As I am currently living alone, far away from home, family, and close friends, it’s not out of the ordinary for me to spend a day without substantially speaking or interacting with other people. Perhaps it sounds a little sad, but I have experienced days where the only people I talk to are restaurant or retail staff, in the limited capacity required to conduct transactions. (i.e. “I’d like this and this and this…Check please.”) I usually kind of like those days, as my default mode seems to be along the lines of Sartre’s “Hell is other people”, which I often distill down to the more childish “I hate people” or “People suck.” (I keep saying I will put those on a T-shirt…someday…) But anyway. When it’s just me, I rather like not needing to please anyone except myself, or put forth the effort to be sociable, courteous, or nice. In short, I like being left alone, in all my anti-social, snarky glory, without being bothered. Plus, there is no strife or boredom as the company (me) is witty, and absolutely spot on in every possible conversation topic. I agree with me on all issues completely, and think I have the most interesting opinions and thoughts, well, ever. Yes, perhaps that is a little sad, but come one, you have to admit there is a certain appeal to being by oneself.
So I was just musing about the above to a captive audience (me) in a café today, and agreeing wholeheartedly with myself that it was so very nice to be able to spend a day immersed in whatever I wanted (a really good Neil Gaiman book, with a foofy, blended fruit drink, for example), lost in my own world, in a bubble where strangers whirled around me, respecting the “leave me alone” aura that a lone person with a paperback novel emanates.
Suddenly, though, that bubble was burst. A little elderly lady, with a kind, pleasant face, sitting at the table next to mine, asked me what type of fruit was in my drink. I set my book down and answered “pineapple”, and it may as well have been “Open Sesame”, because lo and behold, the floodgates opened. The lady (who said I could call her Po Po, which is what I called my grandmother) began chatting with me about nearly everything under the sun, from how good the drinks were in this café as opposed to the other one, to excellent bargain meals she’s recently had, to her grandson’s university exams, to the job prospects of her neighbors, to how highly educated the maintenance staff at Disneyland were, to how expensive hotel buffets were, to how smooth Elvis Presley’s voice was, to how good Liza Wang, an aging Hong Kong celebrity diva, looked, to how awesome the Discovery Channel was, to how her neighbor had their car jacked, to how disastrous a Hong Kong Police Officers protest would be, as well as many, many other topics.
She was clearly lonely, and needed some form of human interaction. She reminded me a little of my grandmother in much more mellower times, so that, coupled with the lady’s kind, eager face, prompted me to not shut her down abruptly with some sort of made-up excuse about being late for an appointment. So I sat there, amiably chatting with her in Cantonese, for nearly an hour, laughing and nodding and making proper facial expressions and responses. Yes, I did zone out a couple of times, and yes, perhaps “Kill me now” drifted across my mind once or twice. But overall, I think I enjoyed the interaction almost as much as she did. It reminded me a little of something familiar, of home (listening to my Dad’s stories, or listening to my grandmother’s rants), and it was actually very nice to be able to possibly brighten someone’s day by patiently listening and sharing smiles and laughs with them.
So what do we take from all of this? Well, impersonal, apathetic bubbles can sometimes be nice, but human interaction and contact is absolutely vital. Also, some people suck – but some don’t. And people need people. (Doh. Have I resorted to quoting Barbara Streisand lyrics? Laaaame.) Also, if even the snarkiest of chicks can let her guard down and be patient and sociable with a rambling little old lady she’s never met before, so can you. And finally, choose café tables in dim, dusty, shadowy corners, where sweet, rambling little old ladies usually avoid. Kidding! She was really sweet and I’m glad we chatted.
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