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Feb. 11th, 2011 08:15 amSir:
We are on a street corner waiting for the traffic light to change. I am wearing a hat pulled down as far as I can, a pair of wraparound sunglasses (extra dark), and earphones. The only reason I do not have my scarf pulled up to cover my lower face is because it tends to cause the shades to fog up when I breathe like that. I am looking forward, waiting for the sign to go from orange to white so we can cross.
And by 'we' I mean 'I, and the other random people standing on this corner'. There is no social association here. There is no grouping of any kind. We are people who have arrived on this corner out of nowhere and are about to disperse. There is no reason to think any kind of commonality or bond exists; there is no 'we' in any kind of meaningful sense.
And yet you felt that for some reason, you were within your rights to interrupt someone who was not making eye contact with you, who was listening to music, who was not even pointed in your general direction. You weren't begging. You weren't in need. You weren't being paid to hand out pamphlets or conduct surveys. You just started saying "Hey. Hey. You. Hey," and when I turned to see what the noise was you started asking me where I was from and how my morning was going.
You are a complete stranger in a city of eight million strangers, and out of all the people on the corner this morning you just had to start talking to the one who was giving off the fewest possible visual cues for 'go ahead and talk to me'. When I mumbled, you insisted on continuing what you thought was some kind of conversation. I don't know if you could tell I was female and were trying to build to hitting on me somehow, or if you thought I was male and you were trying to build to hitting on me somehow, or if you thought I could be conned into some kind of scheme that would end up with you getting hold of some form of money from me, or what. But this is New York. You don't start random conversations with strangers on a street corner unless both of you are there for an extended time. Starting conversations with random strangers when both of you have only just arrived on the corner means you want something. I don't know you. I don't trust you. I have no reason to trust you.
You don't get to interrupt what little privacy a New Yorker can construct for herself. I wasn't looking at you and I wasn't listening to you. I had my own world inside those glasses and those earphones and you deliberately intruded on it because whatever it is you wanted, you thought it just had to be more important than whatever it is I was thinking or listening to. And you assumed that I would somehow be polite enough to put aside the tiny scraps of control a New Yorker has over her environment in a world completely saturated with advertising and intrusive sound just because you insisted on intruding.
Well, screw you. I lied to you. I'm not ashamed of it. I told you I was from somewhere I'm not actually from, and when you insisted on continuing your line of questioning and asked a random stranger who had no interest in you how she was, I told you I was on my way to work and started walking. You might've tried talking to me again. I don't know. I was busy listening to Battle Without Honor Or Humanity. I think I came out ahead in the end.
My world is already full of companies that think they have every right to my eyeballs and my ears. I literally cannot turn anywhere when I am on the street in New York without seeing advertising, without hearing a million other people. The only form of privacy I get is the kind I get by shutting it all out. You can throw your messages at me, but I'm not going to look. You can't make me look. You can't make me pay attention to your oh-so-important message that flashes and blinks and generally says 'Hey! Hey! Whatever you were thinking, it's not NEARLY as important as what I have to say! NOW BUY MY PRODUCT, MULE!'. My world is full of millions of people who all have their own concerns and their own cares. The greatest respect I can give them is to assume that they have their own worlds of thought and their own intentions and hopes and expectations, and not intrude on that without a good reason. Being frustrated and bored because both of us are waiting for a bus or train? Maybe that's a good reason. Being on the same street corner at random? That's not a good reason.
I am a New Yorker. My world is already overrun in every possible way. I have very few boundaries. I ask that you respect the few that I can manage to maintain. I will respect yours, and I will be polite where I can, and if you need help I will do my best to give it, but I owe random intruders nothing.
We are on a street corner waiting for the traffic light to change. I am wearing a hat pulled down as far as I can, a pair of wraparound sunglasses (extra dark), and earphones. The only reason I do not have my scarf pulled up to cover my lower face is because it tends to cause the shades to fog up when I breathe like that. I am looking forward, waiting for the sign to go from orange to white so we can cross.
And by 'we' I mean 'I, and the other random people standing on this corner'. There is no social association here. There is no grouping of any kind. We are people who have arrived on this corner out of nowhere and are about to disperse. There is no reason to think any kind of commonality or bond exists; there is no 'we' in any kind of meaningful sense.
And yet you felt that for some reason, you were within your rights to interrupt someone who was not making eye contact with you, who was listening to music, who was not even pointed in your general direction. You weren't begging. You weren't in need. You weren't being paid to hand out pamphlets or conduct surveys. You just started saying "Hey. Hey. You. Hey," and when I turned to see what the noise was you started asking me where I was from and how my morning was going.
You are a complete stranger in a city of eight million strangers, and out of all the people on the corner this morning you just had to start talking to the one who was giving off the fewest possible visual cues for 'go ahead and talk to me'. When I mumbled, you insisted on continuing what you thought was some kind of conversation. I don't know if you could tell I was female and were trying to build to hitting on me somehow, or if you thought I was male and you were trying to build to hitting on me somehow, or if you thought I could be conned into some kind of scheme that would end up with you getting hold of some form of money from me, or what. But this is New York. You don't start random conversations with strangers on a street corner unless both of you are there for an extended time. Starting conversations with random strangers when both of you have only just arrived on the corner means you want something. I don't know you. I don't trust you. I have no reason to trust you.
You don't get to interrupt what little privacy a New Yorker can construct for herself. I wasn't looking at you and I wasn't listening to you. I had my own world inside those glasses and those earphones and you deliberately intruded on it because whatever it is you wanted, you thought it just had to be more important than whatever it is I was thinking or listening to. And you assumed that I would somehow be polite enough to put aside the tiny scraps of control a New Yorker has over her environment in a world completely saturated with advertising and intrusive sound just because you insisted on intruding.
Well, screw you. I lied to you. I'm not ashamed of it. I told you I was from somewhere I'm not actually from, and when you insisted on continuing your line of questioning and asked a random stranger who had no interest in you how she was, I told you I was on my way to work and started walking. You might've tried talking to me again. I don't know. I was busy listening to Battle Without Honor Or Humanity. I think I came out ahead in the end.
My world is already full of companies that think they have every right to my eyeballs and my ears. I literally cannot turn anywhere when I am on the street in New York without seeing advertising, without hearing a million other people. The only form of privacy I get is the kind I get by shutting it all out. You can throw your messages at me, but I'm not going to look. You can't make me look. You can't make me pay attention to your oh-so-important message that flashes and blinks and generally says 'Hey! Hey! Whatever you were thinking, it's not NEARLY as important as what I have to say! NOW BUY MY PRODUCT, MULE!'. My world is full of millions of people who all have their own concerns and their own cares. The greatest respect I can give them is to assume that they have their own worlds of thought and their own intentions and hopes and expectations, and not intrude on that without a good reason. Being frustrated and bored because both of us are waiting for a bus or train? Maybe that's a good reason. Being on the same street corner at random? That's not a good reason.
I am a New Yorker. My world is already overrun in every possible way. I have very few boundaries. I ask that you respect the few that I can manage to maintain. I will respect yours, and I will be polite where I can, and if you need help I will do my best to give it, but I owe random intruders nothing.
