I was notoriously shy as a little kid.
Social gatherings were like my own personal nightmare, what with those questions of "How's school?" and "What do you want to be when you grow up?" while being poked and cheek-rubbed like a little dog. No matter the occasion I lingered around my parents' legs as a whiney cat does when desiring food or attention. I was scared without cause or reason. Discussion with an unknown person seemed as frightening as talking with my uncles. I won't even begin to evoke memories of talking to Santa's "special helper."
Twenty-some years later, my shyness has not departed. I often hear "outgoing," "friendly" and "complete tool" used in conjunction with my name, and no, not from Santa's helper. True story: I'm actually amazed how outgoing I can be.
Deep inside, somewhere between two organs whose functions I don't understand, I want to stray from some social encounters. My personality curls up like one of those potato bugs when prodded with a stick - not that I've ever done that before.
Meetings, parties, streets and large social outings with strangers put me in equal states of social excitement and unrest. It takes a while for me to open up and jump into conversation. I might appear comfortable on the outside, but my silence says, "Uh ... hi."
Summer work plans put me in New York City this year, providing countless opportunities for such interaction to occur, or not occur as it were. There are subways, sidewalks, coffee shops and bars waiting to host these awkward encounters.
That's why I have my iPod.
From McKinley Avenue to Manhattan streets, the sight of white and black wires feeding to our ears is inescapable.
Clearly, we're doing everything in our technological power to ignore each other.
I accept the entertainment factor, sure, but some part of me admits to using my iPod as a device to discourage social interaction. I put the buds in my ears on the subway to ignore beggars and others who might talk my ear off. I use it on planes to discourage the middle seat from hosting a political debate between the aisle and window pundits.
And elevators. Oh, elevators. Awkward spaces to begin with, but I can defeat the world with my click wheel of sound!
It's feasible we're holding these speakers in our ears even without music playing. In fact this isn't solely plausible, because I've actually done it. This likens to the same technique of "navigating" a Blackberry or holding a phone to our ear despite the fact we're not actually doing anything or talking to anyone. We're not really busy; we're just trying to look more important than anyone wanting to interrupt our regularly scheduled programming.
Even when someone manages to get our attention, we barely stop to give them the time of day. (Not that anyone asks that anymore, thanks to the mobile devices in our pockets.) Though guilty of the same charge, I'm impressed when someone takes both speakers out of their ears. It seems trendy to only remove one speaker while holding conversation with others, as if our lives are The O.C., and we need dramatic emo music to take us from point to point.
Yet even in writing this column, I'm not tempted to change my ways. This is by no means a "call to action" for you to embrace your fellow man and hold conversation over such trivial topics as the weather, international news and (seasonally speaking) how the Cubs are going to make it this year or will make it next year.
Heaven forbid we discuss.
But, really, I shouldn't blame it on technology. That's downright absurd. Maybe it was education, our classroom rules and lessons from D.A.R.E. Throw in our parents, too.
They always said not to talk to strangers, and I'm still listening to them.
Just ignore the emo music in my other ear.
Write to Dave atheydave@bewilderedsociety.com