Afterthoughts on communication, attention, and going slow

"The use of parentheses indicates that the writer considered the information less important—almost an afterthought."

1. Some people are subtle opportunists.

I stop at the battery store before I start my grocery shopping because my key fob has been giving a low battery warning for months, and I’ve put off replacing it because I thought it would be expensive ($16).

There’s a woman in line ahead of me, getting new fancy batteries for a gadget that looks maybe like a flashlight? She turns to me and apologizes for how long it is taking, because she’s had so many questions for the clerk. To make up for my (30 second, so far) wait, she rifles through her purse to give me something, and I just know it’s going to be a gospel tract.

She pulls out two ballpoint pens, urging me to choose one. I pick the one that matches my lipstick, knowing it will have a scripture on it and wondering if the Lord will offer me some encouragement this way (don’t be cynical). It says: Be quick to listen, Slow to speak, Slow to become angry, Watch the words that come out of your mouth. There’s no reference attached to the words, but I recognize (and yes I appreciate it, Lord) the slight rewording (wink wink) of James 1:19.

She is now talking to the person in line behind me—someone she apparently knows—about how strong she has become. Her husband had a stroke and all the trips with him to his physical therapy appointments have brought her results, as well.

“I’ll be 91 next month and look at this,” she says, as she squats clear to the ground. I marvel that she doesn’t even utter so much as a groan as she stands back up. She is a picture of health and vigor (91?!).

“Every bad thing that happens has something positive in it,” she says, in regard to her husband’s stroke and her impressive strength. I am tempted to give some irritable, proud reply about her “everything happens for a reason” mantra but she is almost 91 years old, for crying out loud (but you know I replied in my head).

I am watching the words that come out of my mouth (slow to speak does not equal slow to anger, btw).

2. Some people are angry, wherever they are.

A couple in Costco wears their unhealth like a cloak, announcing their bad behaviors and choices, and having a fight right in the refrigerated food aisle. Their arms flail and drop, flail and drop. I try not to listen as I load eggs in my cart, embarrassed for them, marveling at how unaware people can be of those around them. It doesn't seem like an important argument—they are arguing about food and I can’t tell if it is food they have at home or food they need to buy? (I am trying not to listen.) They broadcast their unhealth to all the passersby as if we are invisible, and we can’t help but watch their words.

I secretly (haha) wonder what they are like in private, and that thought makes me sad.

3. Some people over-communicate.

The cashier must be training a new person because he is telling her step-by-step how to load my groceries back into my cart after he scans each item. He is very, very nice, and he really wants me to have a box, even though I said I don’t need any boxes. He insists two more times (That’s a total of three times if you’re keeping track. What would you do?) so I acquiesce, and now I have two boxes in my cart that I didn’t want and will have to deal with later (by throwing them in the garage with the pile of Amazon boxes).

He is directing his trainee how to Tetris the boxes and the groceries back into my cart, telling her every single step, using words like catty-corner and like-so, and I feel bad for her—I have a lot of groceries. But to her credit, she seems to be taking it all to heart, doing things exactly the way he’s instructing and not getting flustered. She appears to feel invested in rather than condescended to, so that’s good.

I admire her patience (the abundance of words annoyed me).

3. Some people tell you how they feel by the way they drive.

Leaving Costco, I choose to go the long way through the parking lot so I can exit at the light, rather than waiting for traffic to slow down at the other intersection where there is no light. It’s always a game of chicken: can I make it to my lane before that next car comes? It’s a left turn, and you have to really gun it and be quick to get out of that intersection. I have this pet peeve about my groceries getting knocked all around the back of my car. (I have 44 dozen eggs stacked to the roof.)

I go to the stoplight, and I am sure the person behind me is impatient because I’m taking the corner so slow, rolling through the green light gingerly, keeping all 528 eggs in place. I think I need a sign for my car that says “44 dozen eggs on board” so people will understand. I hate to be the reason people are upset, which is probably why I have those boxes from Costco. I also have 25 pounds of flour and 25 pounds of sugar. I have two quarts of vegetable oil, six gallons of milk, and three quarts of half-and-half. I have to go slow. Why can’t people assume I’m going slow for (528) good reasons?

People are honking at the next stop light, and for a second I’m sure they’re honking at me but my light is red. What can I do? The wind is blowing the street signs, and the stoplights look like children swinging from the monkey bars. People everywhere are impatient. It’s 4:15 PM, dark already, and the wind is windier than I’ve ever seen it in this town, thanks to the Bomb Cyclone headed our way (is it really necessary to call it that?) It’s raining and I’m tired and I still have to unload this load. (It’s not that bad.)

Everyone wants me to go faster than I am comfortable with.

5. But we can’t be robots.

The ladies at the bank have a new gadget behind the counter that dispenses cash when they need it. It just looks like an ATM to me, but they pat its head and sing its praises. They are pretty excited about it because it has automated part of their job, but they also wonder if AI is coming to replace them. (Can it do my grocery shopping?)

One of the tellers perfectly imitates a robot voice. The robot says, “You. Are. Terminated. This is your final. Notice. Take. Your. Things.” Her robot voice is eerily good (does she do those automated recordings for the bank’s 1-800 number?). She jokes about learning how to infect AI with viruses because, love it or hate it, it’s creepy.

On the drive home, I listen to Braiding Sweetgrass, narrated by the author. It’s a slow and deliberate antidote to the faster-is-better day I’m having. “Maybe there is no such thing as time; there are only moments, each with its own story,” she says.

Robots don’t tell stories.

Broken Eggs by Jean-Baptiste Greuze, 1756

(The use of parentheses indicates that the writer considered the information less important—almost an afterthought.)¹

1. https://www.grammarbook.com/punctuation/parens.asp