Neighborly-ish

I made my weekly stop at Trader Joe’s, a store that gives me a chance to practice my real-life Frogger skills by zooming through the mini-maze of shoppers, staff, and random abandoned - but somehow still moving - shopping carts. This version of the game adds the extra dimension of capturing the right items on the texted shopping list, along with bonus points for avoiding the chilling niceties of polite society (specifically, the dreaded “excuse me” to grab the last satchel of semisoft - 100% real - cheese).

Such talk probably makes me look like one of those grouches who migrated from Sesame Street to Arlington Heights. I carry an odd anxiety about conversations with strangers. I realize that the polite interaction can acknowledge our fellow human beings in a civil society, but it also opens a portal to an alternate dimension in which strangers initiate full-on annoying conversations.

I grew up with parents who LOVED conversations with strangers. They would go out of their way to tell a random person in their vicinity some very personal anecdote, followed by a deep conversation about the stranger’s family. No one in these conversations seemed to ever show any hint that this kind of public sharing of potentially embarrassing details would cause any concern. Of course, I always felt mortified when I was younger, especially at the impressionable age of, say, 42.

As a result of walking around in the world with this sort of approach to existing, they will often still tell me many, many details about people I will never meet. Somehow, they seem very invested in the lives of these randos. For example, did you know that the dentist’s receptionist has a daughter in college, and she will graduate this fall? Of course, the grandmother can’t make the ceremony because she’s just not fit to travel, what with her medical situation. You might be wondering the kind of medical situation that would prevent this daughter’s grandmother from traveling. I don’t have to wonder, because I’ve been told that she’s having cancer treatments, but the good news is that her neighbor comes over to help, especially with the big snow storms they have had recently. Yes, I know. Snow in May? Right?

In other news, the woman waiting in line at Walgreens is getting married a second time, and is hoping this one will last, but she’s not quite sure because of the open sores on her feet that just won’t go away. I could describe the sores, but to save on space, I’ll just say... why!?

I think my largest objection to stranger conversations, aside from the obvious danger of getting in too deep with a psycho killer, comes from the need for small talk. I can do small talk, but it gives me the creeps, so I have to really work at it.

When I was contemplating which leafy greens I would add to my basket at Trader Joe’s, because I’ve decided to make my fifty-seventh attempt at healthy eating, an old woman felt comfortable enough to ask me if I tried the pre-made Southwestern salad. She looked at me with a look of concern and wonderment, which made me think she was seeking advice. I told her I had not, thinking that would end the already annoying conversation. That’s when she elaborated how it’s a good salad, and that she has not tried the other ones, but maybe they are also good. Interesting.

I nodded, because it was the most polite response. I’m not a monster. However, I’m wondering now why she felt it was important to push that information on me, and to lead me into it so innocently. Did she think I was lost for ideas in the salad aisle? Was she implying I sure could use a salad based on my pregnant silhouette?

She must come from that era when strangers treated each other like neighbors wherever they traveled, comfortably crossing personal boundaries with helpful suggestions altogether too much information. Maybe she even knows my parents.

I know I should see my actual neighbors differently. When you live next door to someone, getting along seems the most prudent way to survive such a long-term relationship. We have one of those old school neighbors who assumes everyone in the neighborhood wants to know what’s going on with everyone else. It’s a service she provides free of charge (financially), but not free of charge (emotionally). We typically only get to hear about the big events, like the time our neighbor 2 houses over died. Or that time that our next door neighbor also died.

She doesn’t always respect the common courtesy, commons sense boundaries. For example, she once informed me that I had a dead tree (again, she’s good with news about death). The tree was small and mixed in with other bushes on the side of the house, so not exactly easy to see from any angle. I immediately forgot about it, until a few weeks later, when I see the stumps. She took it upon herself to cut the tree down. So annoyingly aggressive of her, but also, it did give me the chance to go back to laying on the couch the rest of the day.

As enraging as this “kindness” she performed, she also feels fully comfortable feeding our dogs treats without asking us first. I feel this behavior is extremely presumptuous. We spend a lot of effort making sure our dogs only eat the most quality treats. Then she just gives them some mystery meat from who-knows-where, some guy selling dried meat from a van for all I know, and the dogs get upset stomachs. Extremely rude.

Making the dogs sick certainly gives me enough reason to rage, but as a side effect, every time they go out now, they sit at the other side of the yard, waiting for a treat. Now, I have to walk all the way around the backyard to drag them back inside when it’s time for bed.

I have a high confidence that she really loves dogs, as she rescued a dog from another state - a very cute dog, in the way that you might find Cujo cute. Not a friendly dog. The kind of demeanor that would require an 80-year-old Polish woman from another state to feel enough love for the dog to adopt it.

We still don’t know the dog’s name, but when my neighbor calls the dog to stop barking, it sounds like her name is “SHUT UP!” or maybe it’s a Polish name that only sounds like “SHUT UP!”

Of course, I don’t feel comfortable explaining the consequences of feeding my dogs treats, because she thinks she’s being neighborly, and it’s not worth the alternative consequences of making war against an 80-year-old Polish woman with zero F’s left to give, and then come home some day to find my yard tree-less.

I choose avoidance. I simply can’t explain to a person who has lived their life plowing over reasonable boundaries. I find the alternative of small talk even worse. So, I weave and dodge potential crossing of paths that would put me in earshot of any invitations to conversation, mastering my home Frogger edition.

Better than stumbling into a conversation with the local town crier to find out the sad news that the next death in the neighborhood will be mine.