Reflection by way of Rejection

By Erin Matuczinski

When I first heard of Rejection Therapy I thought it was just a silly internet trend. Come to find out, it is an entire self-help challenge popularized by author Jia Jiang to desensitize yourself to being rejected by strangers and embarrassed in public. I laughed at the videos that came up on my feed of people dancing on the sidewalk, then I thought about how much I would hate to ever have to do that. 

For weeks I continued to think about the videos I saw with people asking strangers outrageous questions or doing awful dance routines on a busy sidewalk. Of course, the entire premise of the exercise is to be told no, however, many of those people actually found themselves being unexpectedly told yes. A waitress happily let a man take one of the restaurant’s signature glasses home, just because he asked so nicely.

I began to realize that such a challenge could be quite beneficial to me. The direct exposure to my own fears would be more productive than shying away from them like I always do. Maybe Rejection Therapy would help me become the outgoing person I always wanted to be.

I decided to challenge myself to Rejection Therapy. Some tasks I would take from Jiang’s own experience and some from my own thoughts. With a running list in my notes app, I knew it was now or never. 

* * *

“No, you can’t do that.” 

Those are my least favorite words to hear. 

Not because I am some fearless extrovert always looking for my next adventure, but because I am the exact opposite. 

Growing up with a social anxiety disorder has meant that for most of my life I have been genuinely terrified of strangers. What I was going to try was a shock to the system.

I purposefully chose my first exercise to be one that wouldn’t be able to let myself chicken out on. Taking inspiration from Jiang himself, I arrived at a local fire station to ask them if I could slide down their fire pole. It took me both a drive-by scouting and an almost-surrendering trip back to the car after getting out the first time until I finally pushed the big grey doorbell at the front of the station. No one answered immediately. I stood there hoping they never would. 

When a gentleman opened the door concerningly and asked what I needed help with, I immediately spat out that my question was going to be an odd one.

“Do you guys happen to have a fire pole, like, in the movies and stuff?” 

He laughed. “Unfortunately we don't. Only a creepy elevator.” 

I could have just left then and called it a success, but with my adrenaline already pumping, I thought I might as well keep going. 

“Oh. Well, could I go look at the trucks then?” 

He looked at his partner and shrugged. “Sure, why not?” 

Then I was standing in the garage between two massive firetrucks. I had a weak conversation with the gentleman, sputtering about how my best friend is an EMT and I couldn’t keep my curiosity about the job contained. I don’t know why I felt the need to explain myself, especially because that wasn’t the reason at all. Regardless, I thanked the man for his generosity and climbed back into the car, laughing about how freakishly easy it was to do something so out of the ordinary. 

My second exercise was not one that I was excited about in any way. In the eight minute drive from my apartment to the police station I had let out four ear-piercing screams to try and expel my rushing nerves. It helped, but not by much.

I scurried into the building after parking and waited anxiously by the reception window. I ignored the “ring for assistance” bell, being too afraid to pull someone from their important work for my silly charade. After about five minutes of silence, another lady in the lobby told me I needed to ring the bell. It felt like pulling the pin of a grenade. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Hi, um, I was wondering if someone could, like...pretend to arrest me? I’m in this prank war with my sister and-”

“No. I don’t think anyone is going to do that,” the receptionist said coldly. I thanked her anyway. 

I walked to my car feeling oddly depleted. I knew this was what the result would be, why was I so disappointed about it? Rejection left me feeling embarrassed and anxious, but the fact that I mustered the confidence to ask to be arrested gave me a twinge of hope. 

On the third day I had taken an old, basic painting of a tree to a local art museum and asked the man working there if I could hang up my piece. The look he gave me before he responded told me exactly what he was thinking. 

“She believes that belongs in here? Is she crazy?”

Thankfully, this was my intention. (And thankfully, he didn’t say it straight to my face.) But what surprised me more was when his astonished expression turned to a sweet smile as he began to explain the workings of the gallery to me. Although he made it clear that it was a very rigorous process to get only the most fantastic pieces accepted, he handed me two applications, a membership form, a newsletter, and well wishes to return. 

This time, I was quite positively moved by my rejection. I was intrigued by the way a complete stranger had put so much kindness and effort into a request that was quite visibly a waste of his time. My hope for myself grew. 

For my final attempt, I made my way to a powersports dealership full of motorcycles, jet skis, and ATV’s. I wandered nervously before biting the bullet and walking up to an associate’s desk.

“Is there anything here I can test drive?” 

He laughed. Technically the answer was yes, but they had no demo models at the moment. He told me to come back in November when they would arrive. 

I decided once again to keep it going, since I wasn’t truly rejected yet. “Do I have to have a motorcycle license for that?” 

I thought his sad smile and unfortunate confirmation would be the end of it, but instead he shot into an explanation of the places I could quickly get my license and discounts to go along with them. The personalized email I later received from him made the entire Rejection Therapy experience all worth it. 

“We need more female riders like you!” 

* * *

After just four days of venturing wildly out of my comfort zone, I realized that there was never any reason for me to be afraid of simply going up to a stranger and asking them questions. My constant anxiety-ridden assumptions about others proved to be worthless.  Two strangers saw my complete lack of skill not as a moment to judge, but one to encourage me to keep moving forward. 

My life of being a rule follower has simply boiled down to avoiding confrontation. Even in moments where I’ve felt that something needs to be changed, too often I have kept my mouth shut in fear of embarrassment. Rejection Therapy has taught me that life doesn’t always need a script, but more importantly, I can be the one to write it when it does.

NOT EVERYONE LOVES CARL'S, BELIEVE IT OR NOT

IT'S BLASPHEMOUS IN THIS TOWN TO CRITICIZE THE ICE CREAM SHOP. NeverthELESS, I ASK, "IS IT REALLY THAT GREAT?"

By Christopher Markham

When I started as a freshman at the University of Mary Washington in 2013, I was immediately bombarded with the questions: “Have you gone to Carl’s yet?” or “What do you think of Carl’s” or “Do you want to go to Carl’s later?” I’d never heard of Carl’s. I soon found out it was an ice cream stand. Because of all the hype, during my first week I joined a group of students from my dorm to line up outside the Princess Anne Street establishment. The line stretched to almost 50 people long, and it took about 10 minutes to get to the front.

There were just three options – vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. I chose a small vanilla cone, since it was my first time, and I wanted a fair, accurate representation of the ice cream. The service was so efficient, they were practically handing me my change while they handed me my cone. I watched all my new friends eating their ice cream joyfully. As I tried my first lick, I was surprised. I guess I shouldn’t have been; it tasted like, well, ice cream. It was pretty good ice cream, to be certain, but it definitely wasn’t the best I’d ever had. Still, I joined the line again with my friends in line for another cone. Secretly, I wondered what else I could have spent my $1.84 on.

Since then, my experiences with Carl’s have all been the same: high expectations with average results. So I started to wonder: How can an ice cream parlor from the 1940s that has garnered numerous prestigious accolades be so average? I’m not picky. I’m no professional food critic. I’m just saying that I have tasted many a culinary treat that did blow me away; the ice cream just wasn’t one of them. For example, there’s the chocolate milk from the Old Towne Butcher downtown. Perhaps Carl’s should take a page out of their book.

The small parlor with 1940s style machinery is a large draw to a lot of Fredericksburg natives. It is almost a right-of-passage to be considered a local to go to Carl’s and take in the experience. But the question here that a lot of people refuse to ask or acknowledge is this: does Carl’s deserve all of its glory? Sometimes, you have to ask the tough questions, and for Fredericksburg natives, the questions do not get much tougher or controversial than this one.

* * *

THE FABULOUS, WILD HISTORY OF CARL’S

Maybe it’s the tradition. The business started in 1947. Carl Sponseller had bounced around in a family ice cream truck in Pennsylvania to small stands in the D.C. area until the purchase of a piece of land that was formerly a gas station/restaurant. Everything about the place oozes retro. Its architecture has also played a role in its historic significance. The ice cream stand was constructed by Ashton Skinner in the Art Moderne style, diner-like with clean lines and a large pop-art inspired sign, in 1953. Sponseller designed the iconic neon sign on the roof that serves as a “north star” of Fredericksburg natives.

Located at 2200 Princess Anne Street, Carl’s claims its historic significance a locale built around the automobile, which became widely used in the first half of the century. That’s why it’s located on a major roadway.  Commuters traveling on U.S. Route 1 would routinely detour off of their route and take a pit stop at the ice cream shop. Princess Anne Street was, and continues to be, a major entranceway into downtown Fredericksburg.

Sponseller’s niece, Ramona Settle, is at the helm of the empire today, but runs the business much like her uncle did. From the 1940 Electro Freeze machines that produce their famous treat. The employees wear the same hats and aprons as they did in the 40s. Of course, the garments are not manufactured anymore so a local seamstress has to make them, according to a recent Washington Post article.

The ice cream stand was put on the National Register of Historic Places in 2005, with a plaque on the side of the building designating the distinction. It has gained national recognition as one of the best frozen custard servers in America, despite only offering three different flavors of ice cream. On the parlor itself is even a plaque declaring Carl’s a historic landmark.

Carl's signature neon sign lights up, as does its "open" sign, despite the ominous storm clouds overtaking Fredericksburg. Photo by: Seventh flute/Wikipedia

* * *

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ICE CREAM

Since my first trip to Carl’s, I’ve wondered what’s made it the stand-out ice cream shop in Fredericksburg. Wally’s, for example, in the midst of the downtown Fredericksburg business district, has a menu nearly 30 times larger than Carl’s, with flavors like mint chocolate chip, cookie batter and salted caramel. Depending on what you get, their ice cream is on par with Carl’s.

So I started thinking about what makes an ice cream place legendary in a community. Perhaps it’s the seasonal anticipation. Since its opening, Carl’s has operated under the same seasonal calendar. The original owner would close shop on the Sunday before Thanksgiving and not reopen until the Friday of Presidents Day weekend in honor of hunting season. This seasonal close is still in effect today, and probably plays a part in the anticipation of the ice cream. Other ice cream places are open year round, leaving little to no anticipation when going. However, with Carl’s closed for a few months out of the year, their return draws excitement and enthusiasm from the community. People go in to get their fill before they close and are in line as soon as they reopen. I have seen dedicated fans eating their ice cream while wrapped up in a winter coat.

Maybe it’s because Fredericksburg, in comparison to the large cities such as Richmond and Washington, D.C. where many of its residents work, doesn’t have a major culinary landmark. Both of those cities of plenty of fine dining options and cult neighborhood food joints. Fredericksburg, on the other hand, has a bit less to offer. The answer to that is Carl’s. No other city in Virginia has a Carl’s. It’s become an issue of territorial pride, and we use Carl’s as our crown to show off. But I started to wonder whether we’ve embraced Carl’s so much that we have convinced ourselves we can say “Yeah, you may have a concert hall, but do you have Carl’s?”

Or maybe it’s the fast service. Despite consistently having lines that exceed 100 people, their efficiency makes the wait a measly 15 minutes.

* * *

AWARD-WINNING

Or maybe it’s the awards Carl’s has received. Recently, Carl’s was named as the best ice cream place in the state of Virginia by Business Insider. Additionally, it was on americasbestonline.net’s top 10 “Best Ice Cream” list, which included all of the U.S.A. PBS Food named Carl’s among its “Best Ice Cream Shops in America” in 2013. I tried to reach out the reviewers and was unsuccessful.

But real people also vote Carl’s the best. According to TripAdvisor, as voted by 334 normal, everyday people, Carl’s is ranked No. 2 out of 385 places to eat in Fredericksburg. 203 of those people listed the establishment as “excellent,” 70 as “very good,” 38 as “average,” 18 as “poor” and five as “terrible.” Maybe when we hear that it’s an award-winning establishment, we’re naturally more biased to thinking it’s better.

In the world of psychology, the idea of classical conditional fits into the Carl’s phenomena. According to UMW psychology professor Miriam Liss, people’s experience with Carl’s from their childhood factor into their experiences today. “People associate good taste and good memories with Carl’s. Maybe they went there in their childhood and it was a warm and bonding time with parents,” Liss said. “Now when they see the Carl’s sign they feel a warm feeling and they want to go back.”

Another theory that Liss provided me with was the idea of conformity, similar to my first experience with Carl’s. “People see long lines and that makes people see Carl’s as socially desirable,” Liss said. This idea plays directly into how I feel about Carl’s and how I view others’ experiences with the stand. College in general holds a great deal of conformity, beginning during freshman year. Carl’s is the prime example of college kids or Fredericksburg community members conforming to the majority, traditional opinion. Anybody with a different opinion is shunned or considered “crazy.”

* * *

A VISIT TO THE DARK UNDERBELLY OF CARL’S DETRACTORS

Still, many Carl’s visitors, like me, believe the hype is misplaced. Amongst the rankings on TripAdvisor are comments by people reassuring me that I wasn’t alone. One commenter listed the ice cream as “Just so-so” and complained about the lack of seating and tight parking, both points which are hard to argue. Others do much of the same, calling it “just ice cream” or “average” or “nothing special.”

When I talked to people in person, I got just as much of a mixed response, some in favor of Carl’s, others passionately against.=

“I genuinely find Carl’s ice cream to be the best I’ve ever had,” said UMW student Alex Stoneburner. “I don’t get people who don’t like it. I try not to associate myself with those people. Going to Carl’s is part of what living in Fredericksburg is all about. If you don’t like Carl’s, you aren’t a true Fredneck.”

Others are less supportive. “Wally’s is here *puts hand up high* and Carl’s is here *puts hand to floor,” indicated fellow UMW student Aimee Silverman. “Wally’s is in a better location, has a better menu, and just straight up tastes better. I don’t get what the big deal is about Carl’s.”

Perhaps this is why Carl’s has remained at the top for so long. People refuse to ask the question because they are afraid of the answer. When I asked people about their opinion of Carl’s, I either got the “are you crazy? Just move out of Fredericksburg if you don’t love Carl’s” answer,” which was the majority, or I got the occasional “I agree, it’s nothing special.” But this getting shot down at the point of questioning is what keep the “Carl’s haters” in the shadows, having their voices forced to be silenced.

* * *

ASKING THE HARD QUESTIONS

As I stood around at Carl’s, I watched as people lined up on a sticky summer day or a brisk fall evening, I noticed how it helped Fredericksburg to have a central meeting place like Carl’s, a hub for hot days. Every town needs its crown to hoist on its head and show off to the public. Maybe it didn’t matter that Carl’s didn’t have the best ice cream. Maybe the legend was more important.

Back in my hometown of Fluvanna County, Virginia, a similar ice cream war is being waged. Papa Jim’s is an outdoor ice cream parlor with a relatively small menu which sits just off of a highway. In contrast, Frost Bites sits in the more developed part of town and offers a fancier, more diverse menu. The demographic within my small, rural county is obviously much different from that of Fredericksburg, but the sentiment remains. I have begun seeing people take allegiances to one parlor or the other. Papa Jim’s the older of the two, is the Carl’s equivalent, attracting the more “traditional” folk and Frost Bites serving as the Wally’s equivalent. As the years go on, it will be interesting to see how the rivalry plays out.