What Does Not Kill Me Will Make Me Friendlier
Back from five days in LA over Thanksgiving. In terms of sightseeing it was not my most glorious visit. I saw my friends Estela and Tait's new house, hiked a trail in Malibu that I've hiked before, stood in the rain outside the zoo, and loitered in the gift shop at the Gene Autry Museum of the West. Over these five days I also saw only one white person (Tait), and didn't see any Chinese people until my last night, when I went to a Korean restaurant with my college roommate and her husband. It was a nice change, if mostly because it made me notice how I've stopped noticing how white my world is.
I also noticed when I got back to SF that people here are not very friendly. For some reason people here don't make eye contact or say hi when they pass on the street. In LA, whenever we came out of Estela's house or walked around the neighborhood, people said "hi." Back in SF yesterday, fresh from nearly a week of traveler's friendliness, I walked past a guy who lives around the corner from me, who is out there every morning loading stuff into a van. Awhile back I made eye contact with him and said hi, and miraculously he replied, "Hi." But when I passed him yesterday, he seemed to turn away to fetch something inside the van just in time to avoid the apparent awkwardness of having to greet me.
On the bus down to LA ($45 one way, nonstop shuttle between SF and LA) I didn't talk to a single person. A toddler kept peering around the back of his seat at me, and by the end of the trip was standing in the aisle, babbling and poking the embroidery patterns on the pillow I had brought for the ride. I smiled and said "hi," while his parents essentially ignored me except to eye me suspiciously and make sure I wasn't offering their son any candy.
On the train back to SF, I made three new friends (one from San Francisco) and we stirred up quite a bit of banter with our seat neighbors in the sightseeing car. In the dining car, they seat you with strangers if you have a party of less than four. Two older women joined us for dinner and before they even sat down, we had all introduced ourselves. Sounds pretty basic, doesn't it?
For some reason it has always been different in San Francisco. I once went to a restaurant in Chinatown during the lunch rush with my co-worker Cindy. We were seated at a table with another man who was eating alone. As we sat down, I smiled at him. Cindy didn't even make eye contact even though he was sitting across the table from her. Another time I was approached by two women downtown who asked if they could share my table with me to eat their lunch. Too nice to assert my selfishness, I said yes, and they ignored me for the rest of the meal, exchanging gossip about their personal lives ("So I told my guy that I'm getting tested for STDs") and listing all the marathons they've completed around the country.
Some environments foster a sense of community more than others. On the train, it was as simple as the seating design in the sightseeing car - low-backed seats in an open area where passengers could interact with each other, rather than airplane-style like in the coach cars. Estela pointed out bluntly during one of our walks, "White people just aren't friendly." But after living in that bastion of whiteness, Arcata, CA, for five months too long, where everywhere I went it felt like people (all white) were bombarding me with greetings and smiles, I'd have to disagree. But there's no single factor that I can identify with my meager powers of observation that seems to predict whether people will be friendly or not. Even "friendly" should probably not be defined so specifically as "a greeting and eye contact," since many an unfriendly bank robber has probably smiled and said hello to the teller before making off with a small fortune.
For all my ranting, the truth is that most of the time it's easier for me to ignore people than to assert my presence and invade a stranger's personal space with a perky hello and small talk. The only time I don't feel this way is when I'm traveling. In that environment I'm constantly seeking commonality and companionship, if even for a few minutes, in a place where I feel foreign and out of place. Totally irrational and a bit self-serving, I know. I've been working on it, though. I've given up trying to greet people as I'm walking, since everyone seems determined to avoid eye contact. But I have been trying to remember to greet other bikers when I'm biking around town. Most cyclists don't acknowledge each other, which is strange and a bit disappointing given the size and strength of the cycling community in this city.
Basically it's like the tired old wisdom that your mom always spouts off as if she invented the idea: change begins with the individual. (Queue Michael Jackson circa 1987.) So I'm changing. First I will change my underwear, then I will find change for the bus. After that, I'll start being friendlier. Thanks to LA for that. Who knew that shallow place had something to teach me?
I also noticed when I got back to SF that people here are not very friendly. For some reason people here don't make eye contact or say hi when they pass on the street. In LA, whenever we came out of Estela's house or walked around the neighborhood, people said "hi." Back in SF yesterday, fresh from nearly a week of traveler's friendliness, I walked past a guy who lives around the corner from me, who is out there every morning loading stuff into a van. Awhile back I made eye contact with him and said hi, and miraculously he replied, "Hi." But when I passed him yesterday, he seemed to turn away to fetch something inside the van just in time to avoid the apparent awkwardness of having to greet me.
On the bus down to LA ($45 one way, nonstop shuttle between SF and LA) I didn't talk to a single person. A toddler kept peering around the back of his seat at me, and by the end of the trip was standing in the aisle, babbling and poking the embroidery patterns on the pillow I had brought for the ride. I smiled and said "hi," while his parents essentially ignored me except to eye me suspiciously and make sure I wasn't offering their son any candy.
On the train back to SF, I made three new friends (one from San Francisco) and we stirred up quite a bit of banter with our seat neighbors in the sightseeing car. In the dining car, they seat you with strangers if you have a party of less than four. Two older women joined us for dinner and before they even sat down, we had all introduced ourselves. Sounds pretty basic, doesn't it?
For some reason it has always been different in San Francisco. I once went to a restaurant in Chinatown during the lunch rush with my co-worker Cindy. We were seated at a table with another man who was eating alone. As we sat down, I smiled at him. Cindy didn't even make eye contact even though he was sitting across the table from her. Another time I was approached by two women downtown who asked if they could share my table with me to eat their lunch. Too nice to assert my selfishness, I said yes, and they ignored me for the rest of the meal, exchanging gossip about their personal lives ("So I told my guy that I'm getting tested for STDs") and listing all the marathons they've completed around the country.
Some environments foster a sense of community more than others. On the train, it was as simple as the seating design in the sightseeing car - low-backed seats in an open area where passengers could interact with each other, rather than airplane-style like in the coach cars. Estela pointed out bluntly during one of our walks, "White people just aren't friendly." But after living in that bastion of whiteness, Arcata, CA, for five months too long, where everywhere I went it felt like people (all white) were bombarding me with greetings and smiles, I'd have to disagree. But there's no single factor that I can identify with my meager powers of observation that seems to predict whether people will be friendly or not. Even "friendly" should probably not be defined so specifically as "a greeting and eye contact," since many an unfriendly bank robber has probably smiled and said hello to the teller before making off with a small fortune.
For all my ranting, the truth is that most of the time it's easier for me to ignore people than to assert my presence and invade a stranger's personal space with a perky hello and small talk. The only time I don't feel this way is when I'm traveling. In that environment I'm constantly seeking commonality and companionship, if even for a few minutes, in a place where I feel foreign and out of place. Totally irrational and a bit self-serving, I know. I've been working on it, though. I've given up trying to greet people as I'm walking, since everyone seems determined to avoid eye contact. But I have been trying to remember to greet other bikers when I'm biking around town. Most cyclists don't acknowledge each other, which is strange and a bit disappointing given the size and strength of the cycling community in this city.
Basically it's like the tired old wisdom that your mom always spouts off as if she invented the idea: change begins with the individual. (Queue Michael Jackson circa 1987.) So I'm changing. First I will change my underwear, then I will find change for the bus. After that, I'll start being friendlier. Thanks to LA for that. Who knew that shallow place had something to teach me?
posted by Justina at 9:11 PM
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