I am wounded by insincerity, and by honesty delivered too late. This goes for my own behavior, as well as that of others, although if I’m the one guilty of guile, I seem to get over it much faster.
When I was a junior in high school, I developed what I thought was a close relationship with one of my teachers. I had her for English in both eleventh and twelfth grades, so we had a lot of time to form a solid friendship that I believed would endure beyond graduation. On the final day of class, I asked her to sign my yearbook, expecting a long and personal message. When I looked at the book later, I saw what she had written. “It was nice meeting you” was all it said.
I was stunned, as only a naïve teenager can be. Nice meeting you? That’s what you say to the man at the hardware store after he finishes grinding you a new house key. This teacher and I had almost two years of history. We’d shared countless conversations and laughs, and had slogged through Silas Marner together – she for the hundredth time, me for the last. But she had also been teaching for decades, had watched students come and go, and understood the temporary nature of the connection. I was still at that age when we see the world only through our own eyes, and believe that the things we love will go on forever.
More recently, I went out to a restaurant and encountered another example of impermanent kinship. I’d been offered a choice of unlimited Caesar or garden salad. When I chose garden, the waitress said, “Perfect!” I felt momentarily proud, in a small but discernible way, as though I had come through under pressure and managed to pick the best possible salad on the menu. It was similar, in a sense, to the satisfaction I’d experienced with the English teacher, when I’d give her a correct answer, or some novel idea that caught her by surprise. But then, not a minute later, someone at the next table ordered the Caesar salad, and this same waitress replied, “Perfect!” Maybe it was my imagination, but her voice seemed to flutter and bounce with even more enthusiasm for this other customer’s decision. Her hypocrisy stung me, almost as much as the slice of hot pepper hidden beneath the cucumber. How could both salads be perfect? I realize there are no longer any winners and losers in spelling bees or children’s soccer. But clearly, a Caesar salad has to lose points for containing hard-boiled eggs and anchovies.As our waitress flitted around her area, tending to the other diners and their ridiculous meal selections, I could hear her respond with the same spirited approval, whether they requested spaghetti or chicken, cheesecake or ice cream, coffee or tea. I was beginning to wonder if there were any options on the menu that she would deem less than perfect. What I wanted, deep down, was for someone to ask for the Caesar salad and for that waitress to slam down her order pad, point across the restaurant to me, and say – loudly enough to stop everyone in mid-bite – “Do you see that man over there? He knows how to order food. Please go ask him for advice, and then come back when you’re ready to do this correctly.” For some reason, this has never happened.
Words have so much capacity for fullness and meaning. But praise, I’m finally starting to see, is often hollow and pointless.
When I call up about my credit card statement, or if I try to get in touch with any government agency, I’m told repeatedly how important my call is. But after pressing the receiver into my ear for thirty-five minutes, I begin to have doubts. This is because when I’m expecting an important call, I answer it on the first ring, or maybe the second ring if I’m trying to give the person on the other end the impression that I get a lot of such calls, which I don’t. If I were to put someone on hold for a half-hour, that would be my way of telling them that everything else I’m doing enjoys a higher rank on my list of priorities. I’m probably rearranging pencils, or washing socks.
The world of retail, too, discharges an endless flow of flattery and gushing insincerity. The salesman at the men’s clothing store asks me if I work out, as he tugs and brushes at the shoulders of the jacket I’m trying on. The cashier at the department store compliments me on my choice of work gloves. The young man on the sales floor at the electronics store offers his solid endorsement of whichever camera or printer or graphics tablet I consider buying.
“That’s the one I have at home,” he says, inevitably. Of course, I think to myself. It’s the ideal choice, the garden salad of digital gadgets. I want to tell him to save the artificial animation for his next film project, but I don’t. I just smile and take my purchase, and offer him my own empty sentiment.
“It was nice meeting you,” I say. As I head toward the door, I hear the salesman speaking to another customer.
“So you’ve decided to go with the Canon? Twelve megapixels! Perfect!”
And I’m sure it is.
Michelle at The Green Study
February 24, 2014
This reminds me of all the corporate mandated familiarities that employees now use. “Hi, My name is Tipme, I’ll be your server” and being forced to holler welcomes from wherever they are in a store as soon as you cross the threshold. This is all in the vein of being franchised friendly neighborhood entities. Irritates me to no end.
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bronxboy55
February 25, 2014
Yes, there are several restaurant chains in the US that claim their customers are like family. It sounds nice, except that my relatives never hand me a bill after I finish eating. Well, almost never.
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zen city
February 24, 2014
i wrestle with this concept daily as i notice similar scenarios. just yesterday i was focused on this subject! nice post – thank you. 🙂
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bronxboy55
February 25, 2014
And thank you for the nice comment.
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She's a Maineiac
February 24, 2014
Good morning, Charles, this post is very important to us. In fact, I think it’s perfect!
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bronxboy55
February 25, 2014
You’re just practicing your nursing lines.
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shoreacres
February 24, 2014
Of course, the truth is there are winners and losers in spelling bees or children’s soccer games – not to mention life-in-general. Kids know that, and so do some adults. Unfortunately, the great myth of achievable equality of outcome and a pathological fear of losing – at anything – leaves us in an amorphous mess, where everything is perfect, and little is of quality. (At least the jalapeno wasn’t in the Ceasar…)
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bronxboy55
February 25, 2014
You’re right, Linda. When everything is perfect, the very concept of perfection loses all meaning.
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Snoring Dog Studio
February 24, 2014
You’re looking for sincerity in all the wrong places. Try the greeting card aisle at your local drug store.
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bronxboy55
February 25, 2014
I don’t trust greeting cards, Jean. I’m putting my faith in politicians and television evangelists.
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Snoring Dog Studio
February 25, 2014
I don’t imagine that’s working out for you, dear.
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The Sandwich Lady
February 24, 2014
Great post. I like servers to be helpful, friendly without being obsequious, and unobtrusive. The other night we were at a TGIF’s (not my favorite place) and our overly perky server alternately chatted too much with us (especially when she wanted to up-sell us on bigger glasses of wine or dessert), before disappearing for long periods of time.
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bronxboy55
February 25, 2014
I always wonder about the perky people, Catherine. Is it an act, or are they always like that? Either way, I can’t be around it too long.
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eobonyo
February 24, 2014
Perfect post. *Goes off to another blog post and writes the same comment*
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bronxboy55
February 25, 2014
I knew it.
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icedteawithlemon
February 24, 2014
Great post! I have had dressing room attendants assure me that the most hideous outfit (wrong color, wrong style, wrong size) looks “perfect” on me, and just last week a shoe salesman complimented the shape of my foot–which seemed a little creepy until he also remarked upon the splendid style of my socks. Ahh, I get it–make me think my feet are the best kind of feet and my sense of style is the best kind of style, and I just might be gullible enough to buy six more pairs of those over-stocked shoes that no one else wants.
And by the way, because I taught in a small school, I frequently had the same students as juniors and again as seniors–and I would never, never have written in one of those student’s yearbook, “It was nice meeting you.” My students never slogged through Silas Marner, but they suffered through enough Shakespeare and Steinbeck that they deserved more heart-felt parting words from me. Shame on her.
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bronxboy55
February 26, 2014
I wonder if the shoe salesmen learn those phrases in training. Do they role-play with each other? And if so, how do they keep from laughing?
I’m sure you would have never written something so neutral and bland in a student’s yearbook, Karen. I think what surprised me the most was that she was someone who relished language, and celebrated its power and beauty. But it’s been forty years. I’m almost over it.
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bitchontheblog
February 24, 2014
I shouldn’t be laughing, Charles. But I am. Despite feeling your pain. Only consolation being that comedy (think Moliere) only makes us laugh because we recognize ourselves. Though, unlike you, I’d never doubt my choice. Garden it is. Let them eat Caesar. He had enough on his plate as it was. What with Cicero.
U
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bronxboy55
February 26, 2014
Maybe Brutus was Caesar’s waiter. I never thought of that. From what I’ve read, neither man could be described as perky.
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cat
February 24, 2014
“Perfect!” … really, Charles … smiles … so love your write up on this … thank you … come again … smiles … Love, cat. http://catsruledogsdroole.blogspot.com/
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bronxboy55
February 26, 2014
Thanks again, cat. I hope you’re doing well.
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kerbey
February 24, 2014
You have some clever followers who already used up my replies, so ditto that. When I got my new Discover card in the mail and realized I’d had it for 20 years now, I recalled their slogan, “We treat you like you’d treat you.” So I emailed them to suggest that I would give myself a gift every 20 years. They did write back and tell me what a grand suggestion that was, and how important I was to them, and they wish more people could pay their bills on time like I have for all these decades, and that it would be passed on to whichever group of men look at it and throw it in the trash. So that’s what I was left with for being so awesome. At least you got a salad.
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bronxboy55
February 26, 2014
That’s a great idea — a gift every ten years. Why didn’t the marketing geniuses think of that? As for the salad, they say it’s unlimited, but when I asked them to load up a truck and deliver it to my house, they refused. Don’t you hate false advertising?
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kerbey
February 26, 2014
Maybe there was a teensy asterisk at the bottom that only work on eyes of pre-30 yr olds…
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clburdett
February 24, 2014
🙂 …you should do one on phatic communication. Lol. I get bummed too…when I feel I’m gaining some type of rapport with another then discover later it was just filler with no meaning. This is another good article! And you do your own cartoons, too!?
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bronxboy55
February 26, 2014
I wish I could say I draw the cartoons, but the artwork is by a man named Ron Leishman. I just modify his images, and add dialogue and captions. You can see his work here:
http://www.toonclipart.com
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clburdett
February 26, 2014
Thank you for getting back with me again. What’s cool about you, is your ability to attract and relate to others. Your writing is refreshing, upbeat–and it brings people together! Thank you.
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jeanjames
February 24, 2014
The phone message system burns me up as well. If I’m so damn important, then why am I on hold? In my line of work it’s kind of hard to give phony compliments. What would I say? “Hey your choice of illness is just perfect” “That breathing tube really compliments your eyes” “Don’t be embarrassed by your irregular heart beat, I have the same rhythm in my heart” See it doesn’t really work. But what does work is this piece you’ve written. I love it!!
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bronxboy55
February 26, 2014
Maybe you could use it on the doctors when they swoop in and rattle off their orders. “Eight hundred milligrams three times a day? Perfect!”
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Vanessa-Jane Chapman
February 24, 2014
“In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the farmhouses – and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, had their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak, there might be seen in districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills, certain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of the brawny country-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race.” Recognise that? I’ve never forgotten it despite it being about 27 years ago that I studied Silas Marner! I think it’s a wonderful story myself.
This is a great post, really made me laugh in several places. Now, I am known for always looking at the other side, so…
I would say that “It was nice meeting you” was perhaps a genuine reflection of the fact that she finds most of the students awful to meet, and there was actually much more sentiment behind it that you realised. Or some irony. Or she always had a rule to write exactly the same thing in everyone’s books so as not to be accused of favouritsm. Or something! I’m sure that if you felt your relationship with her was special, then she did too, and nothing she wrote or didn’t write in your yearbook changes that.
The waitress is making an assessment about what is individually perfect, so while the garden salad was perfect for you, the Caesar salad was perfect for the other guy. Either that, or she has previously served me and so what is perfect is that you, and the next guy, were actually able to make a decision rather than having her stand here for hours while you dither for an uncomfortably long amount of time over what to pick.
I don’t have another side for the phone thing or the retail. I’m with you there.
Gosh I HAVE written a long comment.
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bronxboy55
February 27, 2014
I appreciate the long comment, Vanessa-Jane, especially one filled with so much sense and thoughtfulness. And I tend to agree about what that teacher wrote — it’s also possible that she’d learned some hard lessons in the past about appearing to favor some students over others.
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Mikels Skele
February 24, 2014
You’re so cynical. All those compliments are sincere; it’s the other customers who are getting schmoozed.
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bronxboy55
February 27, 2014
That’s a good way of looking at it, Mikels. I’ll try that from now on.
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cecilia
February 24, 2014
Perfect! I LOVE this!! ( rude laughter)..no really.. I was that waitress.. sorry.. c
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bronxboy55
February 27, 2014
Is saying “perfect” a way of dissuading customers from changing their order? I realize this may be a server secret, but I promise not to tell anyone.
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silkpurseproductions
February 24, 2014
The service and sales industry definitely work from a script. The script has been edited to add their own little personality to it. It is their job and probably the 1st or 2nd time that waitress said, “perfect” she may have even meant it. By the time anyone says something the 3,000th time it is automatic and you don’t even realize it. “Perfect” would leave a lot better taste in my mouth than the the use of “Hun” or “Mam”.
“Hi, Hun, what can I get for you?” Makes me cringe.
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bronxboy55
February 27, 2014
You’re probably right, Michelle. Just yesterday, it was my turn to help a saleswoman with something, and she responded to almost everything I said to her with “Perfect!” It seemed to be a reflex of some kind.
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nailingjellotoatree
February 24, 2014
Do you ever get jealous when driving your car and people line-up 20 deep behind the car next to you, but no one dares get behind you? It makes me jealous too? What’s wrong with my driving that no one wants to follow? Why is there lane better?
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bronxboy55
February 27, 2014
Actually, I don’t like when there are cars behind me. Whenever possible, I pull over and let them go by. From now on, I’ll send them to you.
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thisihumblyspeak
February 24, 2014
Scenarios, perfectly captured.
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bronxboy55
February 27, 2014
Thank you for saying so.
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Stacie Chadwick
February 24, 2014
You’re so funny and see the world in the most interestingly shaded glasses, Charles. I think your waitress now works at my Walgreens. She found my son the perfect acne medicine yesterday. Or so she says. =)
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bronxboy55
February 28, 2014
That could be her, Stacie. When my son ordered the Caesar salad, she told him the house dressing would help get rid of acne.
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Stacie Chadwick
February 28, 2014
Ha!
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suburbanlife
February 24, 2014
Now I know why I never have made it in the service industry – too much of a curmudgeon! Once I tried on a dress which made me look like a Thuringer sausage stuffed into casing two sizes too small. The clerk waiting on me said it made me look svelte, heh! I told her she needed to get her eyes checked. She was really keen on making that sale. Why does the training of sales-people insist on them telling an untruth? Because in sales, as in politics, if a lie is repeatedly told it eventually takes on the coloration of truth?
BTW, no service is worse than the Canadian Government for making one wait with muzac for practically hours before an operator comes on the line, only to say one called the wrong department and needed to phone another number to have a question answered. Yep, it really makes one feel so important.
Thanks for this brilliantly funny diatribe. Love your cartoons! G
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bronxboy55
February 28, 2014
I think if salespeople said, every once in a while, “You know, that sweater just doesn’t do it for you,” their credibility would shoot up considerably. As for the Canadian government, it seems they’ve transferred all experienced staff to different departments with unlisted telephone numbers. Then they hired call centers to keep us on hold forever, followed by a lot of fumbling and looking stuff up — which we could have done ourselves.
Thanks for the kind words, G.
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gliderpilotlee
February 24, 2014
Appreciate, enjoy, please continue.
Sometimes we hear a song with the carefully written words that help us express an emotion to a close friend. That’s one perfect.
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bronxboy55
February 28, 2014
Thank you, Lee. I appreciate and enjoy your comments. Please continue.
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ranu802
February 24, 2014
I remember one of the kids in my class on the last day of school, said, “you don’t like me do you?” I wasn’t expecting to hear this from him.
I said, “Why would I dislike you Bobby?” You promoted me to grade five this is why.
Now I know what he wanted to hear.
You come up with such interesting posts, I always love reading them.
Thank you.
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bronxboy55
February 28, 2014
Thanks, Ranu. I always enjoy getting your feedback.
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Doug Bittinger
February 24, 2014
This was a perfectly wonderful post, Charles, I sincerely mean that. And I have those same work gloves at home. I keep them with my Caesar salad supplies.
I have always accepted that when a waitress says my order of Chicken Parmesan is perfect and the guy at the next table orders perfectly with a steak and tater, the waitress is clairvoyant and can read inside us to know what dish suites us each perfectly. Had I ordered the steak, she’d have scowled and asked, “You sure about that, Honey.” They all all me ‘honey’ or ‘sugar’ here in the south. I’m sure it’s because I’m so darned good looking and intelligent.
But…I could be wrong about that.
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bronxboy55
March 1, 2014
It’s no wonder Marie doesn’t let you go out to eat by yourself.
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unsolicitedtidbits
February 24, 2014
You’ve captured the hollowness of “polite.” I remember traveling abroad and when buying a train ticket asked the cashier “how are you?” He answered “how do you mean?” Then I was stumped. Outside of North America it is a personal thing to ask. But even within North America it is a meaningless question. The expected answer is, of course, “fine.” The mechanics of custom seem to allow for communication and flow, but as you’ve nicely demonstrated they often leave us speaking without saying anything at all. Another enjoyable and thoughtful post!
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bronxboy55
March 1, 2014
I ran into an acquaintance once at the post office, and when I asked him how he was, he told me all about his second colonoscopy. In great detail. If only we had been in Europe at the time.
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unsolicitedtidbits
March 1, 2014
Ha!
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Kathryn McCullough
February 24, 2014
LOVED this one, as usual–especially the cartoon about customer service and finding suitable day care.
Still holding in Ecuador,
Kathy
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bronxboy55
March 1, 2014
Thank you for holding, Kathy. Your comment is important to me.
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JSD
February 24, 2014
My big gripe is the businesses that require the cashier to answer the damn telephone while ringing up the sales. I always want to yell out to the manager of the store (wherever they are) and tell them to take the phone calls so the cashier can do her job.
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bronxboy55
March 1, 2014
When the cashier answers the phone, doesn’t it feel like someone just cut in front of you in the line?
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JSD
March 1, 2014
EXACTLY!
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morristownmemos by Ronnie Hammer
February 24, 2014
The ones that irk me the most are the sugar coated syrupy people who drip with what they call charm. How can anything with such phony overtones be thought of as charming?
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bronxboy55
March 1, 2014
I’ve sat in the waiting area at the car dealership many times, Ronnie, while my car was being serviced. When there aren’t any customers around, those salesmen don’t sound so syrupy and charming.
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D Holcomb
February 25, 2014
Nice meeting you? NICE MEETING YOU??! Ouch. She didn’t admire your sense of humor? Comment on your vivid imagination or your creative insights? Pah.
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bronxboy55
March 1, 2014
It could be that she’d learned through experience not to give any student special treatment. If she signs everyone’s book the same, then no one gets their feelings hurt. That’s my guess now, forty years later.
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Terri S. Vanech
February 25, 2014
Ah, the insincerity cuts both ways. What do you you say each time someone asks, “How are you?” Inevitably I say “I’m well, thank you,” even if I’m running a 103-degree fever, my job has sent me over the edge or my teenager has gotten on my last nerve. … 😉
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bronxboy55
March 2, 2014
I say the same thing, Terri. Most people ask “How are you?” as they’re walking by, and they usually don’t even slow down. That’s a pretty good indication that they’re not expecting a detailed answer.
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Terri S. Vanech
March 3, 2014
Here’s an experiment: Let’s pick something ridiculous to say in response and try it for a week. “Giraffe” or “Pickles” maybe. And see if anyone notices… You in?
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bronxboy55
March 9, 2014
I’m going to try it tomorrow. (That’s assuming anyone asks.)
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Terri S. Vanech
March 9, 2014
Let me get you started: how are you?
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bronxboy55
March 9, 2014
Sandbox. And you?
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Terri S. Vanech
March 9, 2014
Zipline. 😉
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marymtf
February 25, 2014
I also find it irritating to be asked how I am by every passing stranger. These days I force a response by saying ‘fine, and how are you? Childish, I know, but really therapeutic.
I don’t blame you for being disappointed with your teacher’s response in the year book. . It could have been warmer. Every child has a ‘my teacher’ he remembers with fondness and same goes for a teacher and that special student. Could it be though, that she was attempting to crush a crush? Just a thought.
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bronxboy55
March 2, 2014
Not a crush, Mary. Just a strong intellectual connection. At least that was how I perceived it. I was inspired by her love for the language. But as I said to someone else, she may have learned over the years to not appear to show favoritism — and so everyone ended up with the same farewell message.
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earthriderjudyberman
February 25, 2014
I was about to say “perfect column, Charles,” and then I thought better of it. It did hit the nail on the head though.
Yesterday, I made the mistake of asking one class whether they wanted me to read a story … or did they want to hear it on CD? One student said he preferred the stories on the CD. I told him that honesty is not always the best policy. He, however, thinks it’s better to be (brutally) frank. Ah, well! (Actually the story they’re going to hear, “The Beard,” is excellent. I once taped it off “Selected Shorts” on NPR. I’ve never been able to find it available for sale.)
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bronxboy55
March 2, 2014
I just searched for it, Judy, and nothing came up. Is it possible that the story has another title in its published form?
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earthriderjudyberman
March 2, 2014
It’s a short story and part of a book written by Fred Chappell (I believe). I bought it on line. If you ever read it, I’m sure you’d love it.
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earthriderjudyberman
March 2, 2014
It’s called, “I am one of you forever.” http://www.amazon.com/Am-One-You-Forever-Novel/dp/0807114103
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Melissa Gould
February 26, 2014
….and all this time I thought I was the only one who noticed and dwelled on stuff such as this. Must be some sort of Soul group thing 🙂
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bronxboy55
March 2, 2014
It’s why we’ll never be wealthy, Melissa. We’re caught up in the details.
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Almost Iowa
March 4, 2014
I wanted so much to write “Perfect” – but others beat me to it. Alas, yet another case where saying or wanting to say “perfect” only disappoints.
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bronxboy55
March 7, 2014
No disappointment at all. I appreciate the comment.
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daisy
March 4, 2014
Charles, you and I both have a desire to make people happy. That’s a good thing! But of course it, like all things, is balanced out by the want to be recognized for doing so. And that, well, I’m still working on that one, and maybe you are, too. Your open honesty about what you expected with your salad order, full of great humor, really stood out in this post. I think it’s a need for connections to mean something. To know that what we do and what we say has made a difference.
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bronxboy55
March 7, 2014
I sometimes notice that I have a different reaction to women. The authority figures in my early life were mostly female — mother, grandmother, neighbors, and the nuns at school. I wonder if there’s a deep-seated need to please that’s still at work.
Thanks, Melissa. You always make me think.
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Gail
March 4, 2014
Your story was indeed perfect. No, I mean it – really! I do!
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bronxboy55
March 7, 2014
Thank you, Gail. I’m glad you liked it.
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accidentallyreflective
March 5, 2014
LOL! PERFECT post! No really it is! : )
I have just finished writing one about being earnest, still in draft but I totally get what you’re saying here. Seems nowadays we should just take what people say with a pinch of salt… sad times
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bronxboy55
March 9, 2014
Thanks for the comment, and good luck finishing that draft.
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reneejohnsonwrites
March 5, 2014
Well, it’s been nice meeting you Charles. I was going to say your post was perfect, but that has already been taken and you’re probably getting tired of hearing the praise and wondering – did she mean it?
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bronxboy55
March 9, 2014
I would never doubt your sincerity, Renee.
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Betty Londergan
March 6, 2014
Well, I have to say — having seen all the comments inspired by your blog EVERY time you post, I think you’re getting the PERFECT payback for all the gushing insincerity you’ve experienced out in the cold, cruel world. So just remember that the next time you order a “perfect” garden salad!
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bronxboy55
March 9, 2014
I’m grateful for the kind feedback, Betty, and I’m sure you are, as well.
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loveandpapayas
March 10, 2014
This is a great post. I feel this all the time.
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bronxboy55
March 11, 2014
Thanks for taking the time to read the post, and for the nice comment, as well.
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lostnchina
March 10, 2014
Charles, I’m sure you’ve received this comment already, except when I say, “This post was !*perfect*!, I really mean it.
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bronxboy55
March 11, 2014
I have to believe you, Susan, because I’ve never known you to indulge in sarcasm.
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ruthierufiebob
March 13, 2014
Somehow I found your blog, and I am very glad I did (<— not empty sentiment). I like your cartoons. They make me giggle 🙂
Compliments/praise usually are pretty empty aren't they? "Flattery" I guess you could call it. I'll admit I'm guilty of it myself… I teach at the gym and *most* of the time when I say "great job everyone you look beautiful!", it is just so they'll feel good and come back again. Shame.On.Me.
Looking forward to reading more!
Ruthie
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bronxboy55
March 20, 2014
I don’t know, Ruthie. There are so many harsh and hostile comments flying around these days. Maybe we need to balance that with some kindness and praise, even if it’s a little exaggerated.
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parttimepokerstar
March 15, 2014
This reminds me of Seinfeld for some reason. It’s as if it’s about nothing, but at the same time about everything important. Retail compliments are the emptiest form of praise.
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bronxboy55
March 20, 2014
But deep down, it really is about nothing. Empty praise isn’t harmful, while needless criticism can have a lasting effect.
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Sandra Parsons
March 15, 2014
Even for a German I have been known for being, umm, brutally honest, I guess. I just don’t like sugarcoating and empty flattery. People who say “If you don’t have anything nice to say you should just don’t say anthing at all” forget that criticism is actually a good thing for the personal development and should be received with gratitude. So when I try on a pair of jeans that translate their insufficient circumference into ejecting my blubber out the top I expect the salesperson to say something along the lines of “I don’t really want to be you trying to sit down in this” rather than “You look soooo great in this!” Now THAT would be real customer service. Gave me a real culture shock to travel in the US where everything is “awesome!” at the very least.
Thankfully I am also somewhat gullible, so I usually only pick up on the most blatantly insincere compliments. Oh, and I try to make my own compliments as meaningful, free-of-commonplaces and original as I can, just like my facebook birthday greetings. So let me say, Charles, your post was incredibly accurate in your observations,and well-delivered through your poignant sense of humour and your mastery in the written word. No wonder you attract a readership whose comments make me laugh out loud as much as the original post does!
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bronxboy55
March 20, 2014
Sandra, I think the real problem is that most of us are too busy to interact in honest and meaningful ways. Our positive comments come off as empty flattery, and our negative comments sound abrupt and insensitive. I wonder when and how this happened. And I’m always grateful to hear what you’re thinking, because it’s always meaningful and original. Thank you for that.
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