Small talk returns

The sun is shining.  The air is warmer.  Vaccinations are well under way.

No surprise that the grocery store felt very lively.

The guy who has worked the produce aisles through the years that I have been shopping there waved out to me along with a loud HELLO!

After picking up everything that I had on my list, and more, I reached the checkout counter.

"I haven't seen you forever," Kathy said.

"How have you been?"

"Alive. Happy to have a job."

I nodded as I placed my groceries on the belt.  I wondered if I should tell her that I am alive, but that soon I will be out of a job.

Wendy came over to say hi.

"Hello, big boss."  Recently, she has had to take on supervisory responsibilities.

I decided that this was the moment.  Wendy has been a friend in a very unusual grocery store small-talk way for almost a decade.

"Want to hear some big news?" I asked them.

They both drew closer.

"I have been laid off.  No job after December."

In unison, they responded with "WHAT?"

"It is always the best teachers who are fired," said Kathy while shaking her head.

Wendy met my eyes, and perhaps she noticed that I didn't seem worried.  She quickly recovered to the humor road that is familiar to us.

"Want a cashier job here? We can start you at all of 7 dollars and 95 cents."

Before I could come up with a repartee, Kathy jumped in with, "come on, we can fast track him at 11.95"

I laughed.

"Have you had your shots?"

Kathy was all done.  Wendy has had her first.  "How about you?" she asked.

I told her that I was still waiting for my turn.

"Call up White Bird.  They'll take you in right away if you tell them you have been laid off."

I laughed again.

It has been a long time since I laughed at the grocery store checkout counter.  Life cannot be bad then.

On the coming end of small talk :(

There was only one person working the sales register at the store, and she was experiencing technical problems.  The two young women ahead of me in the line were getting antsy--not anything unusual in a contemporary world of everything right now, right away. One of them took out her smartphone and checked something; maybe some earth-shattering post on Snapchat!

"I'll be with you women soon.  Thanks for waiting" the sales clerk at the register said.

I suppose I did not matter.  Well, she joined a long line of people who ignore me ;)

Finally, it was my turn.

"I'm sorry for the wait" she said.  She did not sound sorry at all.  She couldn't care, really.

"Hey, you can make up for it by giving me 25 percent off" I joked.

"A charm discount, eh."

"Oh no. In my case it will be a charm tax then. One look at me and people want to charge more" I replied.

As I walked to the car, I wondered whether the days of talking with a sales checkout clerk are numbered.  With all the online shopping, and self checkout at stores, this human interaction will become a part of history.

I was reminded of the discussions in a class a few days ago.  Most of the students were clear in their preference for less human interaction in commercial transactions.  "I don't like to make eye contact" said one.  And when I said I love small-talk, one shook her head expressing vehement negation.  It was clear that an old-fashioned humanist like me will become even more of a misfit!  A hermit I might be, but I love humanity.

It was a day to run errands.  I headed to another store. The winds made the raindrops come from the sides and not from above.  I parked and hurried into the store.  A crew of young employees was busily restocking the shelves.

A few minutes in the store and I was done.  No lines at the checkout.

"Your day going well?" asked the young woman.

"Yes, indeed."  And then added, "you are not missing anything by staying inside. The weather outside is crappy."

"I'm happy that this is is not my day off" she replied.

"That'll be a bummer, right?  To work when the days are gorgeous, and then when you get off work it is all horrible weather?"

She smiled.

Apparently the days of such small-talk are numbered.  Thankfully, so is my existence!

The best Valentine's Day gift is ...

"How are you?" she asked with her smile.  A genuine smile.

"I wish I knew" I replied.  It is one of those evasive non-answers replies that I sometimes use in small-talk.  "How you doing?"

She knocked her knuckles on the wood and said, "I am thankful I am healthy."

As we get older, we realize that being healthy is one wonderful gift that is beyond compare.  When young, we might utter the phrase of health being the greatest wealth, but it takes life experience to truly understand that.

"Although ..." she continued as she scanned the items.  I am always amazed that people can multitask like that.  I can either talk or work.  Not both at the same time.  "My birthday is towards the end of the month ... and it is almost always rainy and cloudy ... on days like that, when it is a birthday, it is depressing that I am getting older ..." she sighed.

There is only one thing we can do about getting older--accept it.  Fighting it is a waste of one's energy and is an added layer of stress.  Even when they think that I am a senior-citizen!

I nodded my head.

"You know, when talking about such things, we say "depressing" to refer to how we feel ... the other day, a student was talking to be about some serious depression he is in ..." I commented.  "Old or young, health is so important, and to be able to get out of bed and get going with the day ..."

She knocked on the counter again.

However, small-talk is not about being serious.

"But then, I get out of bed and look at myself in the mirror ... and it is like 'holy crap, I am getting old!'"

I suppose she didn't expect me to switch gear from serious to funny.  She laughed heartily.

Laughter is the best medicine.  May you live a healthy life!

A blush, a typo, and a smile. It's everyday life!

The coffee shop had just about opened the doors when we walked in to get our morning elixir.  The young male barista, with a trim beard and a shirt that looked like it had been well ironed, took our orders with a smile.

"You look like a former student of mine" I told him.  "Are you related to Dustin, who is from here?"

"No.  Unless he was also a good looking guy like me" he laughed.

"Yes, he is.  And so are you" I told him.  The part of his face that was not covered with hair immediately revealed the faint red of self-consciousness.  He was familiar with the small talk at the counter, but was unprepared for a compliment that he was a good looking guy?

Later that afternoon, we stopped for brunch at a small town.  It was an eatery run by young people it seemed--two bearded young men were working in the open kitchen along with a heavily tattooed young woman.  Two young women waited at the tables.  The waitress at our table seemed to be new at the job.  The other one, who was a little older, pulled up a ladder and erased a black board that was high above the kitchen window.  She carefully chose from the bin that had colored chalk and started writing on the board.

Koren Braised Pork.

It made me curious.  Could it be that it was the chef's specialty, and the chef's name was Koren?  Was her name Koren?

She started writing underneath that line.  Kimchi.  And more.  

It was a simple spelling mistake!  

I wanted to tell her about the error.  But then, would pointing that out make me a condescending SOB?  With a face that doesn't convey the smile, would I be coming across as humorless ethnic?  Or, worse, would I end up reinforcing the stereotype of Indian-Americans as Spelling Bee champions?  Did any of the other patrons there notice it, or will any of the yet-to-arrive patrons care?  Am I becoming obsessive-compulsive?  

It stayed Koren.

Back on the terra firma of the familiar grocery store, I smiled at the clerk as she started scanning the purchases.  "Hey, I thought the cheese was $4.99, not $5.99 ... one dollar off" I told her.  She picked up the phone and requested a price-check.

"So ... as we are waiting for the price-check ..."

"... yes, let's talk about your weekend" she chimed in with a smile.  Her eyebrows seemed artificially jet-black and matched her hair.

"Now's your time for stand-up comedy.  Keep me entertained."

"I am funny.  But, this is pressure."  She didn't miss a beat.  "I think I am funny.  I don't care if others think otherwise" she added.

The intercom beeped.  I was correct.  She deleted that incorrect entry and added a new $4.99 line.

"Hey, if you make an error and ring up a wrong amount, then the rule is that I get that item for free" I suggested to her.

"You are funny.  Aren't you the stand-up comedian!"  She is funny.

Not going postal at the grocery store

"Hey, I haven't seen you for a while," I told her as I started placing the groceries on the belt.

"I have been taking a few vacation days here and there."

She looked at me and smiled.  And then continued with "I needed those days. For my own mental health."

"Yes, we all do" I added.

The truth is I have no idea about her life and the stresses.  I know about one stress, which is more than what I can handle if I were to face such a situation.  All said and done, despite the crappy people that I run into, I have always known that I have a pretty darn good life.  It is because I am a mere mortal, and not a Buddha, that I, too, like most of my kind, like to complain about this and that.

"So, all good now?" I asked her.  To some extent, it was a defensive mechanism by asking her whether she was doing well. Because, if I asked her about the problems that were stressing out, I know that I will get jolted.  I am a wuss.  A big time wuss.

"Oh yeah, much better" she said as she laughed a hearty laugh.

That laughter provided me with the opening that I needed to thread in comic relief.  After all, it is not only the place for small talk but also that I can easily get amused.

"So, you won't go postal on me then?"  I grinned.  Well, I hope that she was able to decipher from my expression that I was grinning and not clenching my teeth ;)

Apparently that was exactly what she needed.  She rolled with it.  "I can see it now.  "Grocery store cashier goes postal."  Oh, I need to tell Lena this."

I wondered who Lena was.  Lena couldn't be the cause of her stress is all I could infer.

As she punched the last of the keys to complete the transaction, she pointed to the mung beans that I had purchased.  "How do you cook them?"

"With onions and tomatoes."

"All together?"

"Oh not that way.  I boil the beans until they are about three-quarters done.  Meanwhile I sauté the onions and tomatoes with spices.  And then I dump the beans into the party and let them have a good time."

"No meat or anything?"

"Nope.  This is a wonderful source of proteins by itself."

"I should try it sometime" she said.

"Good to see you" I told her as I carried my bag to the car.

I am tempted to go there after I cook it and give her a sample to taste.  I can only think that it will ease her stress.  But then there are others at the store with whom I have developed a "checkout relationship," and they have their own problems as well.  Handing out samples to all of them as I walk about in the store seems odd, very odd!  Thus, I will do the next best thing: I wish them all well.

I made this dish today:
with potato, red bell pepper, edamame, ginger, and coconut milk

Do not read this post. You will laugh!

I placed the groceries on the belt and waited for the guy ahead of me to pay up.

"How are you?" I asked the checkout clerk as I moved up the line.

Not often do I end up at her lane because my shopping times rarely match up with her shift.  But, when I do, she always chats with me, continuing with where we left off.  Until the last time, she had apparently been under the impression that I was a writer for the local paper.  "How come you I don't see you in the paper these days?" she asked me.  I told her I was busy with the teaching work.

She was shocked.  "All these years I read your stuff, I talk with you, and I had no idea you are a teacher!  Where do you teach?"

I told her.  She was even more shocked.

I remember her stories and she does mine.  Not all checkout lane conversations are meaningless small-talk.  No surprise, therefore, that she continued with where we left off.

"So, what do you do in the summer ... do you starve?" she asked with a chuckle.  "You teachers are off during the summer, right, and you don't get paid?"

I was so happy that there was at least this one person outside the academic world who was familiar with how teachers operate only on a nine-month contract.  The unpaid summer furlough, as I joke about the "time off."

"You are right. We don't get paid for the summer."

But then, it's me--so, of course, I had to joke.

"No starving. I eat only bananas all summer."

We both laughed.

Life's alright when we laugh.
When we are able to laugh.
While we can cry all by ourselves and the world would not think that to be strange, we can't laugh sitting by ourselves.
Laughter requires at least one other human.
Laughter is an emotion that makes us human.

Laugh with me.

No math please, we're American

Sometimes a man has chocolate cravings. Ok, that man was me.

It was, therefore, a bad time to see this on the store shelf:

I am surprised that I didn't start eating it right there in that French store!

At the checkout counter, the early-twenties-looking cashier dude tried striking up a chat with me, and was failing miserably.  I wanted to advise him not to try so hard at small-talk.  If you ain't got it, then don't.  But, he tried.  If the world gives grades for effort, then he surely earned an A+.

After scanning the heavy and bulky items, he scanned the chocolates.

"I love these" he said.

"Me too."

"But, they are so expensive."

"I agree.  But the display said three dollars and I figured why not.  Especially when there are fifteen pieces, which then works out to only twenty cents a piece."

He stopped scanning.

He looked at the chocolates. He thought about something.

Clearly there was something going on, or going wrong.

"That is way too much math for me to do" he finally declared.

I wanted to teach him the simple math right there.  "How much is 2 over 1?" would have been my first step. He might have found it a torture.  I imagined Winston Smith volunteering the answer to 2+2 as 5.

I simply smiled instead.

No French store.  This is America alright!

After reaching home, I hunted down the news item from a few months ago:

When it comes to literacy, adults in the U.S. trailed those in 12 countries and only outperformed adults in five others. The top five countries in literacy were Japan, Finland, the Netherlands, Australia and Sweden.
U.S. adults did worse in mathematics, where they trailed 18 countries and beat just two — Italy and Spain. 

At least we are better than Italy and Spain.  Wait; they are the ones with budget problems and they have math issues. Now it figures, and why our budgeting is messed up too ;)

If only that dude knew that twenty cents for an awesome chocolate is one sweet deal that won't be around for long!

If only Putin knew small talk!

"I am sure you guessed by now I am a native-born Oregonian" I quipped.

I think I am funny and the best part is that I am also the first to laugh at my own "jokes."  It doesn't take much for me to keep me amused!

That was at the haircut place a couple of days ago.  My best find ever--not because they laugh at my jokes.  If you think about it, the women--yes, I have not seen a male personnel there--hold the upper-hand during the few minutes there: I am seated without my glasses while they hold weapons.  Yet, I risk my life (ahem!) with my awful humor.

Rarely ever do I see the same personnel there.  I guess the turnover is high, which should not be a surprise given the $9.99 for a haircut.  But then not ever having the same people is an advantage for me--I can recycle the same old jokes!

One of my standard questions in the mandatory small-talk is "so, you been doing this for a while?"

"Oh, since December."

I wondered whether it was only in December that she got her licence and then started at the entry level position of the haircut business.  I know how it works in the teaching business--the fresh out of school are some of the worst providers of service, when it comes to teaching.  We don't have a freaking clue and we try to put on a show as we learn the tricks of the trade. "As long as she does not lop my ear off" I thought to myself.

She sneezed.  Which then provided another topic for small-talk.  I have come to understand that interesting small-talk is like improv comedy.  Like observational comedy.  The more the talk is about what is happening right then and there, the more engaged the people get.  That context, for instance, was not the place for me to ask her "so, how about that Putin in Crimea?"

When she sneezed, it then became an opportunity to talk about the pollen this time of the year.  "Allergies, eh,"

"Yeah. This year is the first time it is bad."

"Are you an Oregon native, or from somewhere else?"

"A true Oregonian. One of the rare ones" she replied.

Of course, small-talk etiquette means that you lob back the ball.  (Such a language coming from a sports-challenged person!)

"How about you?" she asked me.

Which is when I quipped, "I am sure you guessed by now I am a native-born Oregonian."  And, of course, I chuckled.

"Oh, your accent is only mild" she was gracious.  She knows her trade secret--keep the customer happy.

If only in every interaction in life we brought with us such small-talk etiquette.  We would then always be paying attention to the goings-on and making contextual observations.  To a person who is celebrating, we might say something that will be different from a person dragging his feet--literally or metaphorically.

Maybe the real problem is that we do not know how to engage in small-talk.  Maybe that is the first lesson that Putin needs.  Somebody needs to start a conversation with him with "hey Vlad, it is "get rid of the tartar" and not "get rid of the Tatar."

If you find one that fits, then why change?

For all the small-talk person that I am, it is not with any sales person that I joke around.  I am a quiet customer if I don't smell the chit-chat in the air.  It is like how even my faculty colleagues do not have an idea, I am sure, of the joke- and pun-loving character that I am.  I suppose we are all, in our own ways, the living, breathing versions of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  Which is ok, as long as the hidden personality is not sociopathic, and mine is not. Not yet ;)

After a long time, I went to Target.  In my mind, I still pronounce it as "tarjay" to make my shopping experience that much more a fancy adventure at a marché.  Even though, I go there only to pick up some mundane necessities.  

Try it yourself--put on a French accent for the chores you hate to complete and before you know it, you will be whistling French tunes with the "dishays" washed and "zee clothes" clean.  Even a dull boring McDonald's hamburger can turn out to be fun ;)

I was a no nonsense shopper at Tarjay, and reached the checkout counter in no time.  If only I were that efficient with the work that I have to do to earn my living!  Maybe I take my own sweet little time with work because I enjoy it?

The woman ahead of me in the line did not place anything in the belt.  I wondered whether she was waiting in line only to pick up something like a gift card.

And then she produced them. Two bras, which she handed to the clerk.

Ooooh la la, right there, my mind went through a whole bunch of possible jokes about those bras.  I had a tough time making sure that I would not burst out laughing at my own jokes.  I might be my worst critic about a lot of things that I do, but never about my jokes.  Heck, if I can't laugh at my own jokes, it simply ain't worth livin'.

The customer was a slightly large built woman, perhaps five years older than me.  She and the sales clerk started talking about bras and fit.

Not what I would think of as small talk!

It felt strange standing in line at the checkout counter waiting for my turn as they talked about finding the right bra.  And I thought the eternal quest that women were in was to find Mr. Right!

"It is so difficult to find that right bra that fits well" the customer said.

"Yeah, isn't that the case!" The clerk continued, "the moment I find one that fits perfectly, I stop looking and buy up."

"If you find one that fits, then why change, right?  But then all of a sudden they suddenly tweak something and the same bra model doesn't fit anymore" the customer lamented.

In my mind, I was thinking that, rationally, it is more probable that the bra fit changes because, well, the female body changes with time.  For one, there is no escaping gravity.  

As tempting as it was to interject, I wisely stayed silent.  Wisdom lingers every once in a while.

Life as a male is way simpler, easier.  We eat, we scratch, we get going even with ill-fitting underwear and joke that going commando will be even easier.

It was now my turn.  

"Hellooooo!" she said.

I smiled. 

I paid. 

I walked away.

Small talk another day.

I went to buy bread at the grocery store. I ended up learning about life.

Perhaps not many people experience the problem I sometimes encounter at the grocery store--choosing between the checkout counters when they are staffed by friendly faces with whom I have developed a small-talk-relationship.

It gets even more complicated because one of them has even told me how she gets possessive about "her" customers and feels slighted when "her" customer goes to another counter.  I respect such sentiments because, more than anything else, it tells me how much some people love doing whatever they do.  There is a sense of pride in their work.  It is not merely a job that delivers a paycheck.

There is an old Tamil saying--செய்வனை திருந்த செய். I hope I got that correctly, given how far removed I am from the language anymore. It is a simple and direct advice to do well whatever it is that we do.  And that is exactly what some of those grocery store clerks personify.

So, I went with the clerk who most enthusiastically welcomed me.  I wonder if the other "possessive" clerk will have some remarks the next time I go to her counter.  If she does, I am sure we will laugh about it--her laughter is way louder than mine.

As I started getting the items out of the basket, I told the clerk that I had my bag and that I didn't need a store bag.

"I washed this just yesterday" I told her.

"Oh, thanks" she said with a smile.  "Some of those bags are so gross."

I laughed as I contemplated how much I ought to become a nerd--or nerdier than how I was--and tell her about that study on bacteria in reusable bags that make us sick.  I went for it.

"A few months ago, I read about a research work that suggested that unwashed reusable bags are loaded with germs.  Since then, I regularly wash the bags I use."

"I can believe that.  Which is why when my two year old grandson had cancer, I was practically bathing in this" she said pointing to the Purell.

I thought I had problems in life and here was this woman talking about a two-year old kid with cancer.  It was turning out to be one of those occasions when small talk is not just small talk but a profound lesson on life itself.

"I wanted to make sure that I wasn't getting sick and taking those germs to my grandson" she said.

What can one say in this context, right?  Usually in small talk, we joke around.  We use the word "kid" as a synonym for joke and not to refer to a two-year old with cancer!

"Ouch, when was this?"

"Two years ago."

"How is your grandson now?"

"Thankfully he seems to have recovered and is doing well.  He is four years old now."

By then, she had completed scanning and bagging. "With all those germs all around us all the time, we can't let our guard down. They will get us" I said as I left.

With a guilty expression I passed the other "possessive" clerk.  She smiled and waved me bye.

A two-year old with cancer.  Life is cruel, sometimes.

Oh, men! ... Everything is comedy

A few weeks ago, when I was in Los Angeles, I walked over to Trader Joe's, which was an easy fifteen minutes on foot.  I wanted to pick up flowers to brighten up my daughter's and son-in-law's charming home that was being dulled by my presence.  Plus, hey, which daughter won't like flowers, right?

I picked up a bouquet that I planned to arrange according to my own tastes.  It is like preparing food dishes the way I like them, even if not the best way.

When I reached the checkout counter, the young dude--perhaps not even twenty-five, did his part at small talk, from which one cannot escape here in these United States.

"Ooh, the wife will be happy" he said.

I smiled first.  Then said "no wife."

He should have called it quits.  But, I suppose that like me, he too wasn't all sauve.  I know that feeling of being a klutz!

"For your girlfriend, eh" .... and then he thought he was correcting himself to something more politically correct when he said, "oh, sorry, for your significant other."

Perhaps he switched to "significant other" because it suddenly occurred to him that I could be gay.  I don't blame him if after that he suspended any small talk for a couple of days; life is way too complicated for small talk now.

When walking back home, I kept thinking about the dude's failed attempt at small talk.  It seems like female checkout clerks are always more measured and careful in their small talk compared to the men.  At any age.  It has to do with us men, I decided.  Perhaps because we want to be funny.  Right from our elementary school days, the class clowns were boys and not girls.

I then remembered the wonderful line that Vanessa Lynn Redgrave sarcastically delivers with the accent of the character that she plays in Gods and Monsters:

Oh, men! Always pulling legs. Everything is comedy. Oh, how very amusing. How marvelously droll.

Yes, marvelously droll!

I reached home and put those flowers together as an arrangement.

The daughter returned home after another tiring day on the job.  As any father would, I waited for the daughter to appreciate the marvelous droll who brought those flowers.

She saw them.

She smiled.

She said a big thanks.

Made my day.

That Trader Joe's dude can rest easy.

Earlier today, I drove to the local Trader Joe's to restock my pantry.  Pantry, with an "r,"  See "marvelously droll" I am being even now!

At the checkout counter, it was a team--a young woman at the scanner and a young man bagging.

"Any fun plans for today?" she asked.

"If you call grading papers fun, yes" I replied.  See, we men want to be funny all the time!

The young man didn't want to be left out, I suppose.  "Oh yeah, what grade do you teach?"

I smiled.  "I teach at the university."

His face shrunk.  I wanted to tell him, "hey, no big deal.  I fail at small talk like you. Sympatico"

I didn't. I kept walking.  Papers to be graded were waiting for me.

USA expands to mean "a whole lot of small talk?"

When my high school class had our reunion after thirty years, like many, I too looked very different from how I was when we completed high school.  The appearance with a beard and a balding/greying head was a big difference.  I speak with a strange mix of accents, yes.

But what surprised most was simply that I talked. I conversed. I joked.  Because, they remember me only as a quiet guy, who rarely spoke.

They are not wrong.  I was a quiet guy through the schooling years.

They are not wrong in noticing that I talked, chatted up, and joked.

But, if they had, therefore, assumed that I had become a talkative person, they are wrong.  I am still the same quiet guy, introvert, that I have always been.