Return of the other people
During the beginning of the pandemic, I missed people. I hunkered down, huddled over a laptop and worked from home. The only time I interacted with my fellow earthlings was on Zoom.
Side note: My only joy was my once-weekly jaunt to the grocery store, to get a temporary glimpse of human society. Even though it felt like the End of Days, I was delighted to inform my fellow shoppers of important news. Two years ago, I stood in the middle of the Shop ‘N Save and exclaimed, “They’re opening a box of Angel Soft in aisle 11!”
I was the TP Town Crier.
But I digress, like I do. While COVID is still with us, we are, metaphorically, crawling out of our caves and walking out into the world again. There are more cars on the road, people are out and about, and lines are forming everywhere.
I came to a sudden realization: While I missed people, I forgot they kinda suck.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends and family, and I enjoy the smile from an occasional stranger. It’s all the other people. Jean-Paul Sartre once said, “Hell is other people.” I’ve met those “Other People.”
A few days ago, I was driving home from my office in downtown Pittsburgh. I attempted to merge on to the Fort Pitt Bridge from Fort Duquesne Boulevard. The woman in the car in front of me decided that it was more important to get home to see what Mayim Bialak had to say about the Daily Double than be nice to her fellow motorists. It wasn’t illegal to push up to the bumper of the car in front of her and block my entrance, but it wasn’t nice. Neither, however, were the words that spewed forth from my gaping maw immediately afterward. I could have made a longshoreman blush.
Last Monday, someone walked behind me while I was backing into a parking space. He blatantly promenaded across my spot as if he was strolling through a country meadow. It didn’t matter to him that a Buick Encore was inches from his knees. If I didn’t have a back-up camera, he’d be under my car right now. I don’t know if I’m angry because I could have hit him, or if I’m angry because I didn’t hit him.
Yesterday, I was standing in line at the coffeehouse. Hint: There’s a mermaid logo on the cup. The guy in front of me was having a prolonged conversation with the cashier. The problem was that their little chit-chat droned on ad infinitum. They kept yammering away at one another, while I tried to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head. When their tête-à-tête finally ended, I stepped up to the register and the cashier walked away. I felt the curse words bubbling up inside of me. My inner longshoreman was about to reprise his role. I had to stop myself, because I didn’t want to become someone else’s Other Person.