Someone talked to me at the Viru väljak tram stop yesterday. A stranger. It was dark at 5pm and 38 degrees F and lightly misting. He didn't want anything or even need information. He did ask me if the tram had just left (the next one was already in view) but this was just a lead-in. He went on immediately to volunteer a bunch of information about himself. What he did for a living, for example.
His teeth were a little crooked and he was wearing the close-fitting condom sort of cap that is the main winter headwear style here, so it was easy to take him at first for a bit of a simpleton. (I have the same kind of cap, incidentally.)
Because people don't talk to each other on the street, in Tallinn. Or in most places. Unless they're casing you as a possible mark. Certainly they don't tell you what they do for a living. Generally they whiz by in Audis and BMWs and you wonder what they do for a living that they can afford their rides in a country with the average salary being what it is.
He said he was a freelance journalist for Postimees. OK, you're a freelancer, I thought -- and I'm a consultant.
Then he told me about a party he had covered, a party thrown by brother and sister entertainment celebrities Gerli and Tanel Padar. And that he had a country home around the same area as the Padars.
Ah, I said. How was it? This went on for some time, as long as the tram ride lasted.
I kept on thinking, "OK, now here it comes -- the invitation to his church." But it didn't come. He was just killing time by conversing pleasantly with me.
I'm afraid I acted like a typical Tallinner -- at first I acted suspicious and then curt, while making a show about being cordial.
What's happened to me? Not so long ago, I thought highly of a line from the Garcia-Hunter song Scarlet Begonias" -- "strangers stopping strangers, just to shake their hands". Nothing seemed better than superimposing a rock festival vibe on everyday life.
What if they did? Wouldn't that be far preferable? Or at least a "hi". It would cost nothing.
Or would we all lose face somehow?
Anyway, saying hi also qualifies you as a true frukt.
When I lived in a quiet rural neighbourhood outside Tallinn, we made an effort to be friendly. But one day I had a group of five-year-olds tell me, You don't need to always say hi.
Geez, such sophistication at such a young age. I wondered if they expected a faint knowing nod, wise to the wise, or if they just wanted to be ignored...
An exception to all this was when Morgan was a baby and I walked around with him in a sling. Old dour ladies in a country where pensioners have a reputation of being bitter and mean, actually smiled and greeted us. I never really figured out why. Morgan was photogenic in a certain way, but I never caught him doing anything funny anytime I walked past a mirrored office building.
Anyway, because it is one of the few things to even remotely break the routine in the winter gloom (kids are great and work is interesting, but we're all in a holding pattern until spring) I started somewhat delusionally scouring the encounter with the stranger on the tram for meaning.
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Every time a man unburdens his heart to a stranger he reaffirms the love that unites humanity.
-Germaine Greer, The Female Eunuch, "The Ideal" (1970).
The moment one accosts a stranger or is accosted by him is above all in this life the moment of drama. . . . Whoever we meet watches us intently at the quick, strange moment of meeting, to see whether we are disposed to be friendly.
-Haniel Long
1888 --1956
Interlinear to Cabeza de Vaca (1936; repr. 1987, p. 41).
Hey! That person could have been me. I hate a silent ride in an elevator occupied by someone besides me. So I would attempt to start a conversation, although not about me, but about the weather, or the buttons on the elevator controls, or whatever. I don't like to share the confined space in silence. :-). Even on the four floor ride at my mom's condo I would have something to say to the other occupant on the elevator. Quite often on the elevator or in dog park that contact leads to some interesting conversations. It always puzzled me that I could have meaningful conversations with complete strangers, but with my own daughter the responses were "Nothing", "I don't know", "Not much" "This and that" but always without any question or comments in return. I have come to the conclusion that you can share a lot with a stranger, and they with you, perhaps because each knows that it will go no further and no judgments are made. Also perhaps it is safe to share deficiencies, unload them, if conversation goes there, and if those chats are of any duration they are a release. Perhaps that is what your "friend" was doing. Perhaps my daughter had a lot to hide, so any freedom to converse was squashed. Usually people with things to hide are not very talkative for fear of contradicting themselves. Lies, unfounded accomplishments, etc. are difficult to remember since they are not based on any factual event.
I probably would have somewhat enjoyed your encounter, of course, given that I had the time and was not on a mission. :-) Smith Mountain Lake was nice in this regard.
Maybe all people with something to hide clam up to some extent, but not all people who clam up have something to hide.
I would welcome talk about elevator buttons. That could be quite funny. I'd still have to say there aren't many things worse than some kinds of questions ("what floor?" is fine but "are you sure you want to go to that floor? let me tell you what floor I would pick" is certainly not, coming from a stranger) especially if there is the added burden that you sense that you interlocutor has exceptionally thin skin and you will insult or hurt them (or prompt accusations that you have something to hide) if you don't give the long answers they want. Ugh.
Mind that I'm not talking about you here - I don't think you exhibit those tendencies more than anyone else. But if we are talking about my sister as a young teenager, I suppose any sort of earnest "reconnecting" could have struck her adolescent mind as a major turnoff.
thanks for the quotes, max.
i have to say your erudition scares me a little, because it seems to be genuine (ungoogleable)
We do not need some expat Aussie feminist or some Burmese-born Yankee poet to affirm or second-guess Kristopher's well-informed suspicion:
When a male stranger approaches another male stranger, especially in a completely heterosexual nation as that of Esthonia, you can be certain that he is only a phrase or two from inviting you to a public washroom for a goold old-fashioned foot-tapping contest.
Never forget:
Stranger and thief are never far apart in the ancient land of Esthonia!
Roger said...
We do not need some expat Aussie feminist or some Burmese-born Yankee poet to affirm or second-guess Kristopher's well-informed suspicion
Y'know, Rog, you're a real xenophobic mangiacake...
:-)
When a male stranger approaches another male stranger, especially in a completely heterosexual nation as that of Esthonia, you can be certain that he is only a phrase or two from inviting you to a public washroom for a goold old-fashioned foot-tapping contest.
Wishful thinking, Roger?
Stranger and thief are never far apart in the ancient land of Esthonia!
Let me revise my earlier assessment. You're a paranoid xenophobic mangiacake homo, Roger.
(Hope that didn't veer too close to political incorrectness, blogmaster!)
Ad hominem assessments are always welcome in the comments section, no matter how politically incorrect.
I'd be careful around roger though if it's the same roger, though -- the gloves are off and so are the trousers.
Oh, believe me: I know Roger. The first time I saw him, he was trouserless and had both feet tapping -- no, actually KICKING. And... he had a wide stance, too...
Oh, dear, things are not looking up for good ole Roger Trousers, Esq.
On a sudden, this has gathered up all the filthy undertones of a Republican controversy. Larry Craig redux.
I'm afraid this one's your own private Idaho, gentlemen, and you're going to have to sort it out by yourselves.
Let me be the first to extend an olive branch. If Hiller & Bammer could make up, so can Rog and I.
Here goes:
Roger, I'm sorry that you're a paranoid xenophobic mangiacake homo.
As the venue for your reconcilation, I was thinking more along the lines of a well-sheep-grazed mountain in Wyoming.
But it's the mangiacake thing that concerns me the most.
Roger doesn't like sheep.
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