She posed that part of how I'd gotten by in life was in essence squeaking. I couldn't argue the point.
The next day, as I stood in a line with others, a scattered few folks wandered past with cardboard signs. I knew what the first said even before I saw it. As the third walked past, one of the people behind me commented, showing ignorance of at least one of the cases. It wasn't my conversation, but I turned around and explained the context nonetheless. We were going to be standing there another 45 minutes anyway.
Sometimes even a squeaking wheel isn't enough to get the attention it's aiming for. My issues with anxiety do me no favors dealing with it, but at least in that moment I realized the aim was one that tried to fill a well-founded need.