Reflection: Being Cordial

My wife and I were recently (like today) stuck in Santa Rosa, New Mexico on our way back to Arizona from Oklahoma. Due to inclement weather and adverse road conditions on the interstate, secondary and even tertiary roads, we decided to stick around this town and actually enjoy it. Versus jumping on the freeway just to sit, or getting on a state highway only to be faced with snowy and icy roads.

We encountered a lot of folks that lived in town, and the one thing that astounded me was that everyone, either directly or indirectly, was nice to us. I suppose I shouldn’t be as shocked about that as I am, but I can’t help it. I think it’s for a few different reasons…

(Cue my writing out the reasons in a convenient list, because well I share through writing, and I certainly don’t aim to leave you hanging.)

I live in a big town.

Phoenix is pretty damn huge. I can go most days never encountering the same people twice. I don’t walk into the QT everyday and talk to Marc behind the counter. He doesn’t ask how my morning’s been so far, I never ask about his kids, and I don’t dare bring up the fact that he spells his name wrong. I don’t see Sam buying his morning coffee everyday, nor Lena rushing in to grab a sandwich for lunch. The truth is based on traffic, I may stop at any number of convenience stores. As a result, instead of Marc, Sam and Lena, I may see Frank, Wendell and Hanna. Or I may not.

No Social Consequence.

This ties into the above as it relates to never having to see these people, Literally. Never. Again. If I decide to grab the last Hershey Gold bar before Sam can get to it (I would never do something like this by the way, but it serves its purpose for illustration), he may give me a dirty look, he may even cuss me, but both of those responses would be both justified and rare. Frank may be pissed, but he will likely go on about his day without calling out my selfish action. This means that I get what I want, while inconveniencing a total stranger. Therefore, I never have to see that person again, or deal with their presumed retaliation / response.

Time is a luxury.

Or it seems to be. The fact that I don’t stop and chat with Marc, isn’t personal- it can't be-because I do not know him in the slightest. Realistically speaking though, that early morning QT stop is just the latest in a long line of things to get done in the day. All these things have a timeline attached to them, which means Marc (despite having the potential to be my newest and greatest BFF) gets overlooked. Every hour of my day is already earmarked, and Marc didn’t get penciled into the schedule. This is sad, because I (and I don’t think I’m alone in this) only minimally see Marc as even being human most days. He’s just a button, one that gets pressed so that I get my morning energy drink.

Don’t Get Me Wrong.

Now for those of you that actively label yourself a “people person” you very well could be reading this and thinking, Wow this guy is an asshole! Admittedly, I can be, no denying that. In crowds I’m socially inept, in groups I can be socially off-putting, and one-on-one (save for those that I am closest with) I can be socially awkward. All that being said, don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I am nice to my those hat fill the peripheral space off my life and do actively listen to what they say and even engage them in conversation.

What to do?

I don’t rightfully know at this point, not exactly anyway. However, I am a firm believer that everything happens to everyone for a reason. Yes including that, and yes that, and yes even that horrible thing, no we may not always know why. One day in a small town, that values personal relationships over time, at least has me questioning some of the day-to-day interactions I have with people, which I suppose is progress of some kind.

At the very least I think I’m going to try and remind myself to approach life as though there’s not a timer running above my head, whether self imposed, or otherwise.

So, like-minded anti-socialites, live like you were in a small town, do so in a manner that allows you to make connections, and don’t let time have its way with you.

Play for blood, remember?

There is a lot of junk news out there. And let me be clear, I don’t mean purported “fake news”. I mean- easy to digest, high calorie, low value, fills you up, but still leaves you thirsty-news.

So when a news story catches my eye, it really tends to hold my attention. This very thing occurred when I saw the story of the trio of Portland men that stood up to a man spouting insults to a pair of young women on a train.

It resonated with me for several reasons.

One; because two of the men lost their lives. The tragedy of being a hero, is sometimes you die as one. To Taliesin Myrddin Namkai Meche, and Ricky John Best, I did not know either of you, but I wish peace to you and your families.

Two; I fear this incident, as well as the slayings and injuries that came as a result of it, will discourage people to stand up for others. I pray that it only emboldens people to further rally behind those that do, to make sure that the odds are firmly against the antagonist. To that end, Micah David-Cole Fletcher, I hope that this event does nothing to dissuade you from standing up to the bullies, the bad guys and the blatantly cruel in the future.

Three; I do this kind of thing all the time. It is sobering to see that two men who were on the side of right, paid for that honor with their last breath. You see to me, the greatest honor one can have is to give their life for another. I am not one of those morbid fools that is obsessed with death or dying, but if I have to go out, I’d prefer it be for a worthwhile cause.

Which brings me to my last point...

Four; to anyone that dare utters that these three men acted for nothing, that what they risked, and what two of them ultimately died for was not worth it...I would retort with the firm belief that doing and dying for what’s right is the only thing worth living for.

In closing, I would urge people that when acting in any of these situations always understand that while you may think you are interjecting in a harmless exchange of words, know that things can escalate quickly and turn to violence in a heartbeat. It is not a game, but there is always the potential that you will be playing for blood.

I myself am not an expert in dealing with unstable personalities, or deescalating tense exchanges, so I will not attempt to tell anyone how to handle a similar situation. However, the articles I will leave below do have some useful information. Stand up for others, but be safe doing it.

What should you do if you witness a racist or Islamophobic tirade?

Dealing with Difficult People: 10 Tips for Defusing Toxic Situations

Window Shopping Part 4

The man continued to stare back at me. If he was weighing the validity of my arrival, his face didn’t show it. In fact, it only showed one thing, irrevocable distrust.

Without a word the man got up and left the small one room cabin where he had asked me the only question that seemed to matter to him; “How did you get here?”

As he stepped from the door, he was careful to shut it tightly behind him.  I saw a glimpse of the sun setting outside. It had evidently taken much of the day to get here, it seemed the remainder would be spent trying to convince my new acquaintances of my honesty.

In silence, I scanned the room, I saw no indication of who these people were, what they stood for, what they valued. The cabin was sparsely decorated and held only the chair I sat upon, a small table and an additional two chairs. There was a small stone fireplace behind me, unused at the moment, but there were logs inside it at the ready.  

Some time passed, I can’t be sure of how much. My anxiousness tells me an hour, but it very well could’ve been ten minutes.

However, long it was the man came back, entering the cabin the same plain face. I was surprised to see a woman trailing behind him, for whom he held open the door. The man hung back by the entrance, as the woman walked towards me.  Unlike the man, she had a mature face, but the years had been more kind to her, giving her a look that was both matronly and majestic. She wore a long dress, and was wrapped in an equally long coat, both were an earthy brown. She slowly drug the empty chair the big, bent old man had been using, but rather than sit a comfortable distance away as he had, she sat upon it right in front of me.

Before she spoke, she brushed a wisp of long grey hair away from her face.

“What luck you had finding the dog,” she gave an easy smile that felt neither fake, nor forced.

I nodded.

The canine stood, leaving my side for the first time in hours, and went to the woman. He sniffed her outstretched hand, and then licked it a few times.

“Sweet animal. And hungry I can see.” The woman gave a sideways look to the door and hollered at the man, ”Thaddeus fetch the dog a plate...and some water.” I noted that as she spoke to the man, apparently Thaddeus, her eyes never left me.

“What’s your name?”

“Rob.”

“Mine’s Helena, I am pleased to meet you, in spite of the circumstances surrounding the meeting.” She paused as if I was expected to say something, so I did.

“Forgive me ma’am as I say this, but I’ve been here- wherever here is- for quite awhile and I would like to say thank you for your hospitality,” I pointed to the dog, ”And for feeding the dog. But- and you probably saw that coming, but again I have been here for awhile now and I get the sense that I may be am being held against my will here.”

Helena held up a hand, stopping me short, she flashed that concerned smile again, “Yes and?”

I swallowed hard, my nervousness giving way to full blown fear. “And I have no way to prove to you how I got here, other than my word, nothing more that will make you believe me.”

Helena nodded, but said nothing.

“If I meant you harm, I wouldn’t have come to assault you wearing Wal-Mart pajamas, a tee shirt, and shoeless. I mean I don’t know karate…” I chuckled even though the joke fell flat, noting an odd flash of confusion in Helena’s eyes.

After my weak laughter faded Helena said, “That’s all fine and dandy mister, but that still doesn’t explain the dog.”

“Pardon?”

She nodded to the dog who was still at her side, “Do you know this dog’s name Rob?”

“No it didn’t have tags.”

Again, I saw Helena scrunch her brow, for the briefest of moments.

“The dog went by Old Rufus.”

Shrugging, “I don’t follow.”

“The dog went by Old Rufus when he was around twelve years old.”
“I’m sorry, if this is supposed to mean something to me…”

Helena’s eyes narrowed, her tone lost much of its matronly air, “That was over forty years ago when I was a small girl.”

I didn’t have the words, connections were still being made inside my mind.

“Rob,” her inflection questioned the truth of my name, “Old Rufus died before I finished school, decades ago.”

TO BE CONTINUED!