I had an interesting, and extremely painful, experience of this recently.
I suppose I have to preface the actual encounter with some explanation. Gloria had worked at developing a "resting face" that was pleasant, rather than frowning, or even blank. She had done so well that people would fairly often, smile at her, thinking that she was smiling at them. I tried to do the same, while we were married. Now that she's dead, I feel like I'm doing it in her honour or remembrance. If I'm having a grief burst I cry, but if I'm just walking down the street, and if anyone greets me, and in interactions with clerks and cashiers, I try to be pleasant, at the very least.
So I had this encounter with a guy who I had had a few, brief, nominal interactions with. He asked how I was, and it had been a bad day, and I said not too well. And he was startled, and said, "That's not like you!" And I, startled that *he* was startled, said, "You don't even know me." And he said, "But you're always so cheerful!" And I had to leave, actually leave and get away from him, because it was so painful to have someone who didn't care whether I lived or died be so surprised that I wasn't what he just assumed I was.
(Subsequently I have been informed that he considers himself something of a counsellor and comforter. All I can say is, he's not very good at it ...)
No comments:
Post a Comment