For the record, as an only child until the age eleven, I spent a lot of time alone. Like… a lot.
It’s possible everyone does this, but it’s also possible my brain has simply been operating without adult supervision for several decades now, because I create fully developed fictional backstories for random strangers constantly. If there aren’t enough strangers around, I’ll just invent people entirely.
“Right, Angela?”
She said yes. (Angela always agrees with me.)
And I’m not talking about normal observations either. I don’t look at someone and casually think, “Oh, he seems tired.”
No.
Over the course of a two-minute interaction, I will mentally construct a complete HBO-level emotional arc for a man I saw buying rotisserie chicken at Costco.
The Saga of Rick
Poor Rick.
Ever since Deborah left in 2017, things have been rough. He briefly considered moving south and opening a bait shop after the divorce, but ultimately decided to stay nearby to help his mom after her knee surgery. Honestly, really admirable of him. Especially since she let him move back in for a while after Deb left him for Hank.
And yes, Rick is absolutely convinced Deb and Hank had something going on before the split. But whenever someone brings it up, he just sighs deeply and says:
“That’s neither here nor there.”
Classic Rick.
Things are looking up, though. He’s got his own little townhouse now just down the road from his mom. Sure, his current furniture setup consists primarily of folding chairs and unresolved emotional damage, but once that Costco sleeper sofa gets marked down another $200, he’s pulling the trigger.
Work’s been stressful lately, but his daughter Emily called to check on him yesterday, which meant a lot. His sister Sally is setting him up next week too, and honestly? I think this could be good for him. He’s even considering buying a new Kirkland polo shirt for the occasion.
Growth.
Meanwhile this man’s actual reality was probably just:
“Please move away from the chicken.”
But if I see ol’ Rick back at Costco one day, I hope he’s looking a little perkier after getting some confidence back from the date.
Meanwhile, Over at Hobby Lobby…
Once my brain starts, there’s no stopping it. Take Denise for example. She’s just trying to enjoy some Chick-fil-A on her way home from work.
During the summer, her wife Susan’s kids stay mostly with their dad, but every Thursday they are home with her and Susan. So every Thursday like clockwork she takes the long route home where she sits in the Hobby Lobby parking lot eating waffle fries in silence like a war veteran avoiding emotional landmines.
The kids are mostly fine, don’t misunderstand. In fact, their trip to the zoo a couple weeks ago was one of the best days they’ve had together as a family.
But Denise is tired.
Susan’s daughter Hailey keeps mistaking Denise for a maid, and contributes absolutely nothing except emotional tension and seventeen half-empty water bottles. And Susan’s son Zach constantly smells of onions and potato chips, which honestly feels medically concerning at this point.
Denise could bring dinner home for everybody, but she’s tired of financially sponsoring people who pronounce “espresso” as “expresso.”
Last week she found a tumbler at Hobby Lobby that said, “Chaos Coordinator.”
She stared at it for a full minute before whispering,“Ain’t that the truth.”
She bought it immediately.
Tonight she is pretty excited to get home though because her HOA Facebook debate about mulch has escalated dramatically, and typing long passive-aggressive paragraphs is much easier on the desktop computer. This will make for a great conversation with her therapist next week.
Was any of this based on evidence? No.
But was I emotionally committed to Denise’s healing journey? Absolutely.
The Diagnosis
My husband has learned this disorder cannot be stopped once activated.
Sometimes I accidentally create lore for people so convincing that I forget I made it up. I’ll see someone months later and think, “Oh good for him. Looks like the divorce settled and he’s doing well. Even got himself a new truck. New truck. New Larry.”
Even our dogs have backstories, but I’ll save those for another day.
They’re kind of private pups. You get it.
These days, instead of looking at me with concern, my family participates.
I’ll point at a guy in Chili’s and say, “Things got hard at the dealership for Brad, but he’s getting back on his feet and decided it was a good night to treat the family with that $200 bonus.”
And my husband will seamlessly chime in with, “yeah, the move out of finance was hard, but it really humbled him in a way that made him better.”
Now we’re collaboratively writing fan fiction about a man who is just trying to enjoy his Triple Dipper appetizer with his family.
Mark my words, he’s getting himself a Skillet Chocolate Chip Cookie for dessert. He’s earned it. The Hyundai Tucson Hybrid that got him the bonus was a pretty tough sale.
Everyone is the Main Character
Maybe this is what happens when you combine anxiety, pattern recognition, ADHD, emotional hypervigilance, and a lifetime of observing human behavior. Every person is secretly in Act 2 of a deeply personal indie film.
I think the real problem is that my brain refuses to believe background characters exist. To me, everyone is the main character.
- The exhausted cashier. Poor Lorraine.
- The aggressively cheerful Target employee. Calm down Kelcie – you’ve had a little too much Starbucks.
- The woman buying twelve decorative pumpkins in July – oh shit, that’s me.
- The guy at Home Depot standing motionless in the plumbing aisle contemplating every decision that led him there. How many times has ol’ Frank had to tell his stepdaughters not to flush tampons? I’ll tell ya’ – too damn many. But he sure does love those girls. They’ve all become so close since his wife Mary passed.
All of them immediately become deeply complex individuals with rich inner worlds, emotional baggage, oddly specific opinions about chain restaurants, and at least one unresolved conflict involving a sibling named Brent that dates back to his first wedding.
Fuckin’ Brent.
It’s exhausting. But also kind of incredible.
Because somewhere out there, Rick is finally buying that couch.
…And hopefully, Brent is finally apologizing.
