OP/ED: Electric Grapevine | Don't speak
By Nik Green
There is a certain arsenal of daily banter that I feel needs to be deleted from our collective vocabularies. Life is simply not long enough to be responding to, “Hot enough for ya?” and other gems that people feel they need to pass on ad nauseum despite knowing that everyone on earth has been privy to this same valuable piece of data.
Any information pertaining to the weather can be done with in my opinion. The further away one’s projected forecast is, the less I care to hear it. “It’s going to be a dry summer!” “Well thank you Farmer Almanac, I’ll keep that in mind when I’m sowing seeds on the four by eight deck of my Richmond-based condo.” “Muscle weighs more than fat,” is another nugget I could do without hearing from every notebook carrying gym patron I meet during my attempts at fitness. Interjecting with “I think what he’s trying to say…” is a great way to catch a cell phone to the dome in case someone is ever in the mood for articulating my own thoughts to others for me. I can’t process how someone could sit and watch someone else explain something from their own thoughts, and then proceed to feel they can illustrate this person’s mind better than they can. “Oh, I’m sorry I must be an idiot. Clearly I need you to translate my indecipherable babble into a coherent speech worth hearing for those around us,” Talking on behalf of someone is probably on par with talking about someone when they’re not present. One slice of info that seems to make its way through a family tree like some kind of ancestral pine beetle is the fact that everyone has a family member who cannot float in water. It’s always among the top three traits that a Chardonnay-laden aunt will inform you of while visiting the fam. “Oh, you know your uncle Kevin sinks like a ton of bricks don’t you? Great with the kids, grandkids love him, sinks like an anvil.” I’m sure memorizing the buoyancy properties of my kin is taking up a part of my memory I could be using for something else. Unless I’m mired in a decision on which relative I’m sending out for a drive with Ted Kennedy, I’m sure I don’t need this mental clutter. In my quest to recognize and edit random banter from my life, I realized virtually anything said inside of an elevator can be added to the hit list. Although pleasantries are nice and all, its hard to keep a straight face when faking the “Have a great night,” upon reaching your floor. I’ve found just committing fully to the faux sincerity is a fantastic way to ensure fellow residents don’t bother adding you to their Christmas card list. “It’s been a slice, this past 45 seconds we have shared. Remember when we both reached for the door close button at the same time? Intimate, I say. Or when we both gazed longingly at the red light as it approached our respective floors. I’ll remember that forever.” Follow that bile up by lifting a bit from Dumb and Dumber and you’re home free. “I hate goodbyes!” with a hug to seal it, and a quiet elevator is forever yours.
