HUMOR
You Lost Me at HelloLOS ANGELES 15 December 2009 |
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My wife crossed the street the other day to avoid someone. She told me about it.
She was walking along. She saw someone. Someone she sort of knows. But not really.
She picked up her cell phone and put it to her ear and pretended to be talking. She had sunglasses on.
She crossed the street and pretended to be deep in conversation.
She kept going.
I was walking the city streets the other day and passed someone I sometimes see.
A woman of about fifty. We’re strangers. Maybe you could call us passing acquaintances.
We’ve spoken a couple of times. Our dogs know each other.
But the other day we passed within five feet of each other and not a word was said. Nothing.
I looked at the woman and tried to make eye contact; she didn’t look at me.
I was in a good mood. She was wearing sunglasses.
Maybe she looked at me.
I almost said hello. My mouth was half-open. I was about to say it….
She kept walking.
Pretended she didn’t know me.
Or maybe she didn’t see me.
Maybe her eyes were closed behind her sunglasses.
Maybe I’m too friendly.
Maybe she considers me an asshole.
Maybe she’s shy.
Maybe she was meditating.
Maybe the woman was having a bad day.
Maybe I annoy her.
Maybe she fears me.
Maybe she forgot that we sort of know each other.
City living.
Exhaust.
The other night my wife and I were out to dinner with some friends.
The friends just got engaged.
My wife used to work with the bride-to-be. Same office. Hollywood. This was years ago.
We were talking about different cities and how people behave in the different cities. Regional behavior. And how in bigger cities you can avoid people.
People in Los Angeles have this conversation a lot. They talk about life in other cities a lot. They talk about the issue of Where to Live a lot. (Maybe everybody does this?)
We went through the usual progression.
In the bigger cities, it was said, you can easily be anonymous. In crowds you can be left alone. The paradox. You live right on top of one another, but you don’t even have to know your neighbors.
In New York, people are “ruder,” but maybe that means they’re “realer.”
In the South, people are “nicer,” but maybe that means they’re “faker.”
And so on.
“I sometimes worry,” I said, “that I’ve become the sort of person who could only really be happy, in like, two or three cities in America, all of which are remarkably chaotic and polluted.”
My dad’s a small town guy. A smaller town guy. A suburban guy.
He’s a big hello guy. A give-a-wave guy.
Maybe you know someone like that.
My dad is originally from The Deep South.
People honk and wave down there.
It used to make me crazy when I was younger, all this waving. My sisters and I used to give him shit for it. In the neighborhood. In the Middle West.
My dad has always been a pretty slow driver—especially when he’s driving through a neighborhood.
“Gotta be careful with all these kids around.”
He pumps the brakes. He’s a brake-pumper.
It makes my mother carsick.
“Frank, stop pumping the brakes!”
And whenever he sees a neighbor, any neighbor, even to this day, he’ll slow down a little bit and maybe tap the horn a couple times and wave and say “hello.”
10 mph. The drive-by.
“Hello there!”
The windows are up. He’s talking as if the person is two feet away from him.
“How ya doin’ today?”
The person is sixty feet away, standing inside his garage, holding a weedeater.
“Hello!”
When I was younger, I would slink down in the passenger seat. Cover my eyes.
My dad’s a nice guy.
And recently:
A friend of mine, a lifelong LA resident, was telling me that people are the same pretty much everywhere you go. That Los Angeles people are no different than, say, Chicago people. Or Baltimore people. Or Tampa Bay people. And so on.
My thinking on that is: Maybe. Maybe at a DNA level we’re essentially the same.
The same basic motivations. The same primal drives.
I can probably agree with that.
But it seems to me that people in Indiana are definitely different than people in Los Angeles.
Or: People might not be different, but the places are different. What’s important to people is different. Values are different. The culture is different.
Something’s different. It’s not the same.
I think that’s true, too.
That’s probably an obvious point.
In some places, for example, people say hello. That’s probably fine.
In other places, not so much. That’s probably fine, too.
I’m not really sure which is better.
When I lived in Boulder, everyone said hi to everyone.
That’s a big thing in Boulder, and in Colorado in general. Saying hi to people. Smiling. Being “kind” and so on. Being groovy.
People in Colorado are pretty friendly that way. Colorado is probably the “friendliest” place that I’ve ever lived.
When you’re hiking in Colorado and you pass someone on the trail, you almost always say hello.
I think I used to say howdy when I lived in Colorado, because it was vaguely cowboyish or something. Vaguely mountainish. Western. I’m not even really sure why I said it.
Someone would pass me by.
“Howdy.”
That’s sort of weird to think about now.
Sort of lame, in a way. Me, saying howdy. It looks ridiculous on paper.
I almost never say howdy anymore.
It makes me feel kind of uncomfortable to even think about that.
When I’m in a foreign country, I’ll sometimes find myself speaking English with a foreign accent.
This is true, too.
I’ll be ordering dinner in broken English, as if it’s somehow gonna help the cause.
I’ve always been desperate to blend in.
I arrived in Colorado in 1993, for college. Showed up in Boulder dressed like a kid from Indiana. I remember it.
First day. Dorms had opened. Some picnic in the lawn.
Me, with my roommate and his parents. Whitebread. Awkward. Meet-and-greet.
I was wearing a baseball hat. A Green Bay Packers hat. Some terrible sweater. Some bad jeans. A can of Kodiak in my pocket.
Three months later, I was wearing fleeces and hiking boots and so on.
I was taking “bong rips.”
I was talking about “powder” and skiing conditions and how I “wanted to make turns.”
I was growing my hair out and reading Kerouac.
I had never skied before in my entire life.
I was eighteen.
It’s strange to even think about.
This was me.
I’m not really all that attracted to myself.
My wife, at this old job she used to have, she used to go to great lengths to avoid certain coworkers. Comic lengths. Seinfeldian lengths.
Her social awkwardness. Her willingness to take extreme measures.
Dashing onto elevators. Sneaking away down stairwells on her tiptoes. Army-crawling through cubicles.
Just to avoid having to talk to some asshole at the office.
Me? I’m not quite that way.
From time to time, I’ll avoid an asshole. Especially if I’m tired.
But the truth is that I’m often the kind of guy who doesn’t mind talking to assholes.
I can do it. I can talk to an asshole.
I’m good with that sort of thing. Maybe to a fault.
Maybe this means I’m an asshole.
And remembering high school. The importance of hello in high school.
In between classes. Walking through the halls.
Assholes. Prom queens. Power forwards. Religious fanatics.
Memorizing the daily interactions. Who would be where. First and second period. Third and fourth period. Fourth and fifth period.
Passing people.
I remember having crushes on certain girls and making an effort to pass them in the halls in between classes, hoping that we would say “hey” to each other.
That was it. That was all that was needed. Just: Hey.
Nothing more.
Weaving. Eyes darting. Searching the many faces.
Expectations: low.
And then up ahead: There she is. Walking with her friends. Giggling.
Heart racing.
Waiting for eye contact….
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
It was a big deal back then.
Hello used to mean a hell of a lot.
And Stevie. Stevie used to make me laugh. This kid named Stevie in my high school. A great big kid. A St. Bernard of a kid.
Nervous. Clumsy. Always friendly.
Always answered salutations the wrong way.
“Hey, Stevie. How’s it going?”
“Nothin’.”
“Hey, Stevie. What’s going on?”
“Good.”
Hello.
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I have on many occasions stuck my iPod headphones in my ears even when I wasn’t interested in listening to music, just to avoid having someone initiate a conversation with me. Especially beggers waiting out in front of the 7-11, or canvassers with clipboards out in front of my local Trader Joe’s.
Other than that, I’m a pretty social guy, I think, as long as the mood strikes me. I’ll pretty much converse with just about anyone, though some of my social skills are admittedly questionable. If I think someone’s full of shit I’ll usually just outright say so, which can be awkward sometimes. Though usually not for me.
Howdy.
*pulls headphones out of ear*
I’m sorry, what was that?
Howdy Brad.
(cos somebody had to)
And how did I know it would be you, George?
And where’s your gravatar?
That is my Gravatar. You not like it?
I prefer tasteful nudes. You know that.
You saying it’s not tasteful or it is? It’s too late here. I should be asleep.
You should be logging into gravatar.com to upload a proper photo to go along with your comments.
These anonymous squares make me anxious.
But they’re not anonymous, they’re all me!
Oh, and you didn’t know it’d be me, cos I’m never here.
I’m not all that reserved, considering I’m British. I always say hello to people.
Or I’ll salute. Not like a hardcore military salute, a casual salute.
Walking around a university town and the campus you always run into at least one person you know. I like stopping to talk etc…
Having said that I do cross the street back home if my next-nextdoor neighbour is out. She’s annoying. And balding.
What exactly constitutes a “casual salute?”
Like, one finger? Two? Limp-wristed?
We need a fuller explanation.
Two fingers, with an air of nonchalance. Either you have it or you don’t…
I do that sometimes. Not a lot, and I’m not sure in what context exactly or what it means when I do use it. It’s usually sarcastic or ironic, I think.
And I always feel sort of masculine after I do it, too.
If that makes you feel masculine, god knows what all of your other hawkish behavior makes you feel like.
That’s how I feel when I do the slight head-tip move, you know, where you just raise up your chin a bit – reverse nod? Like dudes always do at each other, especially their “Hi Guys”. Anyway, yeah, feels masculine. Love it.
Never have saluted though.
I am much more graceful in person. You might be surprised.
A ballerina. With rabies.
Yeah. Kind of like that. I’ll take it.
I don’t know how I missed this post but I wish I hadn’t. The comment thread has kept me laughing.
@becky: I also use the salute like you, and I always feel very…man-ish after.
The ballerina with rabies line is priceless.
I’ve always like that allegedly cowboy exchange that goes like this:
George L to Brad: Howdy
Brad to George L: Howdy
Don to George: So, you know Brad?
George: We’ve howdied but we ain’t shook.
I guess “howdy” was something I picked up from the local folk in Colorado. Unconscious mimicry.
There’s something vaguely Texan about Colorado.
This is good, Brad. This is good. It’s a slice of the “hello” culture I always think about. Thank you.
Howdy, Brad.
Folks here in Western New York say Howdy, too. And remember that Buffalo Bob and Howdy Doodie were Buffalo critters.
So is that where howdy originated?
Actually an interesting question.
One wonders.
Howdy is an informal greeting, commonly thought to have originated as a shortened form of the greeting “How do ye?” It was first recorded as part of Southern U.S. dialect in 1840
Thanks, Wikipedia!
Well, there we have it.
The first thing this made me think of was how, when you’re on a boat, this is a lake, a river, the ocean, anything, you have to wave at people in other boats. It’s mandatory. And it’s not even a “hello” in any sense, because most of the time the people are like a hundred yards away, and the boats keep moving. What’s funnier is that usually it’s not one guy to another. It’s you’re five people on your boat waving to his four, all at once. It doesn’t say, “hello.” It says, “Hey, we’re all on boats. Aren’t we terrific?”
Maybe small towns are like that. It’s not “Hello.” It’s, “Hey, we’re both riding in this small town.” And if you carry the image, it makes sense that you wouldn’t wave in a big city. A drowning man doesn’t take the time to wave to another drowning man. He just keeps swimming.
(Didn’t mean to get so deep at the end. I’ll insert the word “poop” here to lighten to mood of my response.)
I love this comment by the way. Especially the way it’s perfectly wrapped up with a shallow poop.
So true. People who don’t wave back are immediately and summarily declared assholes by every single individual on the boat that DID wave.
It’s just bad, bad, boat etiquette. You can stall at the landing, you can cut someone off, you can wash some poor ten year-old tuber in your wake–all these things are forgivable. We all make mistakes.
But fail a boat wave and you are a pariah. Total outcast.
This now all totally reminds me of a time some guy didn’t wave to me. It’s too good a story, now I have to write about it. Thanks for reminding me.
I live but to serve.
it’s the same way on trains, with the waving. in fact, that’s my favorite thing about trains. actually, that’s the only thing i like about trains. well, that and sleeping cars. but i’ve never been in a sleeping car, because taking a sleeping car costs more than buying an airplane.
I want to go on a train.
Do you meet all sorts of interesting people in the dining car? Like in the movies?
The bar car is where the action is at. At least in California, they have to have a separate car for the drinking of alcohol.
Is that because the bar car is actually that rowdy, or just because Californians are pussies?
Served .
Having a good one Becky ?
Draconian alcohol laws. Alcohol must be separated somehow. At Coachella, you can’t take alcohol with you to the stages. They have beer gardens. Sad, really. We don’t have beer vendors in the stands. You have to get out of your seat at a game to get a beer. For the nations largest wine producer, we got some old school drinking laws on the books.
becky, i don’t meet anybody, because i’m always staring out the window, looking for someone to wave at. besides, people on trains are weird. haven’t they heard about airplanes? it’s bizarre.
That was so weird. When you talked about looking for people to wave at, I just had a flashback to a scene in my head that wasn’t from life and not even from my head. Like, I want to say it was the scene I concocted in my head based upon a scene in a book or something I read.
Was it you?
Have you written about trains before?
There’s a woman, a little girl, a train, and a tunnel. The woman and girl are next to the tracks, kind of, and they’re waving. I think it’s dusk. Or maybe dawn. Frost (or maybe rain) on the train window, viewed from the inside.
WTF. Where did this image come from?
i don’t know, but it’s a nice image. it sounds like something from a jarmusch movie, or maybe even wes anderson (if you add some annoyingly precious music). or you could go the other way and say fellini, but it’s a little obvious for fellini, unless it’s the most sentimental fellini of all time (like all of them). hell, could be bergman too, if it’s black and white and everyone looks like they wanna die (or perhaps already have). but i think really it’s probably just a kind of archetypal train thing… i mean that’s what it’s all about, with the waving. there’s the beauty and sadness and the hope and separation of meeting, and the awareness of the upcoming tunnel (in both space and time). train waving as an encapsulation of life. or at least my life. other people probably have circuses or something. jesus, i need a fucking brownie.
No no. I’m almost 100% sure the initial image came from here or was first initiated by something here. This place. The computer. Which means it was probably on TNB.
It is archetypal. Though I have to admit, I just assumed that in such a case, a tunnel must be a vagina.
If that’s true, it’s practically pornographic. I wonder what TNB pervert installed this raunchiness? Maybe I will never know.
Other points of interest.
It’s not a train station. The woman and girl are just standing out in the middle of nowhere as far as I can tell. Just before the tunnel. There’s a city visible on the horizon behind them, but it’s pretty far away. Some sense the city or the train or something will not be traveling this way again. Like, something’s about to happen, but no one knows about it.
This is going to drive me insane, trying to figure out what this is from. Maybe it was a dream. Or, like you say, some old movie I saw when I was too young to register it in any way other than images.
But probably not too old, since the sky in the scene is pink-ish. I mean, it’s in color. Or maybe it’s just starting to merge with your gravatar.
i never think of tunnels as vaginas. i think of them as death. probably says something.
we’re all in the middle of nowhere. there are never any stations. trains never travel this way again. cities are always far away. something’s always about to happen, and no one ever knows a thing about it. my other favorite thing about being on trains is that they never go down the main streets. they’re always in the back lots and the shitty parts of town, going by stacks of tires and guys pulling apart cardboard boxes. not sure what this has to do with waving anymore. but fuck it, i’ve been up for 27 hours.
Well, yeah, death too. From the dark we come and into the dark we return, etc. “Little Death,” mystery of creation, creation and destruction, Shiva and Kali and so on. Barreling through the mountain of creation at a breakneck pace. I want to say the scene takes place in Italy, too.
I wish I had my copy of _The Hero With 1,000 Faces_ with me. We could really sort this mess out. Get to the bottom of things once and for all.
The el in Chicago is about the only train I’ve really been on, but you’re right. Runs past/over all the freight yards and vacant lots. One train yard is, like, 10 tracks wide. I always hope I’ll see it full one time, but it never is. Always empty. It’s a little creepy, actually.
And I can only ever think about how all the people whose fire escapes we go whizzing past probably never go to sleep before 1:00 am, when the green line stops running (I’m mostly on the green line in Chicago). It makes me kind of anxious. Imagine trying to sleep with tons of steel rumbling past your head at 20 minute intervals on a Saturday night. No place to escape to. Even the thought of insomnia makes me nervous.
I’m sorry you haven’t slept.
Wow. There’s a lot of “creation” in there.
Same as when you’re on a motorcycle. The motorcycle-riding-wave is way cooler than the on-a-boat wave. I usually do a wave/peace sign combo. Very chill.
Another comment about exchanges.
Did you ever have a telephone exchange where, even though you did not say “How’s it going,” or the equivalent, the other person immediately said, “Fine?”
Brad: Hello
Don: Howdy Brad, it’s Don
Brad: Fine!
I used to hear that a lot, though mostly with older people. I don’t think it was a hearing-related problem, though.
Yeah, it’s sort of like when you accidentally tell someone you barely know that you love them. I’ve done that a couple of times before.
It’s like the customer service gal at Direct TV, and at the end of the call, I’m like, “Love you. Bye.”
That one’s always fun.
Worse mistakes you could make, I suppose.
“Love you”?! LoL! That’s awesome. We joke about signing business correspondence – “All my love”, but I don’t think I’ve ever slipped and told someone I love them.
Brad, the thought of you doing this has me laughing so hard. I don’t know if it’s because I can picture you making some silly, why-the-fuck-did-I-just-tell-this-guy-I-love-him-face, or if it’s because I’ve done it myself on occasion. What’s really good is when my husband is work (Harley Davidson) and he says I love you to some huge hairy biker. Taking it back is worse than actually saying it in the first place so they both act as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. Ah. good times.
That’s a pretty accurate summary of Brad & I actually.
Nothing says, “I’m not listening to you,” like, “okay!” When someone asks “What’s up?”
“Hey! What’s up?”
“Okay!”
I’m a waver from way back. I have much love for this “I’m okay, you’re okay” moment of social interaction. It’s such a simple gesture; no commitment, no pointless small talk, just hey fellow human, I think you seem nice enough for hello… and done. It makes me genuinely happy inside without triggering my social anxiety. Win-win.
As I walk for exercise or drive through my neighborhood, I wave at every car that goes by and say hello to every person in a yard. I smile too. A big, friendly smile. About half of the people at whom I wave ignore me. When this happens, I grin like a shit-eating maniac and wave even more frantically, just to fuck with them. Loosen up, dummies. It’s only life. We’re only people. Stop taking it all so seriously.
I grew up in a smaller town. I like your dad.
And I really enjoyed reading this. Miss yer writing.
I can see you being a waver, Tawni. A waver/smiler/hello kinda gal. That’s good. People like that.
I mean, if it’s real, why not?
And: thanks. It’s nice to be back in the mix.
I’ve been here the whole time. Just been working behind the scenes.
Finally had time to hammer something out.
HELLO!
Howdy!
So you’re saying that it was finally Hammer Time?
I’m wearing the billowing pants and everything.
My music hits me so hard.
I’m a fan of ‘the country wave’. It’s what people in the country do here I think, just wave (or nod their head or say hi without actually engaging in conversation) at each other. It’s just an acknowledgement really. You’d never get anything done in a city if you acknowledged everyone you passed so I guess it died. That’s evolution for you. Works in the German countryside too I recently discovered, so must have been another thing that existed in the common culture before the languages separated.
And the thing on boats, I never understood it but I’ve always done it. I kinda like it. “Hey – I’m on a boat too!”
I don’t know about broken English, but just about anywhere I go, if there’s an accent to be had, I’ll pick it up. I’ve mentioned this about a million times. I don’t know if that makes me affected or savvy or condescending or sensitive to language or what. Maybe it just means I sound stupid wherever I go. No effort, though; it’s not intentional. Just automatic. I prefer to think of myself as adaptable. A mimic or chameleon. Call me Mystique.
I’m always scared that if I say hello to a casual acquaintance with whom I have little in common, I will impose upon that individual to become engaged in a conversation with me…That they’ll feel obligated to follow up. I suppose I worry about that because that’s what I’d be worrying about if I didn’t want someone to say hi to me. I’d be thinking, “If they say hi, then I’ll feel obligated to say how are you and then they might actually tell me or say something dull about how slow the day is going and so on and those conversations always end awkwardly without having actually accomplished anything, so who wants to get involved in that kind of thing, anyway? Not me. Probably not them.”
It’s RUDE to say hello, I convince myself.
How’s that for Minnesota nice?
Actually, to be perfectly honest, fearing saying hello to someone because you might impose upon them or cause them to feel discomfort or, in the very worst-case scenario, cause what we call a “scene,” is VERY Minnesota nice.
I’ve heard of people dying of dehydration at 4-way stops after sitting there for 3 days trying to wave each other through.
Okay, not that bad, but it’s a real thing. It happens here. Maybe not 3 days, but at least 30 seconds. A lifetime by the traffic clock.
I read somewhere years ago (maybe so many years that it was actually in a BOOK or NEWSPAPER (remember those?!) that when not on their home turf, people either go chameleon with their accent/phrasing and start using local dialects, or get all territorial and their own accent gets stronger. I know that my accent was never more cockney than when I lived and worked amongst the Welsh – I came back to London and people looked at me weirdly. But that may have been cos of the ra-ra skirt.
I prefer the stadium wave.
If I see people I know (and like) passing me on the streets of Manhattan, I raise my warms and holler “WOO!”
**stands and lifts arms**
“WOO!”
In fact, I do raise my *warms* from time to time, especially when it’s cold, but mostly, I just raise my “arms”.
Duh.
We call the stadium wave the Mexican Wave in NZ. No idea why though…
During the 1994 USA World Cup the Mexican fans used to do a stadium wave. Ever since then it’s been known as the “Mexican Wave”.
it’s also known as ‘the sign of an incredibly boring game’…
bwah hahah! So true!
You know, Kimberley, I’m not letting you get away with taking the typo excuse.
You got those warms from REI, didn’t you? When you lift them, it’s quite a sight.
Heh. THOSE warms? No. *those* warms I got from GAI… L. (My mom.)
*Those* warms have been passed down from generation to generation, keeping both babies and men toasty and snuggled in pillowy softness for centuries.
I was thinking woolen leggings, but clearly you’re talking about down comforters, which can last for centuries if they’re well stuffed.
I won’t say a word. My ‘warms’ can (and often do) speak for themselves.
Sorry for the insult. You are of course too young for your comforters to be down.
We’re still talking about boobs, right?
I’ve never really understood the idea that being polite and saying hi to someone can somehow make you phony. It’s not like you’re promising to help them move, then not turning up. It’s just a greeting. A gesture of politeness.
I know what you mean about place. Who knows if it’s a chicken or an egg thing, do people move to City X because they think it’s the place where People Y gather, or does City X turn people into People Y when they’re there?
And is everyone a Person Y, or is just the vocal minority?
I think a lot of people, especially when younger, define themselves by the status quo. Whether they’re congruent with, or in opposition to, whatever the status quo is.
It’s OK. You’re an attractive guy, Brad.
Are you calling me a Person Y? You’re a real Person F, you know that Simon!
Yeah. That’s what all my Xs keep telling me.
Touche sir. Jesus, maybe we need to start an improv group for TNB. Talk about some great full-circle humor. I believe something along the lines of “ba da bing!” is called for in the matter of commentary?
Thomas, you should have been in the car with Simon, Zara, Duke, Lenore and I last September. Things got out of hand real quick.
This is a provocative, entertainingly minimalist piece, Brad. Maybe too minimalist. You left out the wink.
It brings to mind commuting with my father one summer and passing a man on the train platform. The man says, “Hello,” and my father gives a big warm hello and I nod (only because I’m with him) but nobody breaks stride. When the man is out of earshot, I turn to my father. “Who was that?” He replies, “Some schmuck.”
Yeah, Brad.
Do something about your minimalist piece.
Har.
Penis.
I’m totally waving and smiling at your minimalist piece with Becky right now.
Hung like a cigarette butt.
That’s me.
Sick!
Now I have to quit smoking.
Howdy?
I dig it. But I always thought of it as more of a Wyoming thing, because they have cowboys and rodeo clowns. And since Colorado is close to Wyoming, they migrate.
I think I’ll start saying howdy and see what happens.
We just say G’day.
Maybe you should try that.
Loved the piece.
First off, it’s nice to see you come out from behind the curtain and post something. Welcome to 3.0!
Now then, on to the comment:
There may be a personality inherent in certain places, but, especially in cities where people choose to live, the transplants often adopt that personality, or what they think the personality should be. It’s what drew them there in the first place. What appealed to me most about New York, back when I lived there, was summed up nicely by then-Mayor Giuliani when he went on Letterman to trumpet the city’s (joke) slogan: “We can kick your city’s ass.” There is a distinctive swagger to New York, and its residents appropriate this swagger, because the swagger was part of the lure of the city to begin with. If you’re not gonna walk really fast and glare at cabbies and avoid eye contact at all costs and swear like a motherfucker, why live in Manhattan?
When I moved to New Paltz, the crunchy and smallish college town 90 miles upstate, it took awhile to slow down my pace, to remember to make eye contact, to say hello to people on the street, to not default to rage, etc. I also got rid of all my black clothes. That’s the vibe of this place, but I wanted that vibe, and that’s why we’re here. If I moved to LA, I’d have to figure out what to wear — the styles are slightly different from New York — and probably start exercising more and complaining about how everyone is shallow (although, in my experience, that is patently untrue).
Speaking of LA: on my visit, I had lunch with Brad, and after lunch, we walked out of the restaurant, and I suddenly found myself walking alone. I turned around to see that Brad had started talking with a couple, because the guy was wearing an LSU hat. I did not even notice the people, or the hat, but Brad went so far as to strike up a friendly conversation with them. I mention this to refute the “maybe I’m an asshole” line, and to suggest that, in terms of hello, the Listi acorn did not fall far from the tree.
Heh. Yeah, well, I have great affection for the state of Louisiana. I’m not a well-rooted person, meaning: I have no place that really feels like home. Wisconsin, partially, as that is where I was born, and that is where my early childhood unfolded. Good times. Fond memories of Wisconsin.
Indiana, too, produced its share of memories, but if I’m being honest, I don’t feel all that warmly about Indiana as a place. I remember it being restrictive and boring. Then again, I was an adolescent there.
Louisiana is where my family is from. Both of my parents. My extended family. My grandparents. So I sort of feel like Louisiana is my de facto home state, even though I’ve never lived there. It is the place from which I hail.
Geaux Tigers.
Louisiana is cooler than Indiana, too. There is no sexy HBO vampire show set in Indiana.
My freshmen year in college, during the first few weeks, the kids from the cool states were forever boasting about their homelands. “If you fold Texas over at the top, the tip’ll touch Canada,” one proud Lone Star Stater told me. I am from New Jersey, so I conceded, and did not involve myself in these arguments…
Since, as a pauper, I’m giving away lists for Christmas:
1. Was your wife avoiding me? Because I could’ve sworn…
2. I don’t even want to tell you how long I’ve lived in my building, and the woman who lives across the courtyard, who’s apparently been here since 1876, will glance at the sky, the sidewalk, her purse — you name it — to avoid any eye contact or the possibility of saying hello. The only time she has ever spoken to me was once to yell across the courtyard for me Turn! The Music! Down! Then the sound of a slamming door.
3. In New York it always made sense not to say hi to strangers, since the place is so crowded, but in L.A., when it’s just you and one other person on an otherwise deserted street — and where not talking South-Central here — it not only seems solipsistic but rude. This is particularly true in Elysian Park, where I frequently hike, and particularly when I first encounter an unleashed dog that charges me, only to be followed by its owner, who’ll say something like “Ginger, no ” with no particular air of concern and keep walking. To drive home the point: my name is not Ginger.
4. On the other hand, drivers in L.A. often give courtesy waves, and I’ve never encountered that anywhere else.
5. Your experience in Colorado mirrors mine in New York. I arrived looking like what I was — a kid from Virginia — and stayed that way for months. Then I found myself camping on the sofa of musicians my age who ridiculed me for looking like a kid from Virginia (though they’d only recently moved to the city from Wisconson), and eventually talked me into submitting, at their hands, to the worst haircut ever. This monstrosity had to be seen to be believed, though I was assured it was very punk-rock and stuff. I fled to a bona fide barber first thing in the hungover morning and pretty much had my head shaved. However, wanting to look more like a cool NYC guy, I did go shopping for a MC jacket, and felt very weird to be wearing it till it seemed weird not to be wearing it. I practically wore that thing in the shower.
6. I’m one of those terrible people who, in when in London, began to speak with an English accent — that is, when I was alone and so wouldn’t suffer the taunts of friends. I also, at times in continental Europe, spoke with an English accent, but that was to avoid being identified as American at moments when I was sure being American would bring me grief.
7. Treatises could be written on the politics of saying hello in high school, and surely have been.
8. I remember standing on a corner once with you and Lenore, and you did an impression of a former classmate saying hello. I don’t suppose this was Steve. Come to think of it, it wasn’t.
9. I’m not attracted to myself either, but I used to be. A forthcoming TNB post will instantly, and horrifically, make clear the reasons for my change of heart.
10. This concludes my Xmas list. Aren’t you glad to read that, assuming you’ve made it this far?
Loved it, Duke. Glad to see you’re in the spirit. My head still isn’t in the game. I have a pile of shit to do when it comes to the holidays. Gifts to buy. Loose ends to tie. Bags to pack. Etc.
It’s sort of a relief to hear so many people copping to similar behavior. And particularly gratifying to hear of yet another Los Angeleno who barely knows his next-door neighbors.
We’re actually getting ready to do a dinner at one of our neighbors’ apartments this weekend. First social interaction with a neighbor in god knows how long.
I think it could safely be called a “mixer.”
Wish me luck.
#6: Because being ignored for who you aren’t is better than being loathed for who you are? Shit. Might as well buy a house in the suburbs.
Well, in the case of London, it was more a matter of seeing if I could pass as English. What can I say? It was my first trip abroad and I was a kid. In the case of Europe, I didn’t do it often, but one example stands out in memory: I was in a store in Italy and I’d just seen employees roll their eyes as they dealt with another (loud) American, and when I walked up to the cash register, without saying a word, the ring-up guy immediately made a remark (I forget what) that insinuated that he’d taken me for English, so I played along.
Another, similar incident took place on a train in France, when everyone in my cabin lookedready to skin the drunken American kids in the next cabin alive after hearing a surplus of: “WOOOOOO! Aw-RIGHT, bitch! YEE-uh!”
In Eastern Europe, on the other hand, it was an advantage to be an American — or at least it was when I lived there — so no pretense was necessary. (I returned to the States seven years ago.)
I only now note the typos in my initial comment. Ah, well. And there will surely be at least one now.
Yep!
I don’t know. I just can’t imagine it. Putting on an act on purpose while traveling abroad.
I mean, you weren’t ridiculed for being American, but you didn’t give those people a different, positive example of an American, either.
It’s not just you. I mean, I have a problem with people doing that, in general. It’s a source of ongoing consternation for me. It seems defeated and undignified. Self-loathing. My husband’s best friend has a Canadian flag on his bag from traveling abroad, and every time I see it, I’m filled with nothing but contempt and loathing. Can’t stand to think of him for days. He’s a nice guy. A great guy. A funny guy. But that one thing just makes me want to hate him forever. It goes way beyond national pride. It’s something about the forfeiture of identity to please or placate others that makes me cringe. That Canadian flag is an advertisement of weakness. A billboard for a character flaw or something. And in a way, a insult to other Americans, including me. So I probably also take it somewhat personally, too. I don’t know. It’s a very visceral reaction for me. I don’t really understand it. It’s complex.
Anyway, this conversation is just part of the larger questions I have about that behavior in general. Not trying to direct this at you, really.
Maybe I’m over-proud. Maybe once I was actually in the situation I’d be falling all over myself to convince people I was from Winnipeg, but I don’t think so. I don’t think I could bring myself to do it.
Well, it happened in my case very rarely. I don’t say that defensively; it’s the truth. And I never went, and would never go, to the extent of stamping a Union Jack on my luggage, or something along those lines.
I think also in my case — and I was really young when I did it — I was playing with identity, and even if I hadn’t been, I wasn’t looking for a hassle that wouldn’t have changed anyone’s mind anyway.
I understand your outlook very well, and to some extent I agree with you. I would’ve derided any American, even at the time, if I’d seen him or her do what I did. But the fact is, I did it, and I admit to doing it, because it’s something I’ve outgrown and so find it funny after the fact, just as there’s humor in Brad having become a Coloradan after arriving at college. But would he do something similar now? I’ll leave it to him to answer, if he so chooses, but I don’t think he would.
No, I don’t think I’d do that today. I mean, some of the clothing choices you make are different in Colorado, but that’s only natural. There is real winter there. Mountains. Skiing. Etc.
But I certainly wouldn’t grow my hair out again. That was not a good look for me.
Maybe a bong rip every once in a while.
I want to see photos.
Of the hair.
I bet it was stupendous.
As do I.
I want to see a photo of the hair and the bong rip combined.
Photos, Brad. Don’t make me resort to Photoshop…
Come on Brad, every college kid with long hair has that picture. Small shared room, bottlecaps in the popcorn ceiling, crowd gathered around an acrylic 4 foot bong. Your shoulder length, golden hair cascading around the tube as smoke climbs up the chamber. Big Ralph in the corner hollering for an epic toke. I think in the Cal State Program this is how the ID photos are taken now.
Hello Brad hoping to chap your ass soon
Get in line.
On the etymology tip:
Goodbye = Godbwye = contraction of “God be with ye.”
Yep. Just as “adieu” is a contraction of “go with God.”
First, Hiya Brad! Thanks for writing.
I was trying to remember the worst I’ve done to avoid someone, all I can think of is once when I was at the store. I came out of an aisle and saw a security guard from work a little further down from me. Without even thinking about it I Navy-Seal maneuvered back into my aisle so fast, I surprised myself. I just didn’t want to get stuck talking to him, mainly because at work he’s one of these people who always doesn’t really listen to you even though he always initiates conversations, and – even more irritating- who always says “Hey! (dramatic pointing, usually with the pantomimed “gun” move) SMILE!!” As if I don’t, which I do. And I’m at fucking work, so really, do you think I’m going to be smiling the whole entire time? Why do people think demanding that you smile will actually foster those happy feelings within you that lead to a smile?
At any rate, I still feel really badly about so blatantly avoiding a person that way. Whenever I think about it I actually feel ashamed and a little guilty.
For some reason, I cannot see you saying “Howdy”. For some reason, I find that very funny, to picture that.
My husband says it with regularity, and I’ve never really thought much about it before. It’s one of his characteristics. Like “Thank you much” and “Thank you kindly” sir/ma’am. I love good old fashioned courtesy and manners. Heh, scary though that it’s “old fashioned” anymore!
I love the Southern friendliness and “Hello”-ing. Doesn’t usually feel fake to me. The shootin’ the breeze just to shoot the breeze phenomenon is very intriguing. Not a common occurrence by the cities and such.
That high school reminiscence? Made me shudder.
smiling is good for you!
As someone constantly at a loss for the hello etiquette wherever I’ve lived, I was glad to read this. The French do a stupendously bizarre thing where you say “bonjour” to someone, but then if you also happen see them again later in the day you say “rebonjour.” The “hello again” in this case being crucial. I once broke this rule and said bonjour to someone I’d already seen that morning and they replied puzzled “Oh you mean, rebonjour.”
Also, I see speaking a broken English from time to time as a way of meeting the culture halfway. Or else just openly mocking them.
Ah, the French and their social rules. So many to memorize.
The whole inverted shopkeeper thing is another one that took some getting used to. Meaning: How it’s the job of the customer to greet the store owner(s), and not the other way around. I learned that one that hard way.
Of course, because the customer has been given the utter privilege of entering the shopkeeper’s store. I mean, it just makes sense.
Great post, Brad. There’s definitely a lot of food for thought there… I think people everywhere are essentially the same. Or rather, I thought that ’til I came to Korea. People don’t say “hello” on the street here. They push each other in front of cars. If you’re foreign they spit on you.
I’ve never really been a wave-to-folks guy or a “hello” guy, but when I was in California I got used to people being openly friendly. Now, however, I just brace myself.
Interesting! Is that all foreigners or just Americans? In the a “slum” of Jamaica I experienced similar. Not spitting on, but definitely not the “one love” vibe I was naive enough to expect.
They assume all white foreigners are American, and all black foreigners are from Africa. They treat us all pretty bad, though.
During a visit to Italy, I found myself speaking French, which I hardly know, when people spoke to me in Italian. As if that would help at all.
In some parts of the South (probably the world), people become part of each other’s orbits. My grandfather knew EVERYONE in my hometown. There was no going out for a quick errand–these were public social calls.
An old friend back home has my grandfather’s vibe. It’s sort of endearing, except when I’m actually trying to have a conversation with him at a coffee shop, etc. and there’s a parade of people saying hello or doing the stop-and-chat.
When I was in high school I didn’t say hello in the halls unless I had something else to say. People didn’t deal well with that. Feelings were hurt. I was called a snob. When I think about it now it’s utterly bizarre. Maybe I has transient autism or something.
Hey.
My Uncle Brian, who is mentally disabled, literally knew everyone in his entire hometown. And it wasn’t some one-horse town, either. There were thousands of people there. He knew ‘em all. Or pretended to. It’s sort of hard to figure.
As a kid I would go to the grocery store with my grandma and him. It was an event. It was insane. My grandmother was barely five feet tall. Wearing a wig. I’m pushing the shopping cart. She’s walking next to me, pointing at things on the shelf, telling me what to get. Meanwhile, Uncle Brian is walking up and down every aisle, talking to people (shouting at them really), saying hello, catching up, asking them about their families. (How you DOIN’, boy?) Seemed to know everybody by name.
We’d be in Aisle 4, and you could hear him booming in Aisle 11.
My grandmother thought it was hilarious. She let him do his thing, always. That was how they rolled.
Brad, I love that I know your style now. I clicked on this post from my google homepage and just started reading without looking at who the author was. Halfway down I was like, “Wait, is this Brad?” It’s been awhile since I’ve seen a full-blown post of yours on TNB and it made my heart smile in a big way to read it.
People in Istanbul don’t say hello to each other on the street. I learned this the hard way. There’s a restaurateur who stands outside his restaurant on the corner near my house. I pass it every day. One morning I was walking by and he said hello to me in Turkish. I responded with a friendly Merhaba and was on my way. The next day, he said Good Morning to me. Again, I responded, thinking Turkish people are so friendly with their hellos to each other on the street. A couple of days later he said hello again. When I responded he invited me into the restaurant to have some tea. I declined because I was in a hurry. When I told my roommate about it later he couldn’t stop laughing. He said the guy was testing the waters to see if I was interested in him and by me not ignoring his “hellos” I was implying that I’d like to go out with him. Oops!
Also, it might not necessarily be that you’re trying to blend in when you’re speaking broken English in a foreign country. I’ve noticed myself doing this a lot here in Turkey, and I think it’s because it’s the quickest way to be understood. If I speak proper English, I have to explain what I mean. If I speak broken Turkish English, I can my point across the first time with no confusion. Unfortunately, it doesn’t really help the English-learners to improve their English, but it makes my life a hell of a lot easier.
Anyway, sorry for rambling.
-RA
I think it good we say comment in broken English. For fun. Maybe make whole post like this. Laugh. Funny. As experiment.
that could really get annoying. or hilarious.
Does anyone think that commenting, or failing to comment, at TNB, for instance, amounts to a form of saying hello or avoiding it?
Sure, do you?
Definitely.
Wonderful post, Brad. Got me to thinking.
Generally, when walking down the street, I try to make a point of saying “hello” or giving “the nod” to most people. But when it comes to the Larouche contingency on Larchmont, I’ll generally whip out my cell phone and start talking to myself.
And speaking of a time of when I was talking to myself, that reminds me of an incident that once occurred in New York City. I’d just finished performing at CBGB’s. I left the club around 2:30 in the morning, and took the train back up toward Columbia, where I was staying with a friend. I got on the wrong train, and ended up in Harlem. Since I was completely unfamiliar with the area, and was alone, I started walking down the middle of the street, reciting some of my spoken word, in the hopes that people would think I was nuts and leave me alone.
The plan worked.
Actually, a little too well. Once I found a gas station that was open I went inside. The owner promptly pulled a gun on me because he thought I was there to rob him.
I gotta say, Rich, I’m really enjoying this visual I have of you walking down the middle of the street in Harlem, reciting “Bond Girl,” striking fear into the hearts of the locals. Standing on their balconies, on the corner, on the stoop….
“This motherfucker is crazy.”
I, too, have pulled a “crazy.” It was necessary, living in some of the neighborhoods I did. However, I could pull it off without reciting spoken-word, as you can easily imagine.
Heh. So I suppose this means you did your whole “angry mime” routine?
I couldn’t pull a mime routine for trying. I mean, do you remember the time you kindly waited on a tow truck with me for TWO HOURS on Sunset Boulevard ? Did I EVER shut the fuck up?
In fact, I later killed the tow-truck driver with garrulousness.
Heh. Well, I wasn’t exactly silent myself. And what the hell else were we supposed to do, standing there waiting for that bastard for two hours? Shadow puppets?
Well, behind your back…
Seriously, though, that bastard deserved what he got. And I took care of it. I sat there going on and on about anything that popped into my head, and at some point I noticed that his ears were bleeding and his eyes had rolled back, and, well, I’ll spare you the rest. But job taken care of, man. I did what had to be done, keeping us standing there for all the time.
Oh Rich, that’s great — it feels like a scene in a Jim Jarmusch movie! The best defense is a crazy offense.
This makes me think of painful real-life encounters with once acquaintance facebook friends. You’ll see them comment on someone else’s post, and try to check them out, only to find that all of their information is private. So you inquire, you send a friend request (or vice versa) and a short “How have you been?”. You investigate their photographic biography of what they’ve been up to for the past X amount of years. Curiosity satisfied. And all interaction tends to taper off.
And then your visiting your mother in your home town and you have to go to the grocery store, a trip that in your own anonymous land you can do without putting much effort into your physical appearance. But, it seems like you’re the only person who has decided to move out of the town you grew up in.. so you put your face on and you journey to the grocer. And alas, you were right about assuming you’d see someone you knew, but who’da thunk that you’d both be content (or maybe discontent) with acting like total strangers?
After all, it’s not like you were ever actually “friends” in high school. Either you were ostracized by them in some way, or them by you, and the order seems kind of stick on some level. Sure some people blossom and surprise you by turning into beautiful, successful, well rounded people. Maybe long lasting friendships are sparked from these kind of reunions. But, in my experience it sort of seems as if the underlying character kind of resonates. Maybe it’s because I’m only 5 years out of high school. Maybe that will change. On some level even a phony exchange of weather and “how’s life?” seems more inappropriate than just genuinely acting as if you don’t know each other. In a lot of cases, it’s not really acting. You don’t know each other. Not really.
There’s an eldery couple in my neighborhood that I pass sometimes when driving to work. They look like they’re probably at least 90 years old. The women sits in a chair on the corner of a particular intersection waving and smiling at every single car that drives by. And not just a hand wave, but an arm fully extended Miss America on a 6-pack of Red Bull wave. Meanwhile the husband stands about 15 feet up the street, arms crossed behind his back, watching his wife intently without acknowledging anything going on around him. It’s an unusual sight.
I liked this article so much that I got out of bed.
And the bed was extremely comfortable…to write confessions of a salutation phobic. Perhaps it is the inforced banality of traditional greetings…
Salutations the whole religion of greeting. I like Stevie. I think I will employ his answers. So mindnumbing the Good mornings, my exasperated Husband shouts Good Morning. I am a salutation phobic.
It drives my head to ache can’t you/ we/ the world think of something better to say if we must;
E.G a line from Out Of Africa, scene = blue sky, gorgeous lawns tropical birds, pan to Gretta Garbo style raven beauty in silk pajamas,in a silk gown leaning over the balcony;
” Another day in God Damn paradise.”
First five minutes of a phonecall drive me nuts life is too full of things, I want to know my credit rating now, and then swim or read or anything other than have to spend those minutes of my life asking a service provider of whom I will never meet how they are. But manners dictate and i hop from foot to foot drumming out the words.
Now to entertain myself I will use Stevie’s answers.
Thank you.
Its 2am if I bore you forgive me but it seems I have found a new World of people who think and this is just as exciting as devouring words;
They say that everytime you interact in any way with a person you form a relationship;
does New York have more people? So I searched tiny printed population density charts, being from Africa and Europe, I wasn’t sure of US population density; but LA is higher. Perhaps a tighter area in which many more interactions occur more relationships? Thus closing down people?
Perhaps cities “grow” their people from scenic / geographic sense of space; Nairobi is East Africa’s New York hard architecture, close knit friends a working pace edgy this matches perfectly the city face; not too pretty, functional, proud, ugly, pretty, and you are never really alone here in the heart of the city.
Mombasa is our beach laid back, palms markets lots of mirrah chewing ( thin bitter stalks chewed with strawberry gum that make your head start to buzz then you talk and talk and talk ) hectic matatus, brightly coloured nissans, heaving with people in all shapes ages and sizes luggage industry buzzing, its like benga music, yet curvy and languid like the architecture bursts of abrupt energy and calm just like the greetings rapid in the morning SASA MAMBO to lala salama at night, sleep with peace.
A theory that the light, the temperature the weather all form waves of pulses we are acutely sensitive to not just that overcast may create overcast moods more cojoined than we imagine.That the air now is funny tonight the cats are screeching on the roof top it is not calm tonight there is edge people will wake up tomorrow slightly edgy. If I get it right it would stand me in good stead for an advertising role; sell wine now people have been weathered and need a good drink; much like this year yet in a day.
Nice article for a bewitched edgy night.
Around here it’s versions of Hey, that gorgeously cool and stylist chin lift, that’s the most haiku of responses. Hey, you say, barely breathing, barely lifting yr chin on the hiking trail, and they hey you back and that says it all because it’s so casually subversive. Especially since HEY was totally dispised by All White Parents in the West, who wanted their children to act Well Brought UP, if they’d had good home training, and HEY, they tell us, was unmannerly. What they actually said was, Hey is for HORSES — a somehow Lower Escalon Greeting, or Oakey and Arkie as my mom would say. HEY still has the same thrill for me as the Peace Sign did when I was in college and you’d flash the peace sign at little kids who were riding backwards and unseatbelted in their parents’ Republican car and you’d be a hippy with wild hair in yr VW and these little kids would flash the peace sign back and you’d think, Got it, we’ve got them, we’re so cool we are irresistable to all the little Republican kids, which is when it meant we were going to win the Culture Wars….
I am going to use “Seinfeldian lengths” in conversation every day for the next week, at least.
Just saying.
I’m going with: That woman fears you. As well she should, since TNB will soon be the world overlord.
And per the debate about conduct in foreign countries: I used to fake a British accent all the time when I lived in London. I did Northern, because I had a boyfriend from Newcastle, and I was almost always believed. When I was young, I had a facility with accents and intonations that I don’t possess anymore. I had no political purpose in blatantly lying to people. I just did it for fun. Until I realized that British girls are a dime a dozen in . . . um, England . . . and that I got way more attention if I just used my real Chi-caw-go accent, and had to spend way less money on drinks.
I only use accents here when I’m bored, or if I don’t want to talk to someone, I don another language altogether. I usually make up a language to avoid any embarrassing Eureka moments.
Yo habla espanol tambien!
Je parle couramment le français!
Sometimes, I pretend to be deaf. I’ll make some crazy hand gestures and then the person will get all dog-eyed sad. It takes every ounce of my energy not to crack up.
Great post.
I’m brazilian, I was studying in north carolina and sometimes a girl would come up to me and say “what’s up?” or “what’s going on?”, later on I discovered that was a greeting, but for about two weeks I made a fool of myself with american girls, they don’t teach that in english schools here, just the standard hi, hello, how are you?
Anyway, I try to avoid assholes too, but I don’t get to the point where I need to crawl like a soldier
white
space
is
a beautiful
thing
(breathlessly yearning ala Lionel Richie)
hello
When I lived in Bavaria in the 80s, people were always saying hello when passing on the street. In fact, if you were sitting in a pub next to someone having a meal, you would wish them Guten Appetit, and they would say goodbye to you when they got up to leave.
Transitioning to Prague in the 90s, I found that people only looked at you suspiciously or simply ignored you if you addressed them as a stranger. Friends and family assured me that, before the communists took over in 1948, the Bohemian custom had been the same as in Germany.
Now that I’m back in Prague, I’ve found that my few renewed experiments with greetings and social communication have usually met with a response, or at least a neutral acknowledgement, though I’ve only tried it with people my own age or older. I’m not sure how young people would react. I’ll have to run a few tests.
Something else I found interesting was the way people greeted each other in An-Najaf. Whenever we were in a meeting somewhere in the middle of a discussion, people would burst into the room, and everyone would exchange greetings, conduct some side business, and then depart. If I walked into a room, I greeted everyone present, and they all responded. The difference was with women. There seemed to be no requirement to acknowledge their presence whether they were arriving, departing, or simply in place. In fact, such contact was discouraged, and women themselves seemed to be “active” participants in the process of not exchanging greetings.
I moved from Colorado to Southern California mid-high school (which totally sucked, but that’s a discussion for another time.) My theory re: the relative unfriendliness: Weather. In Denver, we’d have these huge blizzards and my dad would dig a hole in the snow and put a bunch of beers in for the neighbors while they traded off using the snow blower. There’s no snow to put beers in in Southern California. I lived in San Diego, which is fairly friendly, and Orange County (please, yes, i deserve pity,) where it’s a county ordinance, i believe, to avoid eye contact, smiling and being friendly to strangers. Contrary to my weather theory, I find people in the Bay Area to be pretty friendly. I say hi to people I don’t know and they generally respond. If I see someone I don’t like, I realize I really, really need something in my purse. It’s good to be a girl. (I really liked this, Brad! And thanks for letting me be part of TNB!)
generally if you make eye contact and are not enemies you should positively acknowledge the other persons existence…if you have the energy. if you have already done it several times and established that you are not the enemy or if you can not then you do not. If life has crushed you you do not have to pretend that your in a position to care about someone else. Also a ‘hi’ is a gift, not a trade. you dont expect the emotionally or otherwise poverty stricken to give gifts. Yet some of the friendliest and most balanced people are those whom have spent their lives in tight spots and learned to handle it…
“if you can make it there
you can make it anywhere”
generally civil people say ‘hi’ when they meet.
in crowds the “hi” can be a teeny tiny acknowledgment: a nod, a tiny making of space, a non hostile glance.
rushing past a crowd is not really meeting…still if theyre rushing and you have the day off and are watching them pass and honestly have some positive vibes to share you theoretically could say “HELLOOO” to a few packs of 25 who pass just for the silly fun of it. The ones who ignore it arent hurt and the ones who appreciate it are happier.
“of course” context is huge.
rural custom/boaters custom probably comes from being far out of contact with civilization/out of sight of land… particularly oceans and deep wilderness where historically you could go months without seeing another human being let alone a friendly. Therefore when you did see someone you both wanted to know if the other was friendly, in need of help, or able to help.
lastly. at new places where I’ll newly be regular I like to say hi and talk to everyone before the local politics and personalities have a chance to come into play. Then I can pretend I dont know the Asshole is an asshole. It often opens brief windows of opportunity that will never again be open and can establish ‘you’ as the switzerland of local bullshit for a moment, sometimes longer.
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Brad! It’s so good to see a post from you (she said, ducking shyly, remembering that she’s almost two months behind on posts)!
I think, to a certain extent, your friend is right. People are the same everywhere. In the US, anyway. It’s when I go abroad that I realize how inexplicably friendly Americans are. Europeans say we’re fake friendly, but I’ve never felt that way.
The other day, an older man struck up a conversation with me on the subway. And I was glad. I love conversations with strangers.
My friend Jill is studying abroad in London. She told me that this sort of thing would never happen on the Underground. That people are loathe to have any sort of contact with one another. Which, I think, is a crying shame.
I did a sort of crab-like, face-turned walk out of a coffeehouse door this morning, all to avoid a smiling superficial catch-up conversation with a person I hadn’t seen in a few years. I thought of your essay as I escaped…
Brad, I’ve missed you! I wish I would have seen this post sooner! I hope your daily writing will make a come back one of these days but I’ll take what I can get.
Now, I’m going read your latest post!
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I’m LMAO!!! “Well hello there neighbor….”
Loved this!
(Saying hello months later.)
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