The Stories Breeding in Our Heads Are Worth Sharing

by Astrid Ferguson

Have you experienced fear? I mean the fear monster we create in our heads that doesn’t exactly pan out in real life? Yeah—usually means anxiety is taking over and damn, it weighs heavy!

You ever felt like asking anxiety how much it bench presses? I am just saying, that muthaf***er is persistent and strong. If it’s okay, I’d like to share one of these stories I recently created in my head with you. If you’re into it, keep reading.

Bougie or Scared?

As I have shared before, COVID-19 has impacted me in more ways than I’d like to express. This year has been one of my toughest years. I believe I’ve shared that before. I’ve always worked and taken care of my family, so naturally, it’s understandable being unemployed for almost six months kicks my identity in the balls! Yes, I said what I said. Losing your job is not something anyone looks forward to, you know? At least I don’t.

Due to this unplanned circumstance, I’ve had to rely on savings and our wonderful unemployment compensation. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. Not to air out my dirty laundry but allow me to squeeze this nasty residue. Unemployment for me isn’t even 50% of what I used to make. So the extra $600, later switched to $300, was helping me get by in the meantime. I won’t get into all the logistics because I would just bore you with numbers and my excessive list of complaints.

So let me spare you the agony and just share—as a mother of two with a mortgage, car loan, and bills—this sh*t is rough! I understand there are people in the world going through harsher times than I am and I should stop my complaints, but it doesn’t make my emotions any less valid.

So I started doing Uber Eats to make some quick cash. I mean it’s flexible and it won’t remove my unemployment. Yes, if I get a regular part-time job it would need to be less than a certain percentage of my unemployment rate or it will be removed. Ideally, I would like to find a job that pays me my old salary or more but until that happens, mama gotta play by the rules and become a creative cash cow.

I know, it sucks!

Okay, so back to the Uber Eats…

I take on this delivery—pick up a pizza from Papa Johns and deliver it to a motel about a mile and a half down the road. I thought, “okay, easy, right?”

Well, I pick up the pizza and arrive at the motel. I am thinking drop off at the front desk and be on my merry way to the next delivery.

I text the person, ”leaving at the front desk.”

The person doesn’t respond.

There is a good four of us now standing there aside from the front desk clerk behind the counter with the Plexiglas.

Two of us have masks on. The other lady has a huge bag that looks like fresh laundry, arguing with the clerk.

I look to my left and another delivery guy enters the lobby.

He looks like he could be a Domino’s delivery person.

He drops off his order on the desk before me and leaves.

I signal the front desk clerk that I am with Uber Eats and have a delivery for a lady in room 266.

He says, “Okay, let me call her and let her know her order is here.”

Cool, right? Everything is going smoothly.

I start placing the pizza on the table in front of me directly across the front desk—emulating the Domino’s delivery guy.

The front desk clerk says to the guest in room 266 over the phone, “I’ll have them take it right up for you.”

This is when the stories developed in my head…

“What Just Happened?”

Those were the first words that uttered out my mouth as I look to the person to my left. I thought:

I was like why do I have to go up the motel to deliver this damn pizza?

Who’s calling the shots here?

Why can’t she come down and get her food?

Okay, you reading this are probably thinking that is what everyone who delivers food does.

I would have to disagree.

I have ordered before while staying at hotels and guests are required to pick up their orders from the front desk. It is for the security of both the guest staying at the hotel and the delivery person. Most people are not allowed on hotel premises unless they are employees or checked-in guests.

This is where my anxiety kicked in supercharged.

Scenario One

What if something happens to me while I am in this motel?

Uber Eats will not pay liability for my life for this $8.00 delivery. Shit, I currently don’t have life insurance either…fuuuuuccckkkk!!!

What the hell will my grave say? I was making a pizza delivery!?

What if someone grabs me, pulls me into their room, and assaults me? What will I say? “I was just trying to figure out where the hell was room 266.”?

How come I have to make the delivery and the delivery guy was allowed to just leave his on the table?

These were the burning questions in my mind for the scenario of something happening to me while I just complied with delivering this pizza. I would like to add here that I was also starving because I skipped lunch and didn’t have enough time to eat before delivery peak hours hit. So smelling this delicious warm pizza was not helping me.

Scenario Two

What if I get robbed?

I looked at myself and thought if someone robs me of my few diamonds (wedding ring and engagement ring) I would be devastated! Not the worst scenario but I instantly time-traveled to the Chinese guy I witnessed get robbed in the Bronx in our fifth-floor apartment when I was about twelve-years-old. They beat him up pretty bad and took all the tips he made that day.

My mind raced once more to the time my mother was robbed waiting for the train in Manhattan, NY. They yanked her purse, breaking the straps, stealing all her rent money. The worse part—rent was due in three days. So I was time traveling in my head as I see a crowd of about eight young ladies begin to approach me; all not social distancing or wearing a mask. They begin talking in Spanish about the club they’re going to. Okay, maybe this scenario sounds more like PTSD than anxiety, but you get me right?

Scenario Three

What if I catch COVID-19?

What if my husband or children test positive for COVID-19 because of me? I was delivering a pizza at this trashy motel so I can make some money to pay our mortgage, is that justifiable?

I take the elevator upstairs and start going down a new hallway. As I am approaching room 266 I hear people having sex, people having a party, and pass more people smoking. An empty stomach and smoke make me feel light-headed.

Finally, I arrive at room 266 which is at the tail-end of the motel near the dumpster.

I can hear the lady having a whole convo saying,

“I thought they were supposed to deliver it to your room?

The least they can do is deliver it to your room!”

I place the pizza on the floor, take a picture and send the delivered notice.

I just walk away wanting to cry my eyeballs out. I felt like the dumpster near the room, used and forgotten.

The Humility Dance

The sad part is I can’t even articulate why I was feeling this way. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Maybe it was anxiety that kept me from seeing none of these stories were true.

Maybe it was grieving the life I once had really hard at the moment. Maybe it was shame.

Maybe it was me trying to convince myself that at least I am safe and delivered the pizza safely.

Either way, I was stuck in this labyrinth of thoughts. Asking myself the question is there a thin line between humility and standards? Did I think I was too good to do this job? Or should I have voiced my concern of nervousness? Was I tolerating because of my situation and practicing my inability to set boundaries?

Does this story read differently if I shared the delivery guy was white, the hotel front desk clerk was a black male and the lady who ordered was black?

Does it now become a race conundrum because I was the only Latinx in the room?

All I did at that moment was go to my car and head home. At least driving in silence served me as meditation and I can be grateful these thoughts only existed in my head. Well, until now of course. While I am struggling internally I should be glad I get to say this is only temporary. So many people do this job every day and wonder if it’s worth it. Convince themselves it’s all they can do.

However, I can’t help but feel as if these emotions were all too familiar. I was once the child who lived in constant fear of my neighbors and persons in my house. I know what if feels like to feel unimportant and helpless. I can’t help but question my reactions—silence should it always be my solution? Why didn’t I just say, no? Whose judgment was weighing heavier on me at that moment?

As a life coach reading my own words I can hear all the judgment and a great deal of shame. However, reframing while you’re in the trenches of anxiety and victim mode seems like an impossible maze.

What do you think? Have you ever felt like this over things you considered to be simple and small? Have you ever been glad these stories only existed in your head but afraid of how they would show up in real life if you gave them attention? Share them in the comments.