Talking to Strangers

To me, there is nothing more awkward than sitting next to someone for a number of hours on, say, a bus, and not, say, saying anything. Knowing that the conversational potential with another speaking machine is right there, inches from you, rubbing against your arm, afraid to make eye contact, bothers me.

If I have the isle seat, I won't dare look towards the window, unless I know the other person is already looking out the window or I know we are passing an eye-catching landmark - something that gives me motivation for the crime. I mean, I don't want the people to think I'm looking at them. They're checking on me with their peripheral vision and wondering, why is this guy staring at me? You know it, you can't look out the window if you don't have a window seat. That's why everyone wants the window seat. That and it makes a decent pillow.

Headphones are the sliced bread of self-conscious people. Put on the music, close your eyes, and forget about your neighbor.

Recently, I've decided to get rid of my fear of talking to strangers, of invading their space or opening mine to them, at least a bit. I can't sit in awkward silence anymore. I can't sit right next to someone and completely ignore them for hours.

Now, I throw a few words toward them, mainly greetings: "How ya doin'?" "Where ya headed?" "You have a cute baby." "Sup."

After the small talk, I feel less awkward when stepping over my neighbor on the way to take a leak in the back of the bus. My neck has increased degrees of freedom. I have a smaller chance of getting left at a rest stop when stuck in line. Sometimes, I get some food out of it. Sometimes, I realize just how nice people are.

I feel the same at the movie theater. Once, out with my roommates, I struck up a conversation with the lady next to me before the movie started.

"Did you see this because of Will Smith."

"Yea-ea, I love Will Smith," she said, sweetly.

"Me too."

Ironing out our informal, short-term relationship as movie-going neighbors increased my comfort zone by a foot or two allowing me to comfortably enjoy the whole movie - if it hadn't sucked, of course.

When she left to get popcorn, still pre-movie, my roommates turned to me. "You're one of those guys? The guy who always talks to person sitting next to them?"

"No, no, no. I just started doing this," I explained. "I feel totally awkward ignoring someone right next to me for a few hours, so I try to say a few things. I'm not like my grandma who will talk for hours."

I didn't mean that. My grandma isn't one of those 'talkers' who will ramble on forever about her life. She's very sweet, usually asking more than telling, all in favor of spreading the love.

The lady returned with a boat of popcorn and lots of napkins. She handed me a napkin and offered popcorn.

"Oh, no thanks."

"You sure?"

Well, I couldn't hurt her feelings, could I?

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On the other hand, certain people are harder to strike up conversations with. Like good-looking girls. I know what you're thinking and it's not because I'm nerdy, you're nerdy, he's nerdy, we're both socially awkward because we spend too much time inside and on the computer, or whatever other stereotype you can summon- er, think of; it's hard because I think that, you know, everyone's looking at this girl. No one has the balls to say anything. And even if I just strike a friendly conversation, I assume that most people assume that I am just talking to the girl because she's good looking. And I think, maybe she thinks the same thing. He just thinks I look good, that's why he's talking to me. I guess I mean that it's only hard to do if you think way too much. Like me. And you.

So, this also happened on the bus. In fact, I don't know how good this girl actually looked, but she was wearing a sweet outfit- one of the outfits that make a person (guy and girl) go Damn! that girl looks good, even before you see them. It just radiates some kind of style. Like anything bought at American Apparel. Anyway, she got on the bus in Greenville, where I got on.

We didn't sit next to each other, the bus was packed and the few people that fit found their way next to a road-weary, bus veteran. Seriously, I only go from Atlanta to Greenville and back on Greyhound; an easy-going two-and-a-half hours. Going anywhere else takes an exponential amount of time. Some people take weekend bus rides across country. Those people have buns of steel.

So, the story could have ended there. Instead, about fifteen minutes from unloading my baggage, hopping on Marta, and finally seeing my girlfriend after a week, the bus suddenly starts making a terrible fwup-fwup-fwup-fwup noise and leans to the left. At first I thought the driver had drifted a little too far to the left and entered the riveted, 'wake-the-hell-up' lane. And then I realized it was a flat. I clutched the seat in front of me and mimiced the driver's looks as he made his way across six lanes to the right shoulder. He then pulled over and almost everyone, all a bit annoyed, exited the bus to get some fresh air.

The girl and I ended up sitting side by side on the guard rail. I knew it would be a while before any help arrived and I had two easy-to-learn card games in my bookbag. All I had to do was ask. Time would pass quicker, it would be fun, and, important to my interests and my future, I would get to study how a person acts and reacts to a new game, what was easy or hard, what she laughed at and what caused her frustration. It would be great. But I didn't ask.

After a while, I started thinking about it more and I had to ask. But I couldn't ask someone to play a game after sitting right next to her for over twenty minutes. She would think I had been planning it the whole time. I was, sort of.

Also, our bus driver let everyone know that a back-up bus would arrive soon.

You know, just to clarify, I probably wouldn't have asked anyone else on the bus to play. Many were much older than me and call me cynical, but I felt like I would have to do more explaining than playing.

Knowing that I had chickened out, I strongly planned to ask her to play if we sat next to each other. I had to do it. Fear would not win. She found a seat a few minutes before I did because she had no bags to place under the bus. When I entered the bus, I looked around at the ten or so seats available. One was next to her. So, I took it.

Before I was even completely adjusted in my seat, she was already pulling out her headphones. Because this had become such an affair in my head, I was actually a bit nervous. What's so hard about asking someone to play a simple card game? Anyway, I acted quickly to catch her before her music started playing.

I reached into my bookbag's front pocket and pulled out Fluxx. "You wanna play a game?" I asked. These are the first words I had spoken to her during the whole trip. It made sense at the time.

"No thanks, I'm fine." I don't even know if she really heard what I asked. It was an automatic response like when a homeless person approaches me on the street. 'No thanks.' I don't always know what they are asking for or offering, but I usually don't want much to do with it.

I shoved the deck back into the front pocket of my bookbag and pulled out my Gameboy DS from the middle area. It had the Simpsons in it, but I didn't have any headphones that worked. I switched it out for Puzzle Quest, a game I could play without sound, and hit buttons until a puzzle opened.

I couldn't concentrate well. I just poked away at gems. The weird rejection from someone I knew nothing about to play a stupid game that would have been a pain to play in the dark- it was evening now- something that means nothing but had been built up in my head just because of the fact that talking to someone you don't know is so-freaking-hard; I'm wondering what she's thinking, lucky her, she has music, am I a weirdo or does she really just not want to play a game? Not with a stranger who could have started a conversation an hour ago, who could have at least started with a greeting, an introduction, not a question to play a game she's never heard of, fifteen minutes from drop-off, on the way to see her boyfriend.

After beating one puzzle, I couldn't play anymore. My head was buzzing too much. I put it away, closed my eyes, and let my head rest against the back of the seat. I couldn't do it for long, though, so I sat up and opened my eyes. My arms felt longer than usual draped into my lap. My hands were holding each other. I looked exactly like the sexual-stalker stereotype used so often in as-weird-as-Hollywood-will-go movie flicks. You know, he sits on the bus, eyes open wider than normal because he's so self-conscious, his arms are folded in his lap. His face is unassuming, giving a false sign of harmlessness. I felt like that guy.

She gets a call from her boyfriend and she exchanges terms of endearments, arrival plans, and I-miss-yous. I had already texted my girlfriend, but I made sure to call her again and exchange my own terms of endearment loudly enough for her to hear; to at least erase the 'scary man' label from the terrible stereotype she probably imagined me as. Now I was just a socially awkward, video game playing, skinny guy that shouldn't have sat next to her. Feels better.

I felt even better a few minutes later when this blog post began forming on my mind.

We arrived in Atlanta, I went one way to Marta and she the other to the Greyhound Kiss-ride.

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So, that's what this post is: a comparing of good and bad reasons to talk to strangers. Should I? Should I not? Should I have been nervous when asking the girl to play the card game? Are other people like me?

I know I'm not supposed to end with a bunch of questions. A weak protagonist makes a bored audience, right? Well, I dunno. This is a sentence.