by Emanuel Gutierrez
I can do this. I can do this. I repeated the sentence like a mantra, like saying it enough would suddenly dispel all the nerves. In just a few seconds, he might pick up. There was no backing out now. Sarah was right next to me, mostly to support, but probably also to make sure I didn’t chicken out for once. 3 quarters into my senior year, I was finally going to make a phone call for my seminar project.
It was a long time coming, really. One of our assignments near the end of junior year was to contact an expert and interview them about our topic. Being the socially anxious mess that I am, however, I managed to avoid this interview by waiting until the day before it was due to send an email. I never got a reply, and even though that was detrimental to my grade, I was very relieved. I prefered to let my grade take a hit than to confront my fear.
“If this meant I had to be pushed out of my comfort zone, then good: I was learning more from seminar than just my project’s topic.”
A year later, I found myself in a similar situation. But I knew I couldn’t weasel my way out of this one. Not with the call already processing and Sarah sitting next to me. I was going to have to go through with what felt like a lose-lose situation. If the zoo owner I was contacting refused to post my blog on his website, I’d feel the sting of rejection, and the “I told you so” of my anxiety. If the zoo owner accepted my proposition, someone outside of Chinquapin would be reading my work, which was an equally terrifying prospect. Regardless of which poison I didn’t get to pick, I’d inevitably have to start with this phone call.
In books and movies, the build up to a scary phone call is typically described as feeling really long and suspenseful. How I wished real life worked the same way. I had practically no time to compose myself before I heard a gruff, “Y’ellow, Capital of Texas Zoo here.” About 3 seconds into me introducing myself, the man on the other end cut me off, asking that I repeat myself. This happened about 3 times before he finally understood who I was and why I was calling. Except he apparently didn’t understand. The zoo owner must’ve interpreted my opposition to Exotic Pet Ownership as opposition to zoos, because he got very defensive very quickly. He began asking about my research and challenging every claim I made in a rather harsh and accusatory manner. I could hardly get 2 words in before I’d be questioned or interrupted with not-so-subtle insults to my intelligence and credibility.
I remember wishing more than anything that the man get frustrated and hang up. Anything for this awful conversation to be over. Prior to the call, my rational side had assured me that reality would be better than the scenarios my anxiety had concocted. My rational side was wrong, because this was nearly as bad as I had feared.
It felt like the call had been going on for an eternity. I looked over to Sarah holding up a sign that said “Steer the conversation to your project.” Without questioning how she made that sign so fast, I heeded Sarah’s advice. The man finally realized I wasn’t anti-zoo and became far more pleasant to converse with. By the end of the call, he asked me to send him my blog posts so he could consider including them in his website.
Relieved beyond words, I thanked him and hung up. Glancing at the call log, I realized the call hadn’t even lasted 10 minutes. In that short timespan, I had made more progress in gaining a platform for my blog than I had in the past month of emailing multiple zoos. I realized that communication was far too important to neglect. And if this meant I had to be pushed out of my comfort zone, then good: I was learning more from seminar than just my project’s topic.
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