Introverted people have their own communication style, and it is usually quiet and asynchronous. Extroverts always think it’s about them when introverts don’t enjoy their endless prattle. I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve had like this:
Me: Well, I’ve got to go finish work.
In this scenario, “I’ve got to go finish work” is substituted for, “Wow, you never stop talking, do you?”
Extrovert: Why? Don’t you like talking to me?
Me: I really don’t like talking much. I need a lot of quiet time.
Extrovert: Are you mad at me?
Me: No. It’s not really about you. I just want to be able to concentrate on my thoughts and maybe finish that second novel before I die.
Extrovert: You’re so cold and mean.
Me: OK. Well, I’ve got to go.
Introverted brothers and sisters, do you see how a simple need for some quiet time turned into teen girl drama about feelings? What the heck? Ain’t nobody got time for drama.
Here’s another common scenario:
The phone rings. After I jump out of my seat from the shock of the noise of the phone ringing (Read that with a Christopher Walken voice; it’s better), I look to see which phone is ringing. Really, I don ‘t have to do this as my personal cell has the Meow Mix theme as a ring tone. This shocks you, yes?
If it’s my work phone, I answer it and hope it is yet another wrong number, as I have a lot of trouble hearing on the phone. I do need hearing aids, but I am fighting that. If it’s my iPhone, it is usually right next to me. So, I pick it up and look at the caller ID. If it’s my home phone, I must move at least two cats and a MacBook Pro from my lap, kick off the blanket because my house is always overly air-conditioned, and jog to the phone.
Then, I look at the caller ID.
Is it my son? No.
Is it my husband? No.
Is it my mom? No.
Is it my boss? No.
I don’t pick up the phone, usually, unless it is one of those people. Then, I either put the phone down, or walk away from it if it’s the home phone. If it’s someone I REALLY don’t want to talk to, I may say, “hell no” before I walk away. The funny thing is that I tell everyone that I hate the phone, and they somehow think it doesn’t apply to them. They think they are immune from my phone hatred.
Let me make this clear; if I did not give birth to you, or marry you, or send you a Mother’s Day card, or report to you in the system, I’m not picking up the phone. I’m 42 years old. I mean, I’m 28 years old, and I really don’t have to do a bunch of stuff I don’t want to do anymore. So, just send me an email or a text, and we can communicate. Give up on the phone thing. I’m not answering it.