Hey! I just wanted to share something with you: Extroverts are Awesome! Let me tell you a little bit about it. . .
I was walking on my own in downtown Denver one night. I was on Santa Fe and 10th or so, somewhere in LoDo. I looked across the street and saw what appeared to be a gathering at an art gallery. I entered and began to admire the art, which wasn’t bad. I saw they had an open bar with wine. I didn’t see a bartender, so I poured myself a glass of red. Almost instantly, other attendees started walking up to me for wine. I poured them glasses, too. I smiled and made small-talk as I opened a new bottle. They started tipping me. I handed off the bartender duties to kid who looked to be about 15. I did this so I could flirt with this woman who seemed kinda artsy-flighty, but not in a bad way. She looked kinda like Donna Pescow. I don’t know what happened to her. I think I got her number but didn’t bother to call.
Then there was a time when I was in college and we students were sitting around a cafeteria table talking to Cleanth Brooks, who was visiting for a lecture. He was a literary lion–a big time guy in the world of Southern lit. He was author of one of our textbooks. And none of the lit majors could think of anything to ask him. They were all sitting around just saying “wow” or some shit. The awe had overcome them. Well, honestly–in my world he might as well have been Earl the propane guy down at the Mobil, so I just started talking. I cleared my throat and asked him why Faulkner was so difficult to understand–except for his movie scripts. He blew me off in some Southern gentlemanly way (because they have their ways). But suddenly some of the lit majors had real questions for him. Yay! As an extrovert, I had done my duty. I had aerated that soil, by gum!
And then there was the time that someone where I used to work suggested that someone from our group should go to the vice president of the company and put in a good word for our boss, who was a decent enough fellow and appeared to be getting railroaded. As I walked to lunch at the cafeteria I saw the VP smoking a cig, so I walked over to him and said “Greg, you need to lay off Kevin. He’s doing all he can do. We try our best but our jobs are pretty meaningless given the lack of data.” He cringed, dropped his cigarette, and asked me who the hell I was. I told him who the hell I was. Later I learned that the guy who suggested someone go talk to the vice president wasn’t really serious. He was surprised I had done that. I shrugged: For I was an extrovert.
I could tell you of so many more times I was nearly arrested for driving golfballs at a miniature course; times I’ve nearly been slapped by hostesses; various strange women I’ve danced with; burnouts and wheelies in the parking lot of Hooter’s on a sportbike; friendships that run their full course in the hour and fifteen minutes it takes a plane to get from Denver to Phoenix, and so on. But we lack time and space in this blog post.
All I can tell you is that extroverts rock, and we deserve your support and understanding.
But if you don’t agree, that’s ok, too. We’re still extroverts, and not to say your thoughts and feelings don’t matter, but . . .