Observational Backfire

One of the habits I've picked up recently is people-watching. I've found it's a really great way to stay present, and, if you try to narrate the actions of your subjects in your head, it can be a good writing exercise. So, I watch a woman look both ways before crossing a street, clutching her Starbucks cup protectively in one slender hand. I watch a man lose himself to the music pumping in from enormous headphones, unaware of an entire community bustling around him. I watch a group of three absorbed in a story one man is telling in another language. I try to figure out what kind of story it is by watching the reactions on the faces of the other two. I watch a dog watching its owner for scraps of the pastry he's absently eating while reading a newspaper. It goes on and on this way; a ten-minute walk from the bus stop to work and home becomes an exercise in slice-of-life, a pageantry of ordinary, awesome activity.

The constant observation, however, has the potential to make me look like a complete weirdo. So, whenever one of my watchees catch me, I tend to smile and say hello. It's the least I could do for staring, and hopefully it makes me look more-or-less harmless. The last thing I want is to be mistaken for a stalker, or some kind of societal predator. *twitches nose*

On the way home from work yesterday, a black fellow in business casual clothes was walking towards me. His accessories were a laptop case, and a cell phone he happened to be using at the time. I watched him smiling and nodding to an invisible partner, speaking in relatively understated tones for the outdoor cell-phone user. He had a bad haircut (didn't he know high-top fades went out with MC Hammer?), but he was relaxed and confident enough to pull it off anyway. I don't know why, but he was interesting to me. So I watched him.

Suddenly he looked up and caught me staring. We eyed each other approaching way too long for me to break contact now, so I smiled and greeted him.

His smile got even wider, and he mouthed, "Hey man, how're you doing?"

At this point, for some reason, I was ashamed. Making direct eye contact gives the illusion of confidence I don't really feel most of the time, so I was the first to look away. "Fine, thanks," I said to a spot just above his right shoulder.

Then something unusual happened. This man stopped on the sidewalk, put down his cell phone, and stuck out his hand. "Hey, I'm Michael."

I panicked inside. Was I supposed to know this guy? Was he trying to sell me something? Was he one of Jehovah's Witnesses? That, at least, would explain the haircut. I shook his hand and willed myself to smile right at him. "I'm David, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. See you around." He pumped my hand firmly and walked away, leaving me to reel on the sidewalk a good block from home. Not only do I now know my hundred-and-forty-seventh person named Michael, but for maybe 30 seconds I just connected with a complete stranger, spontaneously. He was open and, well, fearless. How many people greet each other on the street like that nowadays?

I smiled the rest of the way home...that is, until I walked into a cloud of gnats. Unexpected connection, and protein, all in a two-minute span. Life is good sometimes.