"please talk to me"

Yesterday I was wearing one of those invisible signs. Well it must be written in special ink so that its invisible to me and other sane people, but clearly visible to … others. Mine apparently said “please talk to me.”

I first noticed I was wearing the sign when waiting for the elevator after work. A coworker was also waiting, and he brought up the fact that he was going to CA. So we started talking about flights. Somehow that segued into how he re-enlisted in the navy, and spent time in Australia, and met some really dynamite people that he still gets xmas cards from, 20 years later. This one- sided conversation went on from the elevator ride, to the walk to the subway station, to boarding the train, all the way until I got off that train to transfer. Who knows how long it would have gone on?

It was one of those meandering conversations that are great to have with friends (when they actually involve both people) but annoying to have with near-strangers. It was exactly the kind of situation I picture happening in a bar or the wind-down of a party. One guy is really drunk, and will talk your ear off whether you’re listening or not. It also seems to happen more when the listener is sober, thus making it all the more un-enjoyable. In fact, I was a little tempted to ask if this coworker was drunk. But I didn’t really care as long as I got to leave.

Then when I got on the next train, I confirmed my invisible signage. I had unwittingly sat next to an old Russian guy, who spoke approximately 4 words of English. Nothing about me says I speak Russian, but this guy tried to start a conversation anyway. He knew we weren’t speaking the same language, but he kept at it, getting out “five-seven” and “forty-seven” (which I think he thought were the same) and many many utterances of “sorry” while slapping himself on the forehead. It made me remember that there is a difference between mentally handicapped people and foreigners, but those differences aren't obvious at first (if you don't know who you're dealing with).*

I thought maybe he was trying to get directions to 47^th street, which was a stop on the train we were on. I pointed at the map on the wall, but he did that old man hand-shooing gesture to dismiss it. So I was like “sorry guy, but I can’t help you at all” and attempted to read my book that I hadn’t gotten to read on the last train. But Russian guy was persistent, sticking with “five-seven” and “forty-seven.” I showed him a page number in the book that had the number 47 in it, and he dismissed that too. I tried to indicate that he should stay on the train, as we were not yet at 47^th street and that’s the closest thing I could guess he was trying to communicate. He did end up getting off at 47^th, after sputtering the word “beautiful” and pointing at me and giving me a thumbs-up. I had been wearing a genial smile the whole time, but this last made me crack up. There was a Suit sitting across from us the entire time, and I think we entertained him while relieving him that he was not in my place.

Eventually I got to Suzanne’s house, and I don’t know if my sign came off or not because my friends talked to me, and I encourage that. On the way home, I had my book already out and ready, so nobody talked to me at all. These signs do have limited “face time” anyway.

* I realize that was a harsh statement, and I don't mean it to be. I'm not one of those people that when speaking to a foreigner talks really loud and uses meaningless, exaggerated gestures. Those are the people that can't tell the difference between mentally handicapped and foreign, and I hate those people.