This is Why You Shouldn't Talk to Strangers

A nice 90 year old man I know just found out he has cancer. He was a complete stranger 30 minutes ago, and now he’s out of my life, unlikely to return. Not because he’s 90 or because he has cancer, but because it’s a big city and nobody knows anybody any more.

Frank (might be his real name, I don’t know) walked in and sat down beside me in the waiting room of my tire dealership. I had the good waiting room chair, the one with a massage function, and I was engrossed in a video game on my iPad, waiting for my winter tires to get installed.

Frank and I were the only ones in the waiting room. He looked about 70 years old, but carried himself well. British ex-military I was to discover. I looked over at him and guiltily asked, “Would you like to use the massage chair?”

He responded, “I just found out I have cancer. I’m not really in the right frame of mind.”

I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. Did he say cancer?

Uncertain, I made an ambiguous comment, “Yes, that sort of thing can really put you off.” I wince as I think about it in context, but he didn’t seem offended.

He said, “I’m 90 years old. People are telling me I’ve lived a good life and I should appreciate it.”

Something about the sentiment really offended me. Probably because I was thinking the same thing, but what the fuck, you don’t actually say that to someone, do you?

My wife can talk to anybody. The gardener, the UPS delivery guy, strangers in a doctors office waiting room. It’s an admirable trait and keeps us in the good graces of neighbors and the constant stream of service people in our house.

I can’t do it. I’m not a curmudgeon, I’m not even an introvert, but these meaningless conversations make me fidgety. I have things to do! I don’t need to know about your sick cat or your cancer diagnosis. Can I just get back to my video game? I’ve been waiting all day to have a clear hour to play Polytopia.

But instead of smiling and nodding and then turning back to my iPad, I found myself thinking, ‘Oh man, if I just got a cancer diagnosis, I’d want to talk about it.’ And in a rare moment of consideration for my fellow man, I put away my iPad, went to sit in another chair so I could face Frank instead of sitting beside him, and said, “You look amazing for 90. Sorry to hear about the cancer. Can I ask what type of cancer?”

And then we were in it. A real conversation. Not about the impending winter weather. Not about pets or kids. I asked him about his life and choices and he told me he had served in the military in the far east when he was 18 for three years. He wished he hadn’t seen the things he’d seen, but he believed that it was a learning opportunity and that you can’t always choose your classroom.

The conversation meandered. Since we started on the military we drifted into the conflict in Israel and he commented that all the pro-Palestine youngsters don’t know the real history of the region, or they’d be less quick to jump on that bandwagon. He added that it was a complicated situation and he was afraid there wasn’t a solution.

I nodded agreement. I said, “I’m just happy to be in Canada. I won the lottery when my parents decided to move to here.”

He gave a friendly laugh, and asked me, “Where did they move from?”

I told him India, and we went on to have a fascinating conversation about his own father’s service in India during World War II and the legacy of the British Raj. Just two guys sitting in a waiting room talking about how one’s ancestors had brutally occupied and raped the resources of the others’ without getting into a fight about it. It occurred to me not for the first time that the world would be a better place if we could just listen with civility without leaping in with opinions or accusations.

We talked about a recent driving test he had passed, our respective cars and tire problems, and then returned to the prognosis, which was prostate cancer and possibly treatable. Just then we were interrupted by a young service technician holding Frank’s keys and saying, “All done, tire pressure back to normal.”

I surprised myself by being sad at the interruption. A younger me wouldn’t have started the conversation. And a younger me would have been happy it was time for Frank to go. But this me wished him good luck with his prognosis and as he rose and shook my hand, I ducked my head so he couldn’t see my eyes beginning to glisten.

Frank, I’m sure you’re on to the rest of your life and your large family who loves you, driving your own car and taking pride in the drivers license you just requalified for. You’re not thinking about the slightly awkward Indian guy you met and exchanged a few words with, but you had a real impact on me.

Just by sitting down beside a stranger and starting a conversation.

You’ve nudged upward my faith in humanity. If two complete strangers can sit down and become warmly familiar in just a few short minutes, even while discussing potentially explosive topics, then it gives me hope that we can all have those conversations and that warm familiarity. All of us. Eventually.

So this is why you shouldn’t speak to people who sit down beside you. I’m blowing my nose and dabbing my eyes, hoping nobody asks me if I’m ok. Next time I’ll keep my mouth shut and go back to my video game. I don’t like having my curmudgeonly views challenged. And now somebody else is sitting in the good massage chair.

1. My post on not keeping your mouth shut.

2. Question your beliefs once in a while.