Comfortable with Strangers

I enjoy my invisibility but there are situations when people ignore the presence of others that I think odd. Five people are in an elevator, each looking anywhere but at another person. No one speaks or acknowledges another’s existence.

Out for a walk you pass a person also out for a walk. Neither says hello, hi, nice day nor gives any indication of having seen another human. Isn’t this peculiar? To walk close by someone and pretend he/she isn’t there…..

Strangely enough, I prefer invisibility in my small town but when I’m in a larger city I don’t feel the need to be invisible. In fact, I’ve had some great short conversations with complete strangers while waiting in an airport or when sitting in a service station while my car is being repaired. I call these “drive by conversations.” They are conversations with people I will not see again, will not have to befriend, meet for coffee or lunch but with whom I can enjoy for the short time we are waiting together.

Blanche Dubois, in “A Streetcar Named Desire” claimed she “depended upon the kindness of strangers.” I don’t depend on strangers, but I seem to prefer the anonymity provided by strangers over the familiarity and recognizability of the small town populace.

Invisible

I have been invisible. There are days I want to go unrecognized by everyone I meet when I take the dog for a walk, am forced to go to the grocery store or Walmart. Anonymity can be difficult to achieve in a small town, but by wearing a baseball cap and my glasses (better yet sunglasses) I can walk by people I have known for 15 years and they will not recognize me! The simplicity of this is breathtaking.

Gladys's Donkey

This is Glady’s donkey cart. This donkey cart is ugly, tacky, I don’t like it, and it has been a major fixture of Glady’s front lawn for at least 3 years. Those are plastic flowers in the cart. I would like to kidnap (donkeynap?) this lawn ornament and hold it for ransom. Ann suggested using Photoshop to place the donkey in various settings and sending Gladys the photos with ransom notes.

Doesn’t the donkey look sad? I wonder if real flowers would make it happier? Poor donkey.