Did you know that less than one in ten of us willingly talk to strangers? It’s sadly true. In fact, only 24 percent said they would speak to a stranger while traveling. So what’s the point of traveling if you aren’t going to talk to strangers?
I guess I’m special that way. I’ll talk to anybody and have been known to hold the hands of perfect strangers on aircraft at take-off.
And yet, oddly, I think of myself as an introvert, really. Perfectly content to be alone, able to amuse myself endlessly. I am not an overly chatty person, a garrulous motormouth. I am not a look-and-listen-to-me Leo. I’m a Gemini, which means I am probably more of an ambivert.
Anyway…at the pub the other night, I was holding court. I go a couple nights a week, as I may have previously mentioned when there are no good movies and the Lakers and Kings aren’t playing. It’s better than staying home and throwing things at the TV, drinking alone, or conversing with Siri, Alexa, or Cortana. It soothes me and gives my wife a rest from talking monetary policy. A welcomed change of scenery, and I can crowdsource my opinions, thoughts, and ideas. Things to write about in this space.
But I think it is sad that people aren’t more social. On walks, I talk to neighbors and others being walked by their dogs. Bike riding, I chirp funny asides at pedestrians and drivers. (Which might explain two recent accidents involving cracked ribs? Ouch.) They say our worlds are getting smaller, and loneliness is the new pandemic, especially for those over sixty. Human connections, of any kind, make us happier, and healthier and make us generally enjoy life more. Duh.
As we’re told, we are a social species. Yet, many of us have not gotten the memo. Too many of us suffer an undersociality quotient. Our negative antisocial filters running too high. Instead of letting people in, being more open and celebrating ourselves in the presence of others, we stay away from people, sequestering ourselves in the corner like a potted plant. We become wallflowers. Spitballing here, but just maybe, social media isn’t helping our cause.
I see it at the pub all the time. Patrons feel insecure in conversation, awkward, and wrongly believe that they do not have topical competency when they are perfectly fine. But of course, like all of us, they too possess warmth, humor and empathy, somewhere inside. I think I do, too? It’s normal to need a jump start to get going, and that’s what beer is for, the self-medicating lubricant of our soul. Obtaining a relaxed hypometabolic state.
The fact is, we don’t just need physical exercise; we all need social exercise too. Unfortunately, perhaps the pandemic has made us a bit rusty. Please snap out of it everyone!
So, I see it as a type of social work I conduct at the pub. I am a giver. A SNAG apparently = Sensitive New Age Guy. And Jon, my trusty bartender knows it too. He knows I can talk to anybody about anything. He also knows not to give me shots someone may encouragingly or rewardingly buy me…he’s good that way. I only drink beer (Czech pils & German lagers) and save the sweet stuff for home…drinking alone, amusing myself, listening to loud music, and writing. But I regress…
After years of patronage, oftentimes I must be encyclopedic at the pub if I am to stay in the conversation game. Pull a Bill Clinton—the man could talk on any subject in deep-dive detail at the drop of a hat. Music, sports, geography, you name it—usually, not too much talk of politics or religion takes place between my beers and their shots. Although, I am ready, willing, and most able to tackle both. I try to reside between rambling and laconic when my mojo is working. Usually keeping my talk-listen ratio in check, I am told. Also, that my politics are impossible to pigeonhole…not really, I tell them, if you only knew!
But I actively avoid drunks, menacing assholes, and fools, lest I succumb to their levels of analysis and shallow insight. Those conversations start wrong and end badly, and with only a couple precious hours to drink, who has the time. Jon knows to steer them away from my perch and sphere of influence around the horseshoe-shaped bar. Exiling them to the periphery of bardom. His tips increase proportionally when his clients are happy.
It is rare a conversation gets outside my strike zone. It is fun watching the quiet, tattooed guy or the flummoxed pink-haired lady double-check Google to verify my stated positions (Thank god for Google!) and then nod their acquiescence in my general direction. Don’t ask me about social media memes or the Kardashians, though, which may be the same thing. I dunno?
Never good at vacuous banalities, recent pub conversations have touched on longtermism, financial therapy, fictosexual relationships, the insect apocalypse, and sharing James Webb’s beginning-of-time universe photos. And recently, I learned that apparently, you can now be virtually raped in the metaverse! And this is techno-utopia? WTF? But always a giver, I have happily dissuaded a few crypto tire-kickers—information is a powerful currency; just ask Ponzi.
But pub conversations aren’t about right or wrong; they’re about airing out the sports car and negotiating fast turns. It’s just fun. I like listening to others’ thoughts and, of course, I love hearing, “Bill, what do you think about…” My wife never asks. My kids never ask. The folks sitting around the bar asked.
Hmm…question answered. Maybe that’s why I go to the pub twice a week?
A parting shot before last call…and true, too: A guy the other night told me he was there having a beer, his phone alarm went off reminding him to take his meds. He does, and then went to take a well-earned piss. He comes back and his meds were gone. “I hope they’re happy,” he deadpanned.
Thanks for the privilege of your time, it is the most precious thing we have, and I appreciate it. Be well.
William D. Chalmers © 2022 GreatEscape Adventures, Inc. All Rights Reserved.