waiting for me to ask for it back.

the polish chick said...

waffle, if you got over maggots, you can get over anything. i think i would perform ceremonial evisceration on myself if i found a maggot in my purse.

i hate the phone. i despise voicemail and yell at mr. monkey when he leaves me innocuous meaningless messages on it. declarations of love can be done en face, goddamnit, and i do not have to press a whole shitload of buttons for it. i despise the woman who asks me "if you would like to listen to the message, press 1". what the hell else would i be wanting to do with the message, you sanctimonious hussy!?

i fear the polish consulate with its bureau-bitch who has hurt my feelings repeatedly and made me feel like a moron. i will not go in there again and will most likely force mr. monkey to phone/fax/email because he doesn't fear them and this needs to be done.

i fear the cancer and death.

the polish chick said...

oh, and gravity!

Lynn T. said...

I love and am grateful for turnips. I am a medieval peasant. There is no test more certain than this.

Jessica said...

I too fear the phone. Even when my cellphone tells me who is calling, I am still afraid to pick up, even when it's someone I really like.

I never answer my home phone. Ever.

I rarely answer the door. Even with the tv blaring or lights on, I will hide in whatever room I'm in hoping they'll think nobody is home and Go Away. I have even hidden on Belle Mere at least once.

The pharmacy. I *love* them in other places, because all the products are on shelves, and I can stare at, poke and stroke them, read the lables without anyone bothering me, and then take them to the counter, not say a word other than "hello" and have what I want. Here if I want cough drops I have to ASK for them. From a person. Who may or may not tell me the truth about the variety of flavours or brands he is hiding behind the counter. After 14 months here, I have yet to venture into a pharmacy here toute seule comme une grande.

Meeting new people. This one is horrible because I love actually conversing with people, but I believe myself to be horribly socially awkward. I am not a good ice-breaker or small-talker, which usually doesn't help me, as one must start somewhere, after all.

I am past fear with maggots, but they make me very angry in a revolted sort of way. Maggots are Bastards that need to be sent back to hell.

The forest near my house. Since spring arrived I have been terrified of this, though last year I walked and ran here often.

Police. They are too often bullies in uniform.

Any form that requires filling out. Does not matter the language, I have no idea what I am supposed to put in the blanks.

Also, the 2012 olympic mascots unsettle me deeply.

Saying too much. Which I fear I have.

Nellig said...

I abjectly fear being SEEN in the house by anyone outside the house.

Also, being SEEN jogging (well it's so undignified), which is why I jog at unearthly hours or not at all.

Plus social awkwardness in public spaces (not understanding the Starbucks queuing system).

Being rung up on my mobile phone in a public space.

And many other things too complicated and shameful to explain.

Anonymous said...

I hate using the 'phone - especially in Brussels, where I get people on the other end speaking French to me..but I put the 'phone in the washing machine a while ago and it had 10 minutes on the wash cycle. Sorted...(Why is there no 'phone care' cycle on a washing machine - surely a serious omission?)

hairyfarmerfamily said...


I am perfectly happy to contact the agents on your behalf for a percentage!

Jaywalker said...

HFF will you also contact someone in Bruges who I am too scared to call?

Betty M said...

I loathe answering the home phone. This is in my view tidally rational because the landline either announces a pregnancy which was brutal during the long infertile years or dread illness/death. Anyone doing social things rings on the mobile or emails.

I am scared to book restaurants and hotels. I work myself up into a frenzy to be able to do it and then if they are full it feels like a rejection of me as a person. I can however do this for other people no problem.

Hair in plug holes.

The children being injured or worse in freak accidents.

Anonymous said...

fungus gives me ear-buzz. esp ones on trees and little pointy ones in groups. After 6yrs w mushroomloving bf i can now pick up a wrapped pkt of 'shrooms but dont ask me to unwrap it. or touch them. or pick loose ones.
also wasps nests. really shuddering now. the papery horror... urgh.

kmsqrd said...

I'm afraid of bridges and tunnels. Not that they'll break or something while I'm in them but that I'll find some way to exit them in a non-standard fashion.

Lindsey said...

The biggest fear in my life was of mounting debt after my redundancy, but eventually I had to face that one head-on and deal with it, in all its hideously messy 'glory'. So now I feel invincible...

In fact, maybe I could offer you all my services for general administrative/form-filling/official-dealing duties. You could pay me a small fee, I'd sort everything AND pay off some debt - win win!

In fact, I'd go so far as to say that I bloody love a good form now.

Sewmouse said...

I am afraid of the mail. I will go for weeks without opening the mailbox for fear of something... not sure exactly what, but something...

I also have a fear of voicemail, but not getting them, but leaving them. I am entirely certain that everytime I leave a voicemail message, the people on the other side are not only laughing themselves sick over my voice, but broadcasting it through the corporate paging system to let everyone laugh at my stupid voice.

"Cheerleaders" are scarier than clowns.

Anonymous said...

Telephones: I am losing friends because of my inability/refusal to answer them when they ring. I am afraid I will not have anything to say and there will be awkward silences. Also I resent the intrusion into whatever it is that I was doing (usually playing Bejeweled, but let's not split hairs). Also, meeting friends for any beverage that is not alcoholic-- see above re: nothing to say, a problem solved (sometimes too well) by alcohol. My friends think I am an alcoholic hermit. Ability to say no to men: out of surprise that they should want anything from me at all, and a sense of obligation. Solved, now that I somehow got married.

Stellanova said...

I too am afraid of the phone. I actively dread checking voicemail messages, even if I know they are (a) from people I love and (b) not telling me some dreadful news. I have no idea why this is, but I put off checking my voicemail for days, which is particularly stupid when you're a freelance journalist.

I am also very bad at making official inquiries of any kind. In 1998, I completed a MA in Journalism, which involved doing a two month long work placement at a newspaper at the very end of the year and writing a little 1000 word report on it. I did the placement and got offered a features writing job at the paper, but missed the deadline for the 1000 word report. As a result, I technically failed the year and couldn't graduate. I was told I could resubmit the report the following year, but such was my crapness at sorting out any sort of official form-filling that it took me 11 years to finally do it, by which stage I was convinced they would no longer have any record of me and I would never get my MA. Luckily, the university's desire for an expensive token registration fee overcame their contempt for an ineffectual former student who had shown no interest in them for 11 years, and they let me do it. So last year, at the age of 34, I finally got my MA. And if I could conquer more than a decade of procrastination, anyone can do anything.

I still can't beat my fear of voicemail, though.

WrathofDawn said...

I cannot put air in the tires of my car for fear there is a hidden weakness in the tire wall and it will explode, decapitating me in a not very neat manner. This fear is based in reality, as I actually did have a tire do that, but it was a very old, rotten tire on my ex's badly neglected MGB (what kind of man neglects and MGB?) that was being pumped up by hand and made only a nominal "boom" noise and left my head securely fastened to my neck. Surely there is a limit to how many times in one lifetime one can explode a tire and survive, though? And that limit, I fear, would be one. And there was an item in the local paper a while back about a man who got killed by an exploding tire, so there. Not irrational. Just very inconvenient.

As Laurel said, am convinced that I am loathsome and strange and unclean and people, even other peasants, only tolerate me at best. While I am surrounded by people who are just as loathsome as I, am convinced I will never find another partner.

As Lynn T. said, I love turnips. Condition #1 for admittance to the medieval peasant club.

Abject terror of confrontation. Suffer from terminal l'esprit de l'escalier and can never produce the witty comebacks that come with ease hours later, alone at home.

Flying. Airplanes. *shudder* An exhausting enterprise, as I have to keep them up in the air and will all the mechanical parts and gubbins to continue mechaning and gubbing until we are safely on the ground again.

Doorbell. Unless I am expecting someone, the doorbell ringing throws me into a panic and I have to look frantically around to room for things that must be hidden before I can answer. This one is completely mad, as I am such a law-abiding old bore that the changes of there being anything that needs hiding is slim to non-existant.

Those are my terrors. Welcome to my nightmare.

WrathofDawn said...

Fortunately, I am not afraid of typos, or that last comment would force me to leap from the highest height.

Margaret said...

I fear:

Career networking. I would rather work the streets outside the Holland Tunnel in a hot-pink tube top than approach former colleagues/strangers and attempt to advance my (nonexistent) career.

Calling people up to ask them a question. This ranges from the cable company to my bank to the vet. I would much rather conduct all business via email, which brings us to...

Answering emails. I put off answering even social emails from people I really like who are only asking undemanding things like "Oh my God, did you watch Glee last night?" Anything job-related or administrative and I just click that Unread button to remind myself to take care of it In The Future, except the Future in some cases ends up being three months away.

I think I've already mentioned my fear of the insides of stuffed animals and upholstered furniture.

I'm afraid of inadvertently doing something that will land me in prison.

hairyfarmer said...

@ Jaywalker

I will cheerfully tackle anyone and anything on behalf of A.N.Other, and especially you. Bring 'em on!

On the other hand, my OWN bank - whom I spent a fraught few months hiding from (9 years ago!) reduce me to quivering jelly and frantic tears. I am still unable to open a bank statement to this day without hyperventilating. The only reason I rip open my credit card bill before John sees it is to have some inkling of precisely How Cross he is going to be with me this month. If it's bad, I hop in the car, quick, and do not reappear until lunchtime.

And yet... I would happily face down someone ELSE's baliffs without a flutter or bat of an eyelid.

Annie said...

unreasonable fears and loathings:

telephone, which has been exacerbated by prevalence of voicemail. my outgoing voicemail (the thing you hear if you call me) says "please do not leave a message. I do not check my voicemail ever and you will only get mad and exasperated with me if you leave a message. please save yourself the trouble, as if you leave me a message I will not only not respond, I will have no sympathy." do people listen? no. they leave me voicemail anyway, one-sided drama ensues.

the doorbell. by the time you set foot on my porch, my dogs can be heard in kentucky. seriously, you need to ring the bell? well, I cannot answer it as I am rendered deaf and afflicted with migraine by dog ruckus. come back another time. or leave the package unsigned for.

having to go pick up my csa share. if they forget to deliver, I do not want it. the csa office somehow contrives to be both sunny and dank, reeking gently and very unpleasantly of patchouli and mold with overtones of clothes stiff with flopsweat and skin particles and grime (as opposed to dirt), and I will not go there. take my money, let my veg rot upon your tables. you are scary and wrong, csa office, the end.

the post office. strangely, I do not mind to talk to a postal worker on the phone. I mind terribly to go to the post office, and I will not. I'm scared of the lines and the smell and the stamps (which are repellently sticky in the wrong way). I hate the smell very much, and the transactions are confusing.

wal-mart. I am averse to watching people, any people at all, beat and humiliate their children. there is no discount deep enough for that. something about wal-mart gives parents, grandparents, siblings and just random people a sense of entitlement about swatting or pinching or screaming at a weeping kid until it collapses into hysteria. it feels like I can hear it in the parking lot.

Krazy Kitty said...

I had prepared a long laundry list of things I'm afraid of. It included asking people for letters of recommendation. Then I asked people for letters of recommendation, and most of them said, no problem, right away, but my advisor replied that sure, but he's very busy and can I please send him a draft of my dream letter.

Then I had a panic attack in the ladies' room.

So I think "writing my own letter of recommendation" wins.

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