Introvert Desperation in a Nutshell.

Remember how I told you I was an outgoing introvert?  Here's proof.

When I was in the throes of the "don't touch me, don't talk to me, don't ask me things," I had to cancel our newspaper subscription.  That was something that had been planned long before my mood, so it wasn't a reaction or anything.

I was in a rather "being pecked to death by baby ducks" kind of mood, and clearly didn't much want to chat. 

I made the call, getting more and more irritated by the automated, "Say 'not getting newspaper,' 'vacation service,' or 'cancel service,' thing.  

"Cancel service," sez I.
"I'm sorry. I didn't quite get that.  Please say 'not getting newspaper,' 'vaca...'"
"CAAAANCELLLL SERRRRVICE!"
"So, you say your newspaper is in bad condition when you get it. Please specify 'covered in mud,' 'ripped,' 'missing sections,' or 'other.'"
"CAAAAAANCELLLLLL SSERRRRRVICCCCE!!"
"I didn't quite get that."
"CUUUSTOMERRRRR SERRRRRRVIIIICE?!"
"So, you want to transfer delivery to a new address?"
"OH MY GOD JUST GET ME A HUMAN!"
"Transferring"

After a few half-hearted bars of "Sweet Caroline," the call was answered chirpily by "Marianne." I informed her of my desire to cancel service.
She (undoubtedly in a call center in northern Oklahoma or someplace) asked me why I was choosing to discontinue service.

I replied, "I don't feel like telling you." 

She paused. She said that the newspapers like to know why people stop service, so they can improve for the future. 

I replied, "I'm sure they do. Still not telling." 
The pregnant pause there was well worth the awkwardness. 

"....Um. Ok. Well, then. Ahhhh, so... canceling. Have a good day!"