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Society of Strangers
Manners (for a child of 1918):
- Be sure to remember to always speak to everyone you meet
- Always offer everyone a ride
- Answer nicely when you are spoken to.
I've been getting a lot of calls from people who aren't there. Four, five, seven, nine times a day the phone rings, I answer it, and there is silence. I presume they are wrong numbers. I presume they are broken telemarketing machines. I presume they are ghosts on the line.
When I was little, I was told to go through with wrong numbers, to apologize to those on the end of the phone. Similarly, if a wrong number called me, I was to ask the number they meant to call and confirm that it was not mine. Never in any case was I to give out my own information, even my own name. If I got a call that hung up, a call with no voice and no person, I was to assume someone was checking the house, attempting to burgle it. In short, I was to call the police.
Now I think it's kind of rude if someone stays on the line long enough to tell me they got the number wrong.
We as a culture have fallen into the habit of privacy. Maybe it comes from city living; perhaps to stop claustrophobia we must pretend we are the only people on the street. I can't remember the last time a stranger said "hello" to me; I was astounded when, a week ago, a child stopped and said "excuse me, Ma'am" after darting in front of me. I work very hard to never make eye contact, and to look away quickly if someone sees my pupils. It's a safety precaution, mostly; I've lived in a lot of big, dangerous cities, and I've been warned that engagement invites attack. I know that the last time I saw a kid commit blatant vandalism, I didn't say anything. His father would have yelled at me for intruding, and the crowd would have been on his side.
I have a friend named Diggs, who's from rural Tennessee. He tips his hat to everyone on the street. He conducts random polls to find everyone's favorite Bond movie. He always learns the waitress's life story. A lot of people think he's rude, crass . . . even offensive. But the world sure seems more homey when he's around.
- Be sure to remember to always speak to everyone you meet
- Always offer everyone a ride
- Answer nicely when you are spoken to.
I've been getting a lot of calls from people who aren't there. Four, five, seven, nine times a day the phone rings, I answer it, and there is silence. I presume they are wrong numbers. I presume they are broken telemarketing machines. I presume they are ghosts on the line.
When I was little, I was told to go through with wrong numbers, to apologize to those on the end of the phone. Similarly, if a wrong number called me, I was to ask the number they meant to call and confirm that it was not mine. Never in any case was I to give out my own information, even my own name. If I got a call that hung up, a call with no voice and no person, I was to assume someone was checking the house, attempting to burgle it. In short, I was to call the police.
Now I think it's kind of rude if someone stays on the line long enough to tell me they got the number wrong.
We as a culture have fallen into the habit of privacy. Maybe it comes from city living; perhaps to stop claustrophobia we must pretend we are the only people on the street. I can't remember the last time a stranger said "hello" to me; I was astounded when, a week ago, a child stopped and said "excuse me, Ma'am" after darting in front of me. I work very hard to never make eye contact, and to look away quickly if someone sees my pupils. It's a safety precaution, mostly; I've lived in a lot of big, dangerous cities, and I've been warned that engagement invites attack. I know that the last time I saw a kid commit blatant vandalism, I didn't say anything. His father would have yelled at me for intruding, and the crowd would have been on his side.
I have a friend named Diggs, who's from rural Tennessee. He tips his hat to everyone on the street. He conducts random polls to find everyone's favorite Bond movie. He always learns the waitress's life story. A lot of people think he's rude, crass . . . even offensive. But the world sure seems more homey when he's around.
no subject
I hold doors for parties of people.
I wave and honk when I let someone pass me on a state highway.
I smile big, make eye contact and small talk with total strangers.
I say ya'll when I'm representing Texas to a group of outsiders.
I do a slight bow, with my neck and upper back, to greet someone in a formal occasion.
I offer my arm.
When I do at least two of the above, my voice slows down a bit, but when I'm just talking without any of the above having already come into play, many people find it hard to understand me.
Most people look at me funny, but its worth it for the ones that smile back and say "Yup, mighty fine mornin'..."
But those Alabamans, damn, now they're annoying. Putting their hands on your forearm when they talk to you. Seriously.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2003-08-28 10:09 pm (UTC)(link)Also, he was missing a ring from his left hand. It was his ring, but he gave it to his Commanche brother whom he met somewhere in downtown. The Commanche had the same scar on the side of his nose from a dog's bite, and they knew they were brothers.
I was standoffish. He was most likely completely nuts, but, in spite of the box-turned-suitcase of Maker's Mark and the tendency to make tonguing motions at women's backs, I find I enjoyed listening to him.
-C
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Also, am crushed.
Jeff and Susan don't understand.
Maybe I don't either.
But I am.
I don't know.
I feel very broken tonight.
no subject
love,
Romie
ps don't forget you have my phone number, yo. Plus I'm back to my normal schedule, which means I'm (1) always up at night, and (2) always home.