One of the groups I volunteer for raises some money by providing some volunteers at the local bingo hall once a month. Last night was our night, and I was one of the volunteers.
I'm very introverted and not exactly a people person, so that kind of volunteer work - dealing with the public - is very difficult for me. I usually volunteer by sitting on boards and committees, where I deal with a small group of people, in a quiet atmosphere, just doing things that are easy for me, like making decisions about programs, funding, staffing, etc.
But dealing with the public, in a busy place like a bingo hall, is pretty hellish for me.
I sign up to do it, because, well, I feel an obligation to the organization, and we make some pretty decent money for a few hours of work. So I look at it as a job, and tell myself that I have no choice.
I know a few weeks ahead of time that I'll be doing it, and the anxiety builds over the weeks until the night of the bingo. I feel nervous, nauseous, and it's all I can do to stave off a panic attack.
Afterwards, I feel a great deal of satisfaction about having faced my fears and done it.
Of course, then I start to look ahead to the following month and the cycle starts again.
I'm very introverted and not exactly a people person, so that kind of volunteer work - dealing with the public - is very difficult for me. I usually volunteer by sitting on boards and committees, where I deal with a small group of people, in a quiet atmosphere, just doing things that are easy for me, like making decisions about programs, funding, staffing, etc.
But dealing with the public, in a busy place like a bingo hall, is pretty hellish for me.
I sign up to do it, because, well, I feel an obligation to the organization, and we make some pretty decent money for a few hours of work. So I look at it as a job, and tell myself that I have no choice.
I know a few weeks ahead of time that I'll be doing it, and the anxiety builds over the weeks until the night of the bingo. I feel nervous, nauseous, and it's all I can do to stave off a panic attack.
Afterwards, I feel a great deal of satisfaction about having faced my fears and done it.
Of course, then I start to look ahead to the following month and the cycle starts again.
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The "molester" refers to the guy who kept sticking his hand up my dress in my own house at my own wedding party. Getting hit by a bus is too good for him. Unfortunately, like I said, he has blackmail material.