Leave Me (And My Face) Alone

Quite an anti-social title for an only moderately anti-social blog.

Because for all I say that I hate people, I’m always the kind of person who smiles and says hello, and it’s a distressing thing that this quality seems to be leaving the world by and large.  

But smiling and saying hello is a little different than having a total stranger come up and start telling you his or her life story.

That happens to me quite a bit.  I have “that face.”  That face that says, “Hey, stranger! Come up and tell me your life story!”  I inherited that face from my mother, she has it, too.  The difference between the two of us, however, is that my mom actually enjoys people telling her their life stories.  She’s truly interested in their histories, ailments, marriages, divorces, jobs – I mean, people she’s never met tell her all this and she’s enrapt.  And she’ll come over to me, when I’m with her, and say, “What a nice person….” And will then begin to repeat everything that person said.  So even if they pass me up in favor of my mother for a life story, I’ll eventually get it anyway.

Normally when people do this to me I’ll smile, nod, and back away.  Then when I’m just out of eyeshot, I run screaming, hands waving in the air, like a madman.

Sometimes I go places by myself, and I generally do this because 1) I’m by myself, and 2) I have to go someplace.  Odd, that.  But the thing is, when I find myself alone, I don’t mind going places.  I don’t mind eating out by myself, and especially don’t mind going to the movies by myself.  In fact, that’s an activity I quite enjoy.  But more about that later.

The doctor’s office is a biggie.  Anytime I hit the doctor’s office, or the hospital for tests, and sit down in the waiting area, I grab a magazine or produce whatever book I’ve brought along for the sit.  And about 10 seconds after opening it, someone will lean into me and start a conversation.  And I’ll smile and nod, because I’m nice, and I guess if you’re born with “that face” it would be a sin to deny it, by pointing to yourself and saying, “See this?  See this face?  This may look like one of those faces, but it isn’t.  It isn’t the ‘tell me your life story face.’ You understand that? You’re mistaken about this face!”

I guess the thing I’ll never understand is that how the people who tell people with the “tell me your life story” face their actual life stories never seem to understand that these people are usually doing something else.  Like reading, or minding their own business.  I mean, to a normal person, you walk into a setting where a person’s sitting alone reading, and no matter what kind of face that person has, you kind of get the feeling that they might like to be left alone.

But no, the people who tell people with the “tell me your life story” face their life stories just go right in, never mind the book, never mind anything, they just go right in and start telling their life stories.  You know, the more I think about this the more I’m thinking that there’s some kind of lunar pull-effect that might be going on, whatever it is that causes the people with the “tell me your life story” face to be matched up in the same general area with the people who want to tell you their life stories.  I mean, imagine what must be going on out there in the cosmos.  It’s right trippy.

But anyway, I still go, and I still take my book or magazine or whatever, which of course gives people the perfect opening gambit.  “Whatcha readin’?”  And I generally hate answering this question, because I generally read things that I don’t like explaining, because, as happens, once you answer, “Whatcha readin’?” the next question that comes is, “Oooh.  What’s it about?”  You know, if a person with “that face” would answer the question “Whatcha readin’?” with, “I’m reading a book called ‘How To Plant Coffee Beans In Your Own Back Yard,’” I swear the next question coming in would be, “Oooh.  What’s it about?”

I like to carry David Sedaris around with me, well, his books anyway, I don’t tote the man himself around.  He writes books like “Naked,” and “Me Talk Pretty One Day,” and “Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim.”  I hate telling strangers I’m reading a book called “Naked,” so I just say things like, “Oh, I’m reading a collection of stories by this guy.”  “Oooh. What’s it about?”  “It’s about 200 pages, actually, thanks for asking.”

See, I’d love to be able to answer like this.  But I never do.  Because I’m so damn nice.  Sure, in my mind I’m a raving smartass, but only nice words roll out of my mouth.

So Sunday I went to the movies, by myself.  And of course, I toted a book along with me, in case I got there early enough to read a little before they started dimming the lights.  I’ve been re-reading the book by no less a person than Alan F Arkin himself, “Halfway Through The Door.”  And so I took myself, and my book, up to the ticket booth to be torn in half (well, the ticket, anyway) and shown my way to the concrete box in which I’d see my movie.  

The woman who tears the tickets looked at me, and my carry-on.  “Whatcha readin’?”  “Mmm,” I mumbled, and held up the book. “Oh, I thought it might be Harry Potter,” she replied.

Now.  

Now, there were two things that struck me as odd about this reply.  First of all, she was on her way to directing me to a movie that was decidedly not the Harry Potter movie, but OK, I’ll let that one slide.  Maybe she figured since I was reading Harry Potter, I had no need to see him at this time.

But here’s the other thing.  Alan F’s little book, good though it is, so good I’m reading it for about the third time, is, well, little.  It finishes up at a scant 85 or so pages.  You show me a Harry Potter book that’s less than the size of the New York City Telephone Directory (all boroughs), and I’ll eat my hat.

“I thought it might be Harry Potter.”  Harry Potter indeed.  

I wanted to say, “Yes, this is the Cliffs Notes version of Harry Potter.”  Or, “No, this man could clean the floor with your fucking Harry Potter!”  Or even, “Leave me alone.  This isn’t the face you think it is.”

But I didn’t.  I said, “No, not Harry, I’m afraid.”

Because I’m nice.

Betland’s Olympic Update:
* And yes, we have nice acrowinners.  So, what was it about The First Thanksgiving?
-Honorable Mention goes to Michelle, with her “Jettisoning marooned Pinta, Americans munched castrated turkeys.
-Runner-up goes to Flipsycab, with her “Just make pie. Already murdered countless turkeys.” (Although I must admit to loving the idea of the Massachusetts Couture Team.)
-And this week’s winner is LilyG, with her “John married Priscilla. And Myles? Cried terribly.”
- Thanks to all who played!