Dateline: Hilton Branch Office, Las Vegas, Nevada. For lead in to this post see “When Does Escaping Anxiety Work?”
Setup: It is the last night of a several day trip during which I have been involved with others up and down the Strip, fun, but now I’m tired and looking forward to a couple of nights on my own off Strip in more luxury. It’s three in the afternoon and, as I drag my luggage on the monorail, I’m thinking fondly of my upcoming lovely late lunch with my computer at Hilton’s Paradise Café.
I arrive at the hotel, dump my luggage and head for the Paradise Cafe. It’s closed until five. I pace outside, occasionally waving at cafe staff readying to open. I’m the first one in, and ‘yes’ I could sit in the perfect booth. Ahhh. I flipped open the computer and studied the menu. I would have the shrimp cocktail and fried shrimp. I was ready for a couple of hours of editing and seafood…what everyone looks forward to in Vegas, right?
(For more ideas on what to do in Las Vegas,see the Tourist Tips coming out with Jessica LeFave’s next adventure….What? Are you thinking that anyone who’d think seafood and computer for two hours represents a good time in Vegas couldn’t possibly have any juicy ‘Tourist Tips’?…There’s a whole section on ‘How to Spot and Follow a Call Girl’, so there.)
But, alas, my joy in the perfect booth with shrimp x two was not to be. The waitress stepped up to my booth, glared at my computer, and mentioned she’d seen me lurking around waiting for the Cafe to open and didn’t appreciate it….since, to her, the café opening signaled her return to a life of angry, indentured servitude. I stayed on task. I ordered the shrimp cocktail and the fried shrimp, asking her if she could wait on putting in the fried order for a while.
“Do What?” the displeased waitress asked. “You want me to do what?” I repeated my outrageous request. She said, “What did you think I was going to do? You ordered a shrimp cocktail. I will bring you your shrimp cocktail and at that time I will place your entrée order.”
Well pooty. I’m disappointed with the atmosphere, but then I’m an approval freak. And, heck, I must have learned something from teaching all those anxiety management classes…I control what goes on inside my chest cavity….I couldn’t possibly be so ‘pourous’ that one unhappy waitress who clearly hates me and everyone like me….could put a blip in my day…”
The less than wonderful-for-twenty dollars shrimp cocktail arrives. Then, three minutes laterthe fried shrimp show up…in a BASKET…tiny little things, like fried catapillers crawling on a pile of soggy fries. Okay. Boo. Hiss. What to do? What to do? Does mysteryshrink manage her anxiety and make the best of the situation? Does making the best of the situation result in food poisoning and a basket phobia?
I looked inside my head for direction. Both my ‘feelings’ and my ‘thoughts’ begged to direct my behavior. Which side won?



