People Are No Damn Good

Perhaps I'm not the best person to discuss this. I'm a loner.ⁱ I don't like talking to people and it's even worse when they talk to me. It's true I'm a doctor, but I went into Radiology and all I had to do was look at pictures. Of course I had to speak with other doctors, but that was usually kept at a minimum because they weren't all that interested in what I had to say. They didn't need help from anyone – especially someone who looked at pictures all day and didn't talk to patients.

Anyway, it won't be a surprise to learn that I don't have a Facebook page. And I don't Twitter. Or chirp. I hate cocktail parties and I avoid small talk whenever possible.ⁱⁱ Why speak to someone who hasn't the slightest interest in what I have to say. Especially if I haven't the slightest interest in what he has to say either. His questions are formulas – conversation starters – and he doesn't even hear or care about the answers. However the questions form a platform for engagement, and for the spouting of whatever inanities that he pretends to have originated.ⁱⁱⁱ And you've certainly figured out that I hate shopping. There are people there. And I have to try things on in an ill-equipped dressing room. It's easier to shop at home, using the internet.^iv

Consonant with these preferences, I don't have a cellular telephone, iPod, or other mobile device. I had a pager before I retired, but people knew better than to try to get me, so it was usually quiet. And it was always off “after hours.” When I didn't want to be disturbed, I didn't want to be disturbed. And when I was willing to take calls, there was always my land line, without gadgets.^v

Having established my credentials, I'd like to tell you a little more about why I don't like people. This is in addition to what you can infer from the information about myself that I've already given.

First of all, people are inconsiderate. No one pays any attention to a schedule^vi except to use it as a starting point after they've decided that they want to be fifteen minutes, or a half hour, or an hour late. No one wants to come on time. They may be first, and that's awkward. So if they're late for the performance of a play, don't be surprised to see them walking in front of you as they go to their seats during the first act.

And irrespective of the announcements that they should turn their cellular telephones off, it's likely that several will go off during the performance. Whether people ignore it and let it ring, sheepishly turn it off, talk aloud, or walk out in front of you depends on their mood. Good luck.

On the rare occasion that I attend a social event with a smörgåsbord or buffet I find that the food is gone before I can get anywhere near the table. The vultures have already attacked and laid waste to the fare before they allow anyone else to approach the board. It's my own fault for being polite.

I've also come to the conclusion – and it's hardly an original one – that people are only interested in themselves, and they resent anyone else's achievements. (No. They're eager to tell you of the accomplishments of their children or grandchildren.^vii A grandchild's B+ on a spelling test is more than enough reason to interrupt someone talking about the speech he gave on receiving a Nobel Prize.) While they glory in someone else being arrested for income tax fraud, they give thanks that they weren't caught. And if a friend is pleased about a low price he found for something, the first reply will be that he overpaid and it's cheaper at _____.^viii  

And people are whiners. No half-full glasses. They're all completely empty. And it's someone else's fault. No one ever does anything wrong himself, but the other guy, … Someone should be sued. And someone will. You have to make them pay. Especially companies with deep pockets. They're not going to miss the money and no one you know will be involved. So you won't feel guilty. In fact you'll feel good if you make anything off those suckers.

I should add that people are also stupid. They throw money around on iPads (and the associated telephone plans), latte, new cars, and all the latest styles and fads. They go to expensive movies, even though they've invested in fancy home theaters with massive screens and expensive high-end television packages. Using the new GPS, they drive to places to which they could walk, especially expensive restaurants. Then, of course, they pay others to get them out of debt, and they fault those with more money than they.

Are my opinions too harsh? You can ignore them if you choose, but what I'm saying is the Truth. You disagree? Well you're wrong. And I'm not interested in your views anyway.

No question about it. I would have made a good monk.

Next episode: “Don't Worry, Be Happy” – If it's good enough for Bobby McFerrin, it's good enough for me.

i        Employing modern jargon, I need my space. I'm a pacer. People get in my way. It's not that I don't like people. At least it's not only that. And I'm not claustrophobic – at least not in the usual sense. I don't have a phobia, only a need for breathing room. I would have made a great hermit. It's nice having someone to talk to, but only when I want to talk. I know it's a selfish attitude, but I like having someone around on my terms. I like to have plenty of room, and not to have to pay any attention to anyone unless I feel like it. I realize that such an outlook is intolerable to others and I try to be sociable, but my heart isn't in it.

ii     And nothing is smaller than conversation at one of those torture sessions.

iii     I don't like people “in my face,” either figuratively or, as is so often the case at a crowded social occasion, literally. Too often the person spouting is also spitting.

iv    Yes. I know that's not really anonymous.  They'll know who I am, but a machine is better than people.

v     You may have the idea that I'm a Luddite, but that's not the case. I haven't broken anything all day.

vi    Or to an appointment. Or if it's an event that has food at the end, they come just in time for the food.

vii    Where would the refrigerator industry be without grandchildren. There would be no pictures to mount and no one to stand in front of the open box trying to figure out what will be good.

viii   Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Just to put you down.

Baby Face

According to Art Linkletter,ⁱ “Kids say the darndest things.” I guess they don't know any better. They say whatever comes into their heads, and they're unguarded – they don't filter it.

Not so, adults. They're more “sensitive.” More guarded. And far more conventional. They've been taught what to say in various circumstances and, for the most part, will say the “right” thing even if it isn't true and they don't believe it. For example, it's become fashionable, whenever an inquiry is made about almost anything personal,ⁱⁱ (such as “How have you been” or “How is _____,” although you know the questioner doesn't really care what your response is, and you'd prefer not to talk about the subject anyway) to reply, “Thank you for asking.” Of course you don't mean it, but it's the right thing to say. Then you make up an answer – usually as short as possible – so you can move on to other subjects which also interests neither of you. (Conversation like this is typical of what you're likely to hear at a cocktail party – small talk that is banal until after you've had a few drinks. Then, of course, it is brilliant.)

The observance of such conventions is commonplace, and completely without meaning. After all, what can we possibly have in mind when we write “Dear” ______ to someone we don't know, or “Sincerely” or “Love” after almost anything we've put in a letter to a stranger? And should we assume that someone who doesn't write “Sincerely” is insincere?

There are times when the comment is clearly insincere. “Call me sometime. We'll have lunch.” The significance of a remark like that might be ambiguous if the party speaking were to disclose his telephone number, but too often he's careful not to do so. However that's all right since you can't remember his name. So when he asks you to extend regards to the family you won't be able to do so, though you'll certainly agree to do so. Not that it matters to him. He's already forgotten both the request and you, if he ever really took note of you in the first place. And if the request was more than a formula for disengaging from the meeting.

There are times when we don't know the origin of what we are saying, for, if we did, we'd say something else. “Goodbye,” with which, as a matter of course, we end all conversations, is a contraction of "God be wyⁱⁱⁱ you." I suspect that many an angry telephone call, which ends with one party slamming down the receiver, would be terminated with a different valediction if that origin were considered.

Nonetheless, we seem to be stuck with a group of things we always say. I realized this when someone commented on the appearance of a new grandchild of mine. “Oh, what a beautiful baby.” It was a comment I had heard innumerable times.^iv I'm not so discerning. All babies^v look the same to me. They all look like Winston Churchill. (All of them look kind of nondescript except for newborns, who are all ugly.) But I'd never say that to a proud new father showing off the video he took in the delivery room. Nor to the mother who is just recovering from the ordeal. But mine is not a unique perspective. Indeed, Churchill himself said “All babies look like me. But then, I look like all babies.” What you hear from all the friends and relatives, though, is that this one is unique - and uniquely beautiful. Have you ever heard anyone tell the truth to a parent? “That's as ugly a baby as I've ever seen.” Truth is not the issue. Stroking is. So we all say what the parents want to hear. We may see them at another time and want that meeting to be as pleasant as possible.

I don't mean to suggest that all children are nondescript or ugly, though this may be the case just after they're hatched. Johnny Mercer hypothesized that a pretty girl “must have been a beautiful baby”^vi but I doubt that such was the case. Later in the song he wrote “when you were only startin' to go to kindergarten,^vii I bet you drove the little boys wild.” That makes more sense. At birth they're all the same but once a baby starts to develop a personality, individuality and beauty are more likely to be apparent. Not that someone would insult a child who has grown up ugly. He won't. Silence or a compliment would be the response no matter what if a comment on such a child's appearance were solicited – either outright or by implication – because an insult is not an appropriate description from an adult. A child might not hesitate to tell the truth, but adults don't do that.

An example of this phenomenon occurs immediately after the stroker has seen the baby or a picture of him. “What's his name?” To which you dutifully reply, and then you hear: “What an ugly name. That's a joke, isn't it? How can the parents saddle a poor baby with such a horrible name?”

No. That's not what you said. Only a child would say what he really believes. An adult would pronounce the name – however silly it might be – “beautiful.” I've always wondered about that, even more than I've wondered why people ask the name when they don't care, and probably won't remember it anyway. And of course they ask about the weight, with some kind of inane comment following.

So we're left with the problem. Should we tell the truth or not? The simple solution is to keep a kid handy at all times. He'll do the dirty work for you.

Next episode: “Hate Speech” – Don't you just love it?

i      Try Google^TM or another search engine if you've never heard of him.

ii     Though it's usually about something the questioner knows is distressing.

iii    No. That's not a misprint. It must be the way they talked at the time in Shakespeare's neighborhood. That's what he wrote in “As You Like It.” There were many variations of the sentiment which derives from “God be with you,” and Shakespeare's was only one of them.

iv    Actually, I'm sure it's numerable. I just don't know the number.

v     Well, almost all babies.

vi   “You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby” was published by Harry Warren (music) and Johnny Mercer (lyrics) in 1938 and first appeared in “Hard To Get.”

vii    The lyric suggests that kindergarten was likely to be the baby's introduction to social interactions. That was then. Now with play groups, nursery school, day care, and pre-K (all carefully chosen with the goal of preparing the baby for an Ivy League school), kindergarten is the last of a series of social experiences prior to elementary-level education, and will probably be capped (and gowned) by a commencement ceremony. Then they can start getting some kind of education.