Last night I got off work early enough to stop by the bar near my house and have a couple of glasses of scotch before heading home.  I ran into a friend and we fell into conversation, but I realized in retrospect that the whole while that I was talking to her I was watching the television in the corner.  It struck me that I do that often, particularly in a bar situation.  I fixate on the moving images of a television just so that I can be assured with what I’m doing with my eyes.  It’s like when I go with Mer into Victoria’s Secret; I never know what to do with my eyes.  I try to find the most innocuous thing I can find, usually a pair of footie pajamas, and keep my eyes riveted to that innocent piece of concealing clothing.

But it’s true that I don’t often look at people while I’m talking to them, and I realized that I don’t often look at people, at all.  It’s a side-effect of using public transportation for the past ten years.  You do not look at people on the bus or the trolley.  There are two reasons for this: 1st, most everyone on the bus is sad; a contagious form of sad that you can catch if your eyes fall upon them.  2nd, if you do look at someone and your eyes lock, you have just invited them to tell you their story; their long, sad, loud, and highly detailed story.  I used to collect these stories in my 20s, but I’m rather disenfranchised by them, now.

You could sit next to me on the bus and I’d never know.  People have passed me on the street and I’ve had no idea, even if they’d have called out to me, because I always keep my eyes on my destination and I drown the world out with the finest 90s’ alternative rock.  If you’re out walking your dog, I’m 90% more likely to make eye contact with your dog and give it a familiar smile than I am to look you in the face.

I was thinking these thoughts as I got on the bus this afternoon, so I made it a point to memorize every face as I walked to my seat.  I sat down at an empty bench near a window and leaned forward to put my backpack on the ground when I noticed the girl in the seat in front of me was reading a book.  I looked at the title at the top of the page and recognized it as the exact same book I had in my backpack and was currently reading.  I pulled the book from my backpack and tapped her lightly on the shoulder with an “Excuse me.”  She leapt and shrieked as though I had slid a knife between her ribs.  I apologized profusely for scaring her and went on to say I was reading the same book and I wouldn’t normally bother someone while they were reading but I thought it was worth noting.  She looked at me incredulously for what seemed like far too long, and finally said, “Well, how do you like it?”  I said fine and then left her to her reading.  I felt like an ass.

You do not look at people on the bus or trolley, and you don’t talk to them, either.  And you most definitely do not touch them.

The book we were reading was Tina Fey’s Bossypants.  After scaring her half-to-death, I was tempted to tell her her hair was on fire or that I saw a Gremlin on the side of the bus.  Anything would have been less creepy.