Two weeks ago, before our country came to a standstill and life changed so profoundly for so many of us, I was stepping toward the counter at a 7-11 with a Diet Coke in my hand. A man was already standing at the counter, but off to the side.
Not exactly in line.
You know the type. The folks who see connivence stores as places to solicit conversation, usually with the clerk but occasionally with the customers. They purchase a coffee or a bottle of water but then proceed to drink it inside the store, hanging around the counter in hopes of striking up a little banter.
I encountered them when I managed McDonald’s restaurants, too, only McDonald’s has the gift of tables and chairs, so although they would linger at the counter longer than necessary, trying to talk, they would eventually move into the dining room and attempt to strike up conversations with customers, too.
Lingerers, we would call them. Men and women who needed someone to talk to and chose clerks and customers as potential conversational partners.
I don’t typically mind these folks very much. I suspect that if I were a clerk in a convenience store, I would find them maddening, but I always thought of them as interesting souls. I actually wrote about them in one of my novels, commenting on the apparent tragedy of feeling so alone that you you must find conversation with people who are required to stand in one place for long periods of time.
A truly trapped audience.
But sometimes these folks can be frustrating, unnerving, or even frightening, depending on how they attempt to engage you. Most of the time they strike me as sweet and a little sad, but sometimes they instantly raise my defenses.
So as I approach the counter at 7-11, Diet Coke in hand, I am aware that the man standing adjacent to the cash register but not in front of the cash register is probably a lingerer.
Someone looking for conversation.
The clerk scans my soda. I push my debit card into the slot, and as I punch in my code, the lingerer says, “You know what’s so good about having money?” He speaks loudly and aggressively and takes one step in my direction while doing so, closing the distance between us to a few feet. He’s a large man, taller and heavier than me. I’m not intimidated, I know this man means no harm. At best he is going to try to shame me for having money, but more likely, he’s got some observation on the nature of a market-based economy that he needs to share or a bit of amusement to test out on me.
But he’s gone about this all wrong, nearly shouting and closing the gap between us. He would intimidate some people, and rightfully so, They might avoid this 7-11 in the future in fear of dealing with this man again.
All of this enters my mind, so I turn, and nearly unplanned and almost surprising to myself, I say, “Stop. This is weird.”
He starts to say something in defense, but I cut him off.
“No,” I say “It’s uncomfortable and aggressive, and it doesn’t make people feel safe. If you want to talk or have something important to say, start with ‘How’s it going?’ or ‘Hey, I dig Diet Coke, too.’ But not this, because this makes people feel uncomfortable.”
The keypad sings its little song as I speak, indicating that my card has been approved, and I am relieved. I’m not sure what I would’ve said next. I grab my card and soda and say, “Work on it,” before turning and leaving.
Quickly.
The lingerer doesn’t say a word. I’m sure that when I’m gone, he has a lot of things to say about me. None of them were very nice, I’m sure. Rightfully so. I could’ve simply indulged the man. Allowed him his moment of banter with another customer, but my years of dealing with lingerers while working behind the counter, combined with the sincere empathy I feel for these folks and my lifelong role as a teacher, all combined in that moment and forced me to act.
I wasn’t thrilled about my response, but I wasn’t disappointed, either. In retrospect, hearing him out first, then politely offering some advice might have been the kinder, gentler route.
But I also believe that a direct approach can be very helpful, too. Clear and jarring.
I find myself thinking about that man, who I encountered just three weeks ago. As we socially distance and begin to physically isolate ourselves to a great degree, I wonder where this man so in need for a conversational partner might be. If he’s been able to limit his contact between himself and others.
If he’s safe and well.
I hope so.
I’ve never been much of a fan of the lingerers of this world, but as we hunker down for the long haul, I look forward to the day when a stranger might share his thoughts on the nature of money, and I will only be mildly annoyed again.
