Let's just all take a minute to mull over the idea that there are some things that just shouldn't be said in a public setting. After having moved back to Redding, I've been witness to many such instances, more, it seems, than any other city I've lived in. It's a beautiful place, sure. The small-town vibe and intermingled circles are convenient. But I think it needs to be addressed the, how shall I call it, rampant lack of communicative couth. Some may call it social awareness, others, common sense. But whatever title one wishes to attach to the idea, the value remains the same: Use your speech filter, and if you don't have one, get one. Or just don't talk.
Like the other day, I heard a woman telling her elderly mother the shoes she was trying on - of which the elderly woman exuded obvious elation - that the shoes were "embarrassing" and she would never be seen in public with her, should she wear them.
OK, OK, I know what you're thinking - that really isn't that bad, but there are other instances that come to mind. For example:
I have a close friend. She works in a medical office. A gynecologist's office, more specifically. STDs are serious and not a laughing matter. However, what I witnessed during a brief visit to her was just that. The waiting room was like most medical waiting rooms; bleak walls, nice chairs, that awkward vibe between patients waiting to be seen, not rude, but no desire to acknowledge anybody. Celine Dion hummed softly but audibly through the speakers. It's a crowded room of mostly women. Between the flipping of pages through Cosmo and Home and Garden I feel the snaky glances of distaste. Each glare strategically delivers a BB shot - not enough to kill you, but enough to make one aware he's being watched - the prey, swimming cautiously in the swamp, alligators hungry and ready to attack.
Alas, in walks a man - the only other in the room. But for a brief moment I felt relief; I latched onto it, embraced it warmly that another of my ilk were to be introduced into the miasma of which I had found myself an unwelcome part. He looked up only once, briefly, and caught my eye, then proceeded to the counter. "I'm here f'my dawterrr," he said lazily to the receptionist, keys jangling from a clip on his weathered, sweat-stained belt. "I think she's already in w'the doctor."
After a glance at his holey shirt, still wet and fresh with the afternoon's labor, the receptionist welcomed him, not warmly, and showed him to his daughter's room. As he passed, so too did his musty stench. And it lingered. As one might assume, the magazine selection in such a place did not cater to a male constituency. Selections ranged from gardening to women's health, with no defying deviation between. There was an outdated edition of People magazine with a cover of some actress or model or singer on the cover. She was dark and pretty, so I glanced inside. Short blibbets about pop culture and the latest who's-who of celebrity bore no appeal, so I thoughtlessly meandered from photo to photo, waiting for my friend to salvage me from the discomfort of a lifeless room.
The door opened, my friend, purse in hand, exiting. Freedom, I thought. Just then, however, the man thrust open the door where inside his daughter and boyfriend were with the doctor. "This, this huurpees mess, wha- what's that even mean?" All eyes in the room darted to the hallway, mine and my friend's included. The doctor's voice, a monotonous, emotionless expression could be heard muttering something unintelligible to our far reaches of the office. Boys II Men had taken Ms. Dion's place on the soft rock station. "I don't understand - how you get them huurpees on y'er mouth?" Now the doctor's voice was pristine. "Sir, your daughter's boyfriend - could you shut the door?"
"No, I don't wanna shut no door."
The doctor, now annoyed, "Sir, your daughter's boyfriend had an oral case of the disease..." and the voice dimmed as the man, shocked, shut the door behind him. The audience stares lingered yet, waiting for more. Then it came. "He gave MY DAUGHTER that disease...down there?!" Somebody chuckled. I was enthralled. The door burst open with a young man leading his way out of the room, the man close behind. "Hey. Hey!" The young man turned. "Did you go down on my daughter?!"
Against my will, my friend grabbed me and we left. Needless to say, this is one of those things that, in all common sense, should not be said in public.
And stereotypes be damned, the parties involved all seemed to fit the bill that day.
Then there was the time I was standing in line for fast food – where one expects a certain amount of decorum to be tossed out the window along with a hostess seating you and personal service. However, being that the purchase of fast food still takes place in a public setting, one still expects a certain degree of manners reserved for interaction in public. I believe one such manner seemingly lacking in public settings would be that of “privacy” between two individuals having a personal conversation.
The magical thing about this type of exchange is that, indeed, even in public one can control the volume of one’s own voice thereby discouraging others from hearing the sordid details of one’s conversation. Voila! Privacy is secured by merely lowering your voice. Tragically, in what seems an almost desperate need for validation – the complete opposite is often the case. Wildly inappropriate conversations at excessive volumes can be heard at the most inopportune moments – like while waiting in line for a humble cheeseburger.
Take for example this recent exchange I was forced to overhear while standing in line at McDonald’s…. “Yea – I’m gonna super size it today cuz I got’s me a suga daddy!” to which the other party replied “Oh yeah – me too. I got a suga momma to pay all my bills!” (Much loud laughter ensues). While this, in and of itself, may not seem to extreme – nonetheless, I had no desire whatsoever to be informed of the personal dating and/or financial arrangements of the persons in front of me in line.
Now, unfortunately, this conversation and the image of these two are forever burned in my mind.
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