THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, January 23, 1996 TAG: 9601230033
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E3 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Bylines
SOURCE: BY MATTHEW BOWERS, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 72 lines
I'M DEVELOPING a new fear, as if I don't have enough already.
I'm afraid of people being nice to me.
Strangers, that is. Friendly ones. People who just strike up a conversation.
Not that there should be anything wrong with that. In a perfect world, it would be delightful.
But in the past few years, it seems that every time a stranger acts extra friendly and chats me up big time, I later get a phone call. From the stranger. Inviting me to join in some ``business opportunity'' with him.
No thanks, I always say. I don't want to sell soap or saunas, for myself or for anyone else.
It happened one time after a man sized me up in the aisle of a toy store and asked if I played racquetball. I don't, but with that complimentary opening he talked with me a long time, asking about my job, my family, my hobbies.
It seemed a little odd, but I chastised myself for being too cynical. What's wrong with being friendly? I lectured myself.
Then I got The Call. He wondered if I might be interested in an unnamed ``business opportunity'' with him. And I felt let down, like the whole conversation was nothing more than a job interview. One that I hadn't even been let in on.
And it keeps happening. Watching a game on a snack-bar television at Dulles International Airport outside Washington, waiting for my wife's late flight, I found the cheery guy next to me unusually interested in my life. Then he asked whether I'm happy with the money I'm making, and offered me a chance to increase my income. Another unnamed ``business opportunity.''
Most recently it happened while chaperoning my daughter's school dance. Nice guy, another father. We yelled at each other over the disc jockey's bouncing speakers. He asked to exchange phone numbers - ``Maybe we can get together sometime?'' Soon after, The Call. Yet another ``business opportunity.''
No one seems to be nice to me just for me being me.
I consider myself to be fairly friendly, albeit shy. I certainly don't want to put on a don't-talk-to-me mask for everyone I pass on the street. I don't want to interrupt every impromptu conversation about the weather or a ball game to ask a stranger if they're selling some-thing.
I hate that I'm now suspicious of any stranger who says anything more than ``Howya doin'?'' But I'm starting to feel like I have no choice, if I want to avoid later being put on the spot.
Being friendly, we are told, used to be the norm. We lament the passing of front porches and town squares, and the chances they offered for casual conversation with friends and strangers-who-could-become-friends.
Yet we have to instruct our children not to talk to strangers. And we're getting afraid to talk to anyone ourselves. At least you used to be able to recognize vacuum-cleaner salespeople by the Hoovers they lugged around.
Everybody's got a right to make a living, and everybody's got a right to ask a question. I've got the same right to say ``No thanks.'' But I wish for once they'd ask it up front: ``I have a business thing going on the side and wondered if you might be interested?''
I wish their right to ask didn't come at the cost of my trust in friendly people.
So, for the record: If you meet me, great, fine, say hello, we'll talk. But I'm not interested in any ``business opportunities.'' I've got a job, thank you. I don't want to sell anything, particularly not for someone else.
I don't want people to feel about me the way I felt about these guys.
After all the friendly talk and handshakes, none of them ever called again just to say hi. by CNB