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.

A Dog Beat Me Up

We waited there together, only I knowing her fate, her looking at me with trust and devotion. They came to take her away, an examination they said. She didn’t want to go, and she clung to me, climbed in my lap. No easy feat for a 50 pound dog.

                “No, go with him Bella, its gonna be okay.” I almost lost it right there. In social work they tell us never to say that to anyone. Don’t make statements you can’t guarantee, and all that. I wondered if that applied to dogs.

                Then I was alone. Thinking maybe they wouldn’t take her and we’d get to go home together anyway, for at least one more day. Internally: Maybe there was a chance I didn’t have to betray her after all. I secretly hoped that would be the case. Despite her bull-in-china-shop demeanor, despite the hours of potty training, despite every shouted “No!” I grew to love that dog. Because it wasn’t all bad, not even close, mostly just annoying at times. Moreover, her goofball personality and mischievous nature reminded me a lot of…well me.

                “David?”

                I looked at the clock, time had gotten away from me. I had been in the waiting room at the shelter nearly 25 minutes.

                The voice tried again, “David, we’ll take her. She did great,” said the shelter manager.

                Oh shoot, almost lost it again. I nodded, afraid to speak.

                “All we need is the surrender fee, unless you have any questions?”

                Again, no words. I shook my head and stood.    

                Oh hell. I realized I had to say goodbye. I knelt, repeating in my head; Don’t you do it, don’t you do it. I scratched behind her ears and patted her face. Ok still didn’t lose it. Keep it together. The shelter manager thought I was done, but no. I held her head and looked her in the eyes. Oh hell why’d you do that?  I stroked her muzzle one more time. If she would’ve understood, I would’ve said, “Sorry, I let you down girl.” Of course, that’s a lousy thing to say to someone knowing you’re not going to speak with them again. And certainly, understanding English, and understanding the sentiment behind that sentence are two different things.

                I turned away to go to the counter in my shame. A young man approached me, “Oh man why you givin’ up your dog?”

                I lost it. The tears came and I imagine much like during a bank robbery when the tellers signal the police, the customer service women at the counter probably triggered the “We’ve got a crier” alarm. Hurriedly, I paid the surrender fee and wiped my eyes and nose. As I hit the door I was already thinking about Bella. Where is she? Is she scared? And what got me the most is that I could guess, but I wouldn’t really know. All I could do was hope she was okay. It didn’t feel like enough, still doesn’t.

                In reality her greatest fault was she just being herself – a goofy puppy that had no idea how big she is, just needing attention. Hopefully, now she will find someone that can give her the time she needs.

                If you are in the Phoenix area and know of anyone (including yourself) that is looking for a fabulous puppy (shots up to date, crate and potty trained) then please keep an eye on:

https://www.halorescue.org/dogs

@HALOresQ - Facebook

But also look for this cutie once she's posted-

Window Shopping Part 2

Having only a pair of wool pajamas and a simple tee shirt, I immediately realized how cold it was on the other side, so to speak.   

Stepping gingerly with barefeet along the sparse grass, the soil was hard, cool. It’s coarseness was near unforgiving against my bare flesh. I exhaled, finding that while it was indeed chilly, I could not see my breath in front of me, which was a relief.  

Walking about within a large field I spotted sparse tree line creating a natural border to my left, what I felt like might be to the west, but now I couldn’t be sure could I?

The sun hung low to my opposite side, either rising or setting depending on its orientation. I had guessed at the time, that it looked more like a sunrise, than a sunset. More blues, less purples and pinks, and clouds decorated the bright sky like strips of crumpled paper.

I walked, aimlessly, my heart filled with wonder and dread. My pulse hastening rapidly to rid my body of the nervousness. I was alone, unarmed, and certainly not dressed to survive in any real wilderness situation. But then again, I wasn’t truly in the wild at all was I?

Ahem, moving on...I made an educated guess (50/50 shot right?) that to my right was east. Deciding purely on instinct to continue moving with the sun at my right, I kept going. After several minutes the adrenaline of exploration began to fade and dread kicked in. What if i happened by a predator? What if this area turned out to be Chernobyl? What if I wasn’t even on Earth any longer?

More time passed and fear began to ignite even more fundamental concerns. I was growing thirsty, and expelling many calories for only modest progress as I eased my shoeless feet across the terrain. It was entirely possible that I might die long before any beast would have a shot to end me.

Before I knew it the sun had left my side, and was above my head. It had warmed slightly. Although my sweat and thin clothing still left me colder than I would have liked. In fact my toes had gone a bit numb, despite all their work.

As I trudged along, I only had a second to regret stepping through that window, that gateway, to wherever I now was. Because it was at that moment I saw a fuzzy dark shape on the horizon.

It was a wolf. It was carefully sniffing around what appeared to be a harvested wheat field. I could see its black coat easily against the skyline, despite its thin, lupine shape. Pondering what it was still doing lurking about during the day, I thought it might not have had a successful hunt, and as night gave way to morning it found itself still hungry. This paranoid thought, naturally and scarily led me to my next; with hunger would come desperation. While wolves weren’t known to attack humans, an empty stomach could be the proper motivation.

Remembering, or at least I thought I did, that in order to avoid being attacked by a wolf, one needed to make oneself into something of a spectacle, appearing larger, louder and more ferocious than the creature. Acting only on this half-recalled factoid, I continued forward.  

My eyes swept over the clodded dirt and chintzy grass as the earth changed into a golden yellow. The discarded, empty chaffs littered the ground, I tried my best to dance around them.

Many abandoned stalks, stiff from their deaths, lay at my feet. As I tried to avoid the spiky chaffs, the stems snapped and cracked, giving my position away to a certain sharp-toothed, salivating wild animal. The wolf bolted for me, and unfortunately panic locked me in place.

TO BE CONTINUED!