To most of the world, walking into places and talking to other people, even those they don't know, seems to be as easy as walking in general. For some of us, however, this is not the case. There are quite a few people like me, but I am willing to bet there are few who are exactly like me. I seem to be missing the gene that everyone else has. This is the gene that allows people to be sociable and, when you're male, it is the gene that allows you to flirt with members of the opposite sex without much in the way of fear. I call this the “flirt gene” and I seem to be missing that particular gene more than any other.

I have been this way most of my life, of course. From my earliest memory I can remember not wanting to be the center of attention. There are lovely family memories of me clinging to curtains and bursting into tears on the side of the stage during pre-school programs. While the other kids seemed to bound on stage to the delight of the parents who immediately commenced with clicking five billion photographs and then adding movie cameras. They would immediately begin singing some inane song or another at the top of their lungs, all the while preening for those cameras. Then there were my folks, looking down at their shoes and trying to crawl into the backs of their chairs as I was being dragged out by the teacher, clinging to the curtains at the side of the stage, screaming, crying and and basically acting like I was about to be dumped into boiling oil for the delight of the Romans in the Coliseum.

Needless to say, there are very few photos of me doing the various school stage plays and shows. No one wants to remember the times when Bryan was crying on the side of the stage while the rest of the class was singing “Little Drummer Boy” while banging away on homemade drums made from Quaker Oats boxes. It just doesn't bring about the warm fuzzy feelings that the other parents must have when they drag out the old photos to show to girlfriends and wives.

I remember being able to get through exactly one stage play and that was in kindergarten. I can't remember exactly what the play was but I remember there was a girl in the class who played a hen and me and two others played her chicks. We were supposed to help her make something while other kids with boxes on their heads and poorly painted faces pretended to be other animals who were refusing to help. I am sure it was a powerful performance meant to convey deep emotion and a deep message. I just remember having to walk across the stage in a crouched position (to better express being a chicken, I suppose) and hand something to the girl playing the hen. I remember wearing a box that was painted yellow. You can see a blurry photograph of this stunning performance in my family's photo albums. I managed not to cry. It must have been the box I was wearing.

Things never got better for me. I was not a sports star. No, I hit the genetic lottery when it came to coordination and athleticism. I was more likely to run into another player and break my nose than make a spectacular tackle or great catch. The roar of thousands chanting my name and cheering for my team was never in the cards. I spent exactly one season in little league baseball and I was stuck far into right field and quickly moved as soon as the other team realized that if they hit it anywhere near me I was likely to miss it thus allowing them to score with impunity. Through no help of my own, my team managed to get into second place and end up with a trophy.

So, I was the kid who slowly receded into the background. I was the kid who was smart, but not overly so in a way that would cause me a lot of attention. I was the kid who never raised his hand even when he knew the answer to the question. Before too long, this kind of attitude was pervasive.

I have lots of friends who make flirting look easy. They are the kind of people who will walk into a bar or restaurant and come out good friends with the hot waitress. I am the kind of guy who can walk into the same place and walk out slightly tipsy with a headache and a solitary walk to my car. People tell me that bars are terrible places to meet women anyway, but that's probably the kind of thing those who find it easy to flirt tell those people who are like me.

What amazes me about the rest of the world is that how easy so man of these men are able to flirt. I have often asked them how they do it. I am often told that they find it as difficult as me and that whatever they were saying to the waitress was not actually flirting. Oh really? It sure looked like it to me when she laughed and then smiled and then practically sat in their laps.

I never ask for help. While many women will say that this is a male characteristic and not just a characteristic of someone who is shy. However, most men decide not to ask for help because they want to be strong. Me, I would gladly ask for help but I am too shy to ask anyone around me. Sure, if I knew someone who worked at the store, I could walk right up and ask where they keep the doo-dads that I am looking for. If I don't know anyone then I just walk around for a while, looking aimlessly and trying very hard to look like I know what I am doing, all the time deflecting the people walking up to me and asking if they can help.

I had a friend tell me that not asking was silly. I pointed out that I didn't want to looks stupid. My friend said, this was silly as I was unlikely to ever see that particular person ever again. That may seem like a good argument to most, but to me it isn't. It means that their one and only impression of me would be me acting like an idiot and asking a stupid question.

Other men probably enjoy having their hair cut, especially by a female hair dresser. Not me. While my other friends talk about lengthy conversations they have with the person cutting their hair, my attitude is much different. I sit there, without my glasses, blind as a bat, looking down at my lap. Many times I also close my eyes. I just pray that the person cutting my hair will shut up and pay attention to what they are doing rather than asking me about the weather, or what I do, or how my holidays are shaping up.

The world is a big scary and lonely place for those of us who are afflicted with shyness. It is a place filled with people we are afraid to talk to. It is a place filled with one opportunity after another to look stupid, act stupid or be thought of as stupid. If you are like me, once you are caught acting stupid your brain will then l likely spend time sifting through those memories and bring up the most embarrassing one while you are sitting there just trying to wash your dishes or fold your laundry. Because that would be the absolute perfect time to have to sit there and writhe around on the couch as if stabbed through the neck by a pair of sharp scissors.

The advice given to me is often comical at best. People tell me to just act more confident. This to me makes about as much sense as if you told me to please figure out the best way to travel back in time using the least amount of fuel. Maybe to the rest of the you confidence comes whenever you need it. With me, I remember the time the girl I had a crush on found out and called me fat and ugly. This immediately puts the kibosh on any ideas I had about walking up to that woman and saying anything.

Of course, if women made it easier, it would make it easier for me. If they wore signs on their heads, for example, that would just tell me if they were or were not attracted to me, it would make things much easier. If they carried cue cards to help me know what to talk about with them, that would be great too. So ladies, help a guy out here, if you could. Sometime the shy guy who doesn't seem to know what to say may be the perfect guy you were looking for. Just give him a little help.

Bryan Alaspa is a featured writer for Xomba.com. Read the rest of his work here .