Smile and Wave

Let me begin with an anecdote. I was putting out the recycling for collection on Sunday afternoon, when a passing car slowed down. The driver then honked the horn and gave me a cheery wave. Being culturally conditioned to be polite, I smiled and waved back. The vehicle then continued on its way and I went back inside my home pondering who the hell it was who had just greeted me in such a friendly fashion. Several days later I still have no idea. This is not the first time such a thing has happened. In fact it’s a fairly regular occurrence. I was going to my local doctor's surgery recently when a lady in her late twenties hailed me and engaged me in conversation. I managed to bluff my way through our exchange and she departed in the same good humour that she began with. To this day I have no clear idea as to her identity or how she knew me. My theory is that she may have been one of my late father’s carers. But I cannot be sure.

I pride myself on being quite an observant person. I notice things. For example, if the grandchildren have messed with anything on my desk, I can tell immediately. My office window looks out onto the street so I tend to notice any changes or things that are out of the ordinary. I also have a good memory for faces. Names I tend to forget, but I am pretty good with faces. So I find it somewhat contradictory when I encounter people who appear to know me and I have absolutely no idea who they are. It is not as if I am oblivious to the people who live in my street. I am on good terms with both neighbours and the people close by. Yet this odd situation persists. I was going to the fish and chip shop a few months ago and a guy of a similar age to myself asked me how I was and talked about how he was having a new kitchen fitted. I managed to move him along politely by saying “don’t let your food get cold”, so he cordially wished me the best and withdrew. Again, who was he?

Maybe I look like someone else in the area and I’m continuously being mistaken for another person. It’s not as if there’s a shortage of overweight, white, middle aged blokes round here. However, I think this is unlikely as I’ve spent a large amount of my life living in this borough. I think I’d know if I had some sort of doppelgänger. Mrs P has a less flattering theory which I must admit, does seem to have some legs. Whenever we’re out and about, she will often start conversations with those passing by. She knows a lot more of the people in the area than me and will often reference them. “I spoke to Velma today. She’s not going to Sorrento this year as she doesn’t want to leave Barnaby alone”. I will then look flummoxed which will elicit a rolling of the eyes from Mrs P and a complex explanation about Velma being the one who lives 5 doors away who had a cyst on her ovary. Barnaby apparently is a highly strung Persian Blue. Allegedly this is data that I should know but for some reason I haven’t retained it.

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Barnaby (not really, this is a stock photo)

I suspect that this may be a contributory factor to this phenomena that occasionally blights my life. I am not rude by default, having been raised to be polite or at least civil in everyday social situations. However, I am someone who is very much wrapped up in my own thoughts a lot of the time. I’m not a great one for small talk. If I may quote the 1970 film Scrooge, “it's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly”. I’m a bit like that. During a lull in any conversation I will retreat into my own thoughts. For example, what shall I blog about today, where’s my Amazon order or what should I have in my sandwich? Hence, it’s hardly surprising that I am not paying full attention to the people that Mrs P is talking to. I guess the fact that I’m there makes people assume that I’m actually listening.

I suppose if that is the answer to this recurring issue, then I shall blame it on a degree of personal introversion. As I stated earlier I can be sociable and broadly speaking am so. But this is predominantly out of necessity. Being civil and polite makes navigating life’s social complexities a lot easier. During lockdown, there was a guy who would regularly talk to me whenever I went to the pharmacy. He was hardly a raconteur but it was courteous to engage with him. Who knows, perhaps the brief exchange was an important part of his day. You never really know someone’s personal situation. But I don’t actively seek out such social interaction, preferring my own company by default. Hence I may be the architect of these mysterious encounters and if I’d paid more attention I’d know who they were. But I really don’t see myself changing. Hence, I suspect more of these occurrences will happen in the future. And my solution is to just “smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave”.