Sidewalk Etiquette

I met this boy about a month ago. Our summer school program was taking us on a fieldtrip, and we randomly ended up next to each other for the long bus ride. For the sake of protecting the innocent, we shall refer to this boy as “Jay.” Social norms encouraged conversation for the majority of the long trip. He really was quite intelligent, insightful, and articulate; we discussed everything from religion and politics to relationships and movies, and I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation.

The first pit stop, we mused about what necessary road trip accouterments we were going to buy.

“I really want a big bag of pretzels. And a large coke” He said.

I wanted to reply: “you can’t get a large drink at a pit stop on a road trip!  You’ll have to pee so soon!” But instead, I restrained myself, lady-like, and focused on the pretzels: “I’m more of a candy person when it comes to road trips. Salty things just make me thirsty”

“Hence the coke” Jay answered.

 Idiot.

When I stood up, I bumped my head on the ledge above my bus seat, and warned him to watch his head, as I expected him to do the same. At his full height, he cleared it by four inches. Now, looking down at his face, and him looking up at mine, we both nodded, mutual understanding of this interesting development, and I ran off the bus. After that, our conversation changed just a little bit; relaxed a little bit. It was one of those, turns-out-I’m-not-physically-attracted-to-you-so-I-can-flirt-but-still-talk-normally/say stupid things-because-I’m-not-worried-about-turning-you-off-of-the-idea-of-dating-me situations.

Enjoying my very reasonable road-trip food—chocolate crunchies—I stared at the coke in his hand, and said what I had wanted to say, “You know, you really shouldn’t get a large drink at a pit stop on a road trip!  You’ll have to pee so soon, but we’re not going to stop again, cause we just did. When you bought that coke. You see the cycle?”

The silent conversation that when on in both our heads was as follows:

“Good point. Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

“Because I thought you were a dating prospect, and I didn’t want you to associate me with urine. But now that we’d never go out, I figured I’d be my true obnoxious self!”

He just laughed and sipped. Then an hour later, the bus had to stop. Of course.

So after the trip, we would see each other around every once in a while. We would politely nod, wave, or just smile, depending on the level of societal acceptance the situation dictated. We would acknowledge the fact that we once spent a large amount of time together, but would never really talk again. We were both at peace with that fact.

            So the other day, after a long day of classes, and exams coming up, I was in a hurry to get home. I was keeping up a pretty good pace, eyes intensely focused on the ground in front of me, backpack bouncing up and down, when I noticed someone in front of me, walking at nearly the same pace. He was moving forward just slightly slower than I, so I was catching up to him, but not quickly. I recognized this person as Jay. I caught one subtle side-glance of his red-haired, short head. I knew that he knew that I was there.

I was tired, and not in the mood to be friendly and make cordial small talk. And obviously Jay was not either. If he wanted to talk to me, he’d turn his head completely around, say something to the effect of, “Oh! Hey! Didn’t see you there!” and then pause long enough that I could catch up to him, then we’d both make small talk for the rest of our 7 minute journey home. Seven minutes is a long walk. With someone you are sort-of-friends with.

I scrunched my brow and pondered my options. 1) I could pick up my pace and speed walk, and wave as I passed Jay by.  But at the pace we both were already going, I’d practically have to jog to pass him. 

2) I could catch up to him, and say, “Hey! Jay! Didn’t notice it was you there!” We would chit chat about “how long it has been!” And “how were our classes?” And, “we’ll have to go to coffee and catch up sometime”

Also, full disclosure, we’re calling him Jay because I actually forgot his name. I’m pretty sure it started with a J. So if I did option 2, then I’d have to avoid saying his name, and the whole thing just seemed like a lot of effort.

Option number 3) I could slow down to match his pace, try and walk quietly enough so that we could both keep pretending that we didn’t notice the other person there.

So I justified this incredibly awkward and immature approach to sidewalk contact, and slowed down slightly, and stayed at a consistent three feet behind him.

Then he turned the corner.

“Perfect!”  I thought, “He’s on the same wave-length! Good plan, Jay. You pretend to go down that street, and pause for 30 seconds while I walk by, so we can avoid this encounter neither one of us wants.” Then I shook my head.

“Oh my goodness! You’re being ridiculous! He probably actually needs to GO down that street. Not everyone in the world over-thinks petty situations like this and is as paranoid as you are acting right now…”

So I laughed at my silliness, and kept walking. But just for kicks, and probably because I am a little paranoid, I did a subtle head turn. Jay was there, walking behind me at a safe distance. Dear goodness. He had pretended to turn the corner to let me pass. I knew it! 

My faith in the awkwardness of humanity was restored!