We Americans are very optimistic by nature. Sometimes it’s warranted, sometimes it’s a little stupid. But there’s no way to tell without trying.
We like to think we can make everyone in the world love each other, or at least live with each other, or at least not kill each other. Or at least only kill each other every so often. But when we expect others to drop thousands of years of throat cutting and angry banners, perhaps we should also look at our own behavior and wonder, “How far along are WE?”
A friend of mine was in Target the other day and went to the register, and there was a woman in front of him who had laid out all her bowls and T-shirts and Cheetoes and such. And she placed the plastic rectangle behind her items, the one we all know that separates your things from mine. (They’re ours, of course, even though we technically haven’t bought them yet. But they’re very much ours. Fiercely ours.)
My friend started to reach into his wagon to begin putting his items on the exposed part of the belt behind hers. There was a long open space on the belt, at least four feet, and he only put one three-pack of Kleenex on the conveyor, when the woman whipped her head around, saw him, well, placing item on the belt (Her belt?) and then, more or less, lost her mind.
He doesn’t know the woman, and neither do we, of course, but she picked up the rectagular, plastic separator and moved it back four feet, right up against his Kleenex. There was nothing but space behind her things. Four feet of space. And it’s a common, shared store experience, one we all know. There was no threat to her. Even the word “threat” is idiotic there. But something about him, or anyone (or Kleenex) angered her so much she made a clear and breathtakingly meaniingless gesture, and demarcated MORE space for herself. And then stared him right in the eyes for a second before turning back to her own things, which were already halfway checked out.
Most of us would probably roll our eyes or drop our jaws a little, or say (inside), “Wow. This woman is good and crazy.” But my friend is, as he puts it, “aggressive against aggression” and smiled a little and said, “Miss, excuse me, but I promise you, your lettuce is safe with me. If I want any of the items you purchased — and it’s a terrific selection; I think you did a really good shopping trip today — but if I want any of them, I promise I’m go back into the store and won’t suddenly grab your shampoo.”
The irony was lost on her (How could it not be?) and she moved on toward the parking lot and her car. (What a good driver she must be.)
But here’s the thing: He told me the story this morning, and the first thing I thought was, Good Lord, how can we ever expect the so-and-so’s and the what’s-their-names anywhere in the world to stop being reflexively murderous and sadistic when we, in the biggest food stores in the world, can’t even get it together to live and let live ON THE CHECKOUT LINE. This woman wasn’t crazy in the sense her eyes were rolling around in her head.
But if she can’t suppress her fear and hate of encroaching strangers on the conveyor belt of a shiny, stocked, American store, on a block that stretches into infinity with other shiny, stocked stores, what hope is there in the next three hundred years that people with nothing but their swords and a giant chip on their shoulders will stop teaching their children that the only happines is blowing themselves up.
I’m seeing my friend today and going to ask for a full physical description of the woman: I’ll bet you a dollar I’m going to be running into her a casting session in the very near future.
