AN ODD ENCOUNTER
Browsing in Waterstones, alone, Saturday afternoon. Intending to go home afterwards but in no hurry. (Life outside London is unhurried, by comparison.) Was listening to a Roberta Flack cd on my discman. I noticed a bloke about my own age a couple of bookstands away and clocked that he was not really looking at books but looking at the other people in the store. 'Don't make eye contact, then', I thought to myself, because he did not seem a particularly intelligent, unusual or attractive type (in my eyes). I carried on reading a book I had taken off the shelf. After a while I noticed that he was edging closer to me, which made me decide that I might as well go on my way. Unfortunately, I brushed his backpack as I passed him. This was entirely accidental. We looked towards one another briefly - as a kind of acknowledgement that we'd collided - but didn't speak. Then I made my way out to the street.
I'd been outside for, well, less than a minute, when I realised he was alongside me. I could tell that he was going to start a conversation and I wasn't really relishing the prospect. For a second I wondered whether it was the same person as the man in the bookshop but then I realised it was. He knew I recognised him and so the onus was on him to explain himself. I walked fairy quickly so as not to encourage him or appear too friendly or amenable. His opening gambit:
"I saw you with your walkman on, and just wondered what you were listening to. I always want to know what people are listening to."
I thought this was fairly odd but wasn't surprised by it - expecting some kind of semi-nutty pronouncement anyway. In the circumstances, it was a reasonable opening because it was at least relevant as I still had the headphones around my neck. It didn't cross my mind to make something up so I told him, "Roberta Flack". He didn't say anything so I asked, "Do you know her?". He said confidently, "Sure. She's a black American soul singer." Now, being a bit impressionable from time-to-time (and where music is concerned), I was slightly impressed that he knew who she was. The conversation ground to a halt so I said, "I know what you mean. When I see people with HMV bags I wonder what they've bought, but I don't usually ask them!". He said, "Well, you could run a lighter under the bottom of the bag." I didn't know what he meant at all and he was aware of this, adding "To melt the bag, so the CD will fall out."
I was a bit annoyed by now that his pace hadn't slackened at all. It was obvious that he intended to try to sustain this. I can't fully recall the way the conversation went after this but I know he asked me what I did for work (my least favourite topic of conversation). I told him, to be polite, that I'm an EFL teacher (only partly true). Bad luck. He was studying for the qualification. A one-sided conversation ensued with me making terse comments and him telling me the story of his life and all the places he'd lived. Among the more startling admissions he made were "I should get married, then I'll stay in one place and won't move around anymore. That's what I'll do - stay put, when I get married." It occurred to me that this is a common 30-something dilemma but a most uncommon admission to make to a stranger on the street. He also told me - without irony - that when he did market research in America, "I could be in mid-sentence, talking to people, and they often turned around and walked off". Resolving to acquire some American brashness, I wondered how to get away. He asked me if I'd like to go for a drink with him or meet him again. I declined (politely, of course). In response to this he said, as though it were entirely normal and as though shops are social clubs, "Well, I'm in the bookshop about two nights a week, so perhaps I'll see you there?". In a non-committal, unenthusiastic tone, I told him I'd look out for him if I went in again.
As I went home, it occurred to me that he must have read something - maybe in Time Out - about bookshiops being a good place to meet educated single people. He was perfectly harmless and probably a nice guy but I went away feeling mildly depressed and sad about his clumsy, overly direct approach to befriending people.
Browsing in Waterstones, alone, Saturday afternoon. Intending to go home afterwards but in no hurry. (Life outside London is unhurried, by comparison.) Was listening to a Roberta Flack cd on my discman. I noticed a bloke about my own age a couple of bookstands away and clocked that he was not really looking at books but looking at the other people in the store. 'Don't make eye contact, then', I thought to myself, because he did not seem a particularly intelligent, unusual or attractive type (in my eyes). I carried on reading a book I had taken off the shelf. After a while I noticed that he was edging closer to me, which made me decide that I might as well go on my way. Unfortunately, I brushed his backpack as I passed him. This was entirely accidental. We looked towards one another briefly - as a kind of acknowledgement that we'd collided - but didn't speak. Then I made my way out to the street.
I'd been outside for, well, less than a minute, when I realised he was alongside me. I could tell that he was going to start a conversation and I wasn't really relishing the prospect. For a second I wondered whether it was the same person as the man in the bookshop but then I realised it was. He knew I recognised him and so the onus was on him to explain himself. I walked fairy quickly so as not to encourage him or appear too friendly or amenable. His opening gambit:
"I saw you with your walkman on, and just wondered what you were listening to. I always want to know what people are listening to."
I thought this was fairly odd but wasn't surprised by it - expecting some kind of semi-nutty pronouncement anyway. In the circumstances, it was a reasonable opening because it was at least relevant as I still had the headphones around my neck. It didn't cross my mind to make something up so I told him, "Roberta Flack". He didn't say anything so I asked, "Do you know her?". He said confidently, "Sure. She's a black American soul singer." Now, being a bit impressionable from time-to-time (and where music is concerned), I was slightly impressed that he knew who she was. The conversation ground to a halt so I said, "I know what you mean. When I see people with HMV bags I wonder what they've bought, but I don't usually ask them!". He said, "Well, you could run a lighter under the bottom of the bag." I didn't know what he meant at all and he was aware of this, adding "To melt the bag, so the CD will fall out."
I was a bit annoyed by now that his pace hadn't slackened at all. It was obvious that he intended to try to sustain this. I can't fully recall the way the conversation went after this but I know he asked me what I did for work (my least favourite topic of conversation). I told him, to be polite, that I'm an EFL teacher (only partly true). Bad luck. He was studying for the qualification. A one-sided conversation ensued with me making terse comments and him telling me the story of his life and all the places he'd lived. Among the more startling admissions he made were "I should get married, then I'll stay in one place and won't move around anymore. That's what I'll do - stay put, when I get married." It occurred to me that this is a common 30-something dilemma but a most uncommon admission to make to a stranger on the street. He also told me - without irony - that when he did market research in America, "I could be in mid-sentence, talking to people, and they often turned around and walked off". Resolving to acquire some American brashness, I wondered how to get away. He asked me if I'd like to go for a drink with him or meet him again. I declined (politely, of course). In response to this he said, as though it were entirely normal and as though shops are social clubs, "Well, I'm in the bookshop about two nights a week, so perhaps I'll see you there?". In a non-committal, unenthusiastic tone, I told him I'd look out for him if I went in again.
As I went home, it occurred to me that he must have read something - maybe in Time Out - about bookshiops being a good place to meet educated single people. He was perfectly harmless and probably a nice guy but I went away feeling mildly depressed and sad about his clumsy, overly direct approach to befriending people.
