the reason i have the tag "irrational fears of a grown-ass woman."

what are you afraid of?  is it something that TONS OF PEOPLE are afraid of, like snakes, spiders, flying, needles, or the dark (not a huge fan myself)?  Or is it something… a little irrational?  Liiiiiike… throwing up?  Yes.  Poor Jill.  But we still love her, right?  Right.

I promised her a post about my irrational fear, and I swore that she would laugh about how much more ridiculous it is than hers.

So here it is.

What I’m afraid of.

I’m afraid of…

escalators.

Seriously!  Not so much the moving stairs themselves, but falling down/up and killing/making an ass of myself on them.  I’m not really sure where this stems from, but whenever I am confronted with having to take an escalator, I will either A) look around for a set of stairs (better on the glutes anyway), or B) feel the bile rising immediately in my throat and hear the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Last year when we went to California, I flew from Montana to beautiful (I assume. I only saw the airport) Salt Lake City, Utah.  Well, when you fly a small regional carrier (like SkyWest), apparently they feel the need to drop you off ON THE GROUND OUTSIDE SLC.  I’m glad it was September and not JANUARY.  Anyway, you trek in to the basement of the airport, and then have to go upstairs to the main concourse.  And those stairs? THEY MOVE.  Oh my.  Day one of my vacation and the first thing I’m confronted with is MY GREATEST FEAR.  Swell.  (Sidenote: I had to go back and read this post to remember if i had actually TAKEN the escalator, or if I had found a set of stairs.  Apparently, the latter.  BTdubs, you should read that post. it’s kind of funny.  you know. if i do say so myself.) So, I took the stairs.  With a laptop.  And a carry-on.  And my purse.  I’m sure that looked awkward.

Later that night, I was running around the Gaslamp district with my pal AZ (who now needs a new nickname since she moved out of Arizona and into Sunny San Diego…) and we went to this outdoor mall-like thing.  THAT HAD AN ESCALATOR. Our conversation as I remember it:

Me: Um. Let’s take the stairs.

AZ: You’re shitting me.  It’s a million stairs.

Me: I don’t like escalators.

AZ: Why?

Me: Um. Because I don’t?

AZ: You. Just. Don’t?

Me: Well.  I don’t like looking like an idiot.

AZ: How would you look like an idiot?

Me: (in a tiny voice) if I fell down the stairs.  Or um, up them.

AZ: (trying not very hard not to laugh at me) I can go in front of you.  That way, if you fall, I fall.  And we look like idiots together.

Me: Or we could take the stairs.

As I recall, we took the stairs up.  And when we got to the top, I remember thinking that HOLY PETE that was a lot of stairs.

So when we got ready to go back down to the main level. I put on my brave face.  AND I TOOK THE ESCALATOR.

AND I DIDN’T DIE.

OR FALL.

Yay.

Unfortunately, there were no more escalators for the duration of our journey, so I couldn’t practice.  Until I got to the airport.  And I practiced.  Seriously.  Who has to practice taking the escalator?  THIS GIRL.

By the time I was in NYC a few weeks later, confronted with a hotel in Times Square that had a HUGE escalator to get up to the front desk, I WAS SO BRAVE AND I OWNED THAT ESCALATOR.

I have overcome my fear.

And now I kind of dorkishly love escalators. To the point that when Doc and I were killing time in Macy’s waiting for it to get dark so we could go to the Empire State Building, I may or may not have made her take the escalator with me all the way up to the 8th floor.  AND BACK DOWN AGAIN.  BECAUSE IT WAS FUN.

I know. It’s one extreme or the other with me.

Now, Jill, my dear.  I am not suggesting that you practice puking to overcome your fear.  Bulimia is not the answer.  I’m just saying, if I can overcome, so can you. I have faith. : )