Readers may remember how often I have expounded on the social
benefits of living in this crowded, vibrant, melting (and mingling) pot
of a city—where the possibility of conversations with strangers is
always right at the tip of your ears, and even if you are too shy to
talk to strangers, you can overhear the most interesting things and
later serve them up as conversational tidbits to your friends and
acquaintances.
But there is, of course, always the other side of the urban
“proximity” coin; there are often interactions you really wish you
didn’t have to witness, ones you wish you could block out. Loud, boring
conversations between salesmen about numbers or statistics. Ugly
relationship arguments. Parents being mean to their toddlers. People
spouting racist or sexist opinions.
Or, as I experienced recently: rude customers abusing the people who are waiting on them.
In New York restaurants, it’s extremely difficult to ignore your
fellow diners. Tables are often so close together you may as well be
eating at the same table. It was for this reason that, one night last
month, it became extremely hard to ignore the demanding, absolutely
pissy diners sitting immediately to my left.
The irony was that, as my friend and I were settling into our seats,
we were talking about how wonderful this particular restaurant was, and
at almost that exact moment we became aware of a man at the next table
berating the waitress.
“Miss, I have to tell you,” said the man, who had a pointy nose and
wispy hair that pouffed out on top, “this is not medium-rare, this is
medium. Take it away and bring me one that is prepared correctly.” And a
little while later: “Waitress, please bring me another set of
silverware; these are not clean. Also, I need some more bread, and
another drink. And can you tell the bartender to use Tanqueray this
time, like I asked? Whatever this was, it wasn’t Tanqueray. Don’t think I
can’t tell the difference!”
The other man at this table was also fairly demanding, though at
least he was polite. “Sorry, but can I have some more parmesan?” “Excuse
me, I seemed to have dropped my napkin, can I have another?” “May I
have some extra dressing?” It was something every few minutes.
The poor waitress was running back and forth to their table as if she
were running a relay race and she was the whole team. We tried to
ignore the unpleasantness. With all my powers of concentration, I looked
over at my dinner companion, trying to block out the petty drama beside
us, so we could enjoy our dinner (and each other) instead of focusing
on the complainers beside us. But once we had become aware of them, it
was hard not to listen. (How about a little negative energy with that
roast duck?) Our attempts at tuning them out were to no avail.
Gradually, in order to try to compensate for the rude neighbors, we began to over-compliment our waitress. “Thank you so much,” I found myself gushing to her. “This risotto is the best I’ve ever had.”
“I’m going to come back to this wonderful place all the time,” my friend chirped in.
Of course, we were aware that the rude people next to us could
overhear us as easily as we could overhear them. And I believe it made
them meaner!
Hence the battle between praise and complaints began, much akin to
the proverbial battle of good and evil. We could tell the waitress was
grateful to us; we were the heavenly balm to the hellish job she had to
endure three feet away from us.
In truth, at a certain point during the meal I really wanted my water
glass refilled, but I felt so bad for the waitress that I could not
bear to ask for this. Nevertheless we—quietly, subtly—began to get
better service than the complainers, only because we were so
comparatively nice. And so, this friendly, unspoken relationship with
the waitress eventually began to substitute for the communion my friend
and I weren’t having with each other. It became a different kind of
social night, one where we had adopted a put-upon waitress. We felt that
part of the reason we had come to this restaurant was to help her get
through the night.
I’ve heard stories about what chefs do in the kitchen to the food of
“problem” customers. One thing is for sure: I would not have wanted to
eat from the plates of the two persnickety gentlemen sitting beside us.
12/19/12
10/10/12
Faking It: And Why it's not Such a Good Idea
It’s the kind of thing that happens to all of us now and then.
I was having lunch with a somewhat imposing young film student to talk about the possibility of his doing a YouTube video to promote my novel. He was both handsome and British, which is a combination that tends to unnerve me. He was describing a particular kind of film montage technique and I was trying hard to follow him.
“You know what I mean,” he was saying, “It’s what ______ often did at the beginning of all his early films.” The student dropped the name of a director who, I could tell from the confident tone of the student’s voice, I was supposed to know. So I murmured “Uh-huh,” though I had no idea at all who this director was.
This kind of bluffing can be risky, even though in many instances failing to confess one’s ignorance will cause you no trouble—the reference is touched upon briefly, the conversation goes on to something else and no one is the wiser. However, in this case, we stayed on the subject of said director for some time. The result? I felt lost, with a growing panic inside even as I smiled and nodded. And of course it is much worse to confess after five minutes has passed. Every second you let the pretense go on, the more ridiculous you feel when you have to admit, “Actually, I don’t know what you are talking about.” I was a prisoner—a prisoner of my lie.
There are many reasons why pretending you know something you don’t is a bad idea. The two most important of these are: 1) You are no longer a full participant in the conversation, because you are, to a certain extent, faking it. The quality of the conversation is affected, especially as you are now spending some of your energy trying not to get caught. And 2) You may actually get caught, when your conversational partner suddenly asks you something specific about the subject at hand. (“Which is your favorite of his films?”) And getting caught pretending to know about a book, a director, a town in Italy, a trendy restaurant or a politician can be much more embarrassing than acknowledging your ignorance in the first place.
It’s better to come clean. For one thing, if you admit your ignorance, the other person gets the pleasure of enlightening you. Most people like to teach people things; it makes them feel slightly superior. You are also indicating to the other person that you are actually listening to every word he is saying, that you are committed to having a meaningful conversation, not one where you just skate through. You are willing to sacrifice your ego for the benefit of the exchange.
After all, whatever the reason that you are having this conversation—with the possible exception of a job interview—it will be more successful if you are connecting as honestly and as fully as possible. And you can’t really do that if you are only partly aware of what the other person is trying to say. If the other person is describing how a particular author made her feel when she was young and you only pretend to know the author in question, you are not going to be able to empathize as much as you should.
Some people in this situation will interject something like, “Wait—have I seen her/him/it in the news recently?” in the hope of getting enough additional information that it will either jog their memory or they won’t really need to know more to continue the conversation. Others will just change the subject as soon as they can. But ultimately, covering up takes too much energy and confessing is the best way to become better informed. After your initial embarrassment, you will feel relieved at not having to pretend. The other person may even respect you more for admitting you don’t know what they are talking about.
At lunch with the film student, I finally steeled myself, looked right into his handsome face and said, “To tell you the truth, I actually don’t know that director. I don’t know why I said I did, actually.” (I tend to use the word “actually” a lot when I am with Brits.)
“Oh, he’s fairly obscure,” he responded with a reassuring smile. And then he went on to describe exactly the kind of opening montage he meant when he brought the director up.
I vowed right then and there to try never to fake it again. There is too much to learn and too little to lose.
I was having lunch with a somewhat imposing young film student to talk about the possibility of his doing a YouTube video to promote my novel. He was both handsome and British, which is a combination that tends to unnerve me. He was describing a particular kind of film montage technique and I was trying hard to follow him.
“You know what I mean,” he was saying, “It’s what ______ often did at the beginning of all his early films.” The student dropped the name of a director who, I could tell from the confident tone of the student’s voice, I was supposed to know. So I murmured “Uh-huh,” though I had no idea at all who this director was.
This kind of bluffing can be risky, even though in many instances failing to confess one’s ignorance will cause you no trouble—the reference is touched upon briefly, the conversation goes on to something else and no one is the wiser. However, in this case, we stayed on the subject of said director for some time. The result? I felt lost, with a growing panic inside even as I smiled and nodded. And of course it is much worse to confess after five minutes has passed. Every second you let the pretense go on, the more ridiculous you feel when you have to admit, “Actually, I don’t know what you are talking about.” I was a prisoner—a prisoner of my lie.
There are many reasons why pretending you know something you don’t is a bad idea. The two most important of these are: 1) You are no longer a full participant in the conversation, because you are, to a certain extent, faking it. The quality of the conversation is affected, especially as you are now spending some of your energy trying not to get caught. And 2) You may actually get caught, when your conversational partner suddenly asks you something specific about the subject at hand. (“Which is your favorite of his films?”) And getting caught pretending to know about a book, a director, a town in Italy, a trendy restaurant or a politician can be much more embarrassing than acknowledging your ignorance in the first place.
It’s better to come clean. For one thing, if you admit your ignorance, the other person gets the pleasure of enlightening you. Most people like to teach people things; it makes them feel slightly superior. You are also indicating to the other person that you are actually listening to every word he is saying, that you are committed to having a meaningful conversation, not one where you just skate through. You are willing to sacrifice your ego for the benefit of the exchange.
After all, whatever the reason that you are having this conversation—with the possible exception of a job interview—it will be more successful if you are connecting as honestly and as fully as possible. And you can’t really do that if you are only partly aware of what the other person is trying to say. If the other person is describing how a particular author made her feel when she was young and you only pretend to know the author in question, you are not going to be able to empathize as much as you should.
Some people in this situation will interject something like, “Wait—have I seen her/him/it in the news recently?” in the hope of getting enough additional information that it will either jog their memory or they won’t really need to know more to continue the conversation. Others will just change the subject as soon as they can. But ultimately, covering up takes too much energy and confessing is the best way to become better informed. After your initial embarrassment, you will feel relieved at not having to pretend. The other person may even respect you more for admitting you don’t know what they are talking about.
At lunch with the film student, I finally steeled myself, looked right into his handsome face and said, “To tell you the truth, I actually don’t know that director. I don’t know why I said I did, actually.” (I tend to use the word “actually” a lot when I am with Brits.)
“Oh, he’s fairly obscure,” he responded with a reassuring smile. And then he went on to describe exactly the kind of opening montage he meant when he brought the director up.
I vowed right then and there to try never to fake it again. There is too much to learn and too little to lose.
9/20/12
Book Giveaway!
Goodreads Book Giveaway
Etiquette for the End of the World
by Jeanne Martinet
Giveaway ends October 05, 2012.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
9/19/12
Pet Peeves
I was on my way out of St. John the Divine, on 112th Street, after a
Saturday night concert when I heard a woman behind me say in a loud,
distinctly annoyed tone of voice, “But I don’t understand; why don’t
they allow dogs in here?”
At first I was taken aback. For heaven’s sake, how ridiculous, I thought. Dogs in a cathedral? With the barking, the peeing, the panting—maybe even the biting? What kind of an animal fanatic was this woman, anyway? The concert we were coming from had featured solo harp music, during which even bodies shifting in their seats made too much noise; I could only imagine what a dog whimpering away would have been like.
In the interest of full disclosure, I am a cat owner. Cat owners and dog owners are a bit like the Jets and the Sharks: In general, dog owners think cats are cold, finicky, standoffish animals; conversely, cat owners are enormously bewildered that anyone would intentionally structure his life so he would be regularly picking up his pet’s poop in the rain at 6 a.m.
However, on my way home, I started thinking about Paris and the way people there are allowed to take their beloved pooches to restaurants and cafes. Who can argue with the super-civilized behavior of the French? After all, dogs are loyal companions, and it would make a big difference to a lot of people if their owners could take them with them more often. Under New York City’s health code, pets are not allowed inside restaurants unless they are service animals, even though some restaurants allow it anyway. But why not? Is the toting of small dogs in carriers really that much different than bringing babies in strollers? Is my health really endangered by the close proximity of a lap dog?
By the time I got to my apartment, I was feeling some solidarity with the complaining stranger. After all, this kind of “uppity” behavior is one of the things I love about New York City. Where else could anyone be totally incensed that her Cairn terrier was not allowed to enjoy Bach’s Fugue in D Minor at a famous Episcopal cathedral? The brashness, the feeling of freedom and entitlement and desire for progress that Americans are traditionally known for is intensified in New York.
In D.C., Boston, London—indeed, in most other Western cities—people will line up in an orderly fashion at the train station. In New York, they tend to rush the gate. It’s not a myth; we really are pushier here. I may have been brought up by mild-mannered parents, but after 20-plus years of living in New York I find myself challenging the rules, testing the boundaries, pushing the envelope much more than if I had lived somewhere else—though I always try to smile when I find myself saying something like, “That doesn’t work for me; is there any way you can make an exception?”
New Yorkers are the best in the world at moving the line just a little farther than where it started. If a rule does not make sense, we challenge it. This keeps things stirred up, but also engenders progress. We are always demanding our rights (or what we see as our rights), always wanting more, never satisfied with the status quo—Why can’t I use my mobile device everywhere I want? Why can’t I eat my dinner on the subway? Why can’t I bring my kid to this adults-only thing? Why can’t I take flash photos of this museum exhibit? Why can’t I buy exotic fruits from Japan all year round? Why can’t I go topless in public? Why can’t I bring my dog to the harp concert?
Dogs might not be able to get into St. John the Divine, but what they can do in New York is get married. What was reportedly the most expensive dog wedding in history was held just a few weeks ago at the Jumeirah Essex House Hotel on Central Park South. It cost $158,187.26—though, alas, it was not a church wedding.
Keep on pushing, New Yorkers. If you don’t, who will?
At first I was taken aback. For heaven’s sake, how ridiculous, I thought. Dogs in a cathedral? With the barking, the peeing, the panting—maybe even the biting? What kind of an animal fanatic was this woman, anyway? The concert we were coming from had featured solo harp music, during which even bodies shifting in their seats made too much noise; I could only imagine what a dog whimpering away would have been like.
In the interest of full disclosure, I am a cat owner. Cat owners and dog owners are a bit like the Jets and the Sharks: In general, dog owners think cats are cold, finicky, standoffish animals; conversely, cat owners are enormously bewildered that anyone would intentionally structure his life so he would be regularly picking up his pet’s poop in the rain at 6 a.m.
However, on my way home, I started thinking about Paris and the way people there are allowed to take their beloved pooches to restaurants and cafes. Who can argue with the super-civilized behavior of the French? After all, dogs are loyal companions, and it would make a big difference to a lot of people if their owners could take them with them more often. Under New York City’s health code, pets are not allowed inside restaurants unless they are service animals, even though some restaurants allow it anyway. But why not? Is the toting of small dogs in carriers really that much different than bringing babies in strollers? Is my health really endangered by the close proximity of a lap dog?
By the time I got to my apartment, I was feeling some solidarity with the complaining stranger. After all, this kind of “uppity” behavior is one of the things I love about New York City. Where else could anyone be totally incensed that her Cairn terrier was not allowed to enjoy Bach’s Fugue in D Minor at a famous Episcopal cathedral? The brashness, the feeling of freedom and entitlement and desire for progress that Americans are traditionally known for is intensified in New York.
In D.C., Boston, London—indeed, in most other Western cities—people will line up in an orderly fashion at the train station. In New York, they tend to rush the gate. It’s not a myth; we really are pushier here. I may have been brought up by mild-mannered parents, but after 20-plus years of living in New York I find myself challenging the rules, testing the boundaries, pushing the envelope much more than if I had lived somewhere else—though I always try to smile when I find myself saying something like, “That doesn’t work for me; is there any way you can make an exception?”
New Yorkers are the best in the world at moving the line just a little farther than where it started. If a rule does not make sense, we challenge it. This keeps things stirred up, but also engenders progress. We are always demanding our rights (or what we see as our rights), always wanting more, never satisfied with the status quo—Why can’t I use my mobile device everywhere I want? Why can’t I eat my dinner on the subway? Why can’t I bring my kid to this adults-only thing? Why can’t I take flash photos of this museum exhibit? Why can’t I buy exotic fruits from Japan all year round? Why can’t I go topless in public? Why can’t I bring my dog to the harp concert?
Dogs might not be able to get into St. John the Divine, but what they can do in New York is get married. What was reportedly the most expensive dog wedding in history was held just a few weeks ago at the Jumeirah Essex House Hotel on Central Park South. It cost $158,187.26—though, alas, it was not a church wedding.
Keep on pushing, New Yorkers. If you don’t, who will?
9/16/12
Beach Blanket Bingo
Recently my friend Elizabeth told me about a guy she had started seeing. “How did you meet him?” I wanted to know. “From work? Match.com?” When she told me she had met this man while she was on the beach at Far Rockaway I confess I nearly dropped my drink. “I noticed he was burning and so I offered to share my sunscreen,” she said.
“Who are you, Gidget?” I asked in amazement. “Who finds romance at the beach in real life?”
But then I thought about it. The truth is, if you can get past the whole “I look horrible in a bathing suit” feeling—and can bring yourself to unplug from your iPhone for long enough—the beach is a perfect place to mingle. People at the beach are already relaxed and in pleasure-seeking mode. (Not to mention everyone is semi-clothed.)
And so, inspired by my friend Elizabeth (and with a nod to Gidget) here are some of Miss Mingle’s “hottest” tips, for those who want to lend Cupid a helping hand next summer:
Location, location: Choose a beach where there are likely to be other single people. Also, place your towels and chairs in a crowded section of the beach—near the surf line—rather than in a more secluded spot. This is like positioning yourself near the food table at a party, where the action is, rather than against an out-of-the-way wall.
Hunt the Stray: People who are by themselves are easier to approach than a group (especially straight men; something dreadful happens to straight men when they are male-bonding). And if you should notice that great guy before you have committed to a spot, try to arrange your towel or chair so that he is between you and the ocean. That way you can not only check him out thoroughly, but also you can pass him on your way to and from frequent dips. After a while you will seem like old friends; your neighborly smile can extend to comments like “The water is so cold!” and “It’s heaven in there.”
Eavesdropping: This the most common beach pick-up technique, also known as the “Fade-in”: Listen carefully to what’s being said by two or more strangers, and—at an appropriate moment—make a pertinent remark, as if you had been there all along. Often it is the lone man who will insinuate himself into women’s conversation; so girls, if you think he’s listening, be sure to allow him an opening.
The Art of Observation: This is the perfect tactic if you are alone and so is she. Making a non-personal comment is safe and unobtrusive. Dogs, kids, things in the sky and things in the water make perfect subjects for casual conversation. “Excuse me, but does that look like a shark out there?” is always certain to get her attention.
Surf or Turf?: When asked whether they are more likely to strike up a conversation with a stranger in the water or out, most women will choose dry land and men water. Women say they feel they looked better on their towels or in their chairs, with their hair and suits dry. (I find this surprising, since I myself feel much more confident with the lower half of my body submerged. But hey, that’s just me.) I find water conversation preferable because the common activity of swimming creates a sense of camaraderie. After all, you’re in there together. More important, it is much easier to abort the conversation when you are in the water (you just ride a wave or quietly sink).
If you are feeling adventuresome (Remember, Gidget wasn’t above a few tricks, and she always got her man), try:
--The Exhibitionist: Build a large sand castle or a sand sculpture and see who comes to watch. Don’t worry if you attract the children; there are plenty of divorcees out there.
--Old-fashioned Girl: Ask him to help you with your beach umbrella or a bottle that won’t open.
--The Flatterer: Approach her with “Okay, I know I’ve seen you on TV.” Or tap him gently on the shoulder and say, “Excuse me, would you mind keeping half an eye on me while I am in the water? You look like a strong swimmer.”
--Risqué Business: Ask him or her to apply sunscreen to your back.
--The Accidental Tourist: If you should be lucky enough to be knocked by a boogie board into an attractive person’s waiting arms, or tumbled together in a crashing wave, quip: “We’ve simply got to stop meeting like this!” or “I think I just fell for you.” Or even, “In some countries we’d have to get married now.”
Okay I’ll see you out there next year. (I’ll be the one packing the extra Coppertone.)
“Who are you, Gidget?” I asked in amazement. “Who finds romance at the beach in real life?”
But then I thought about it. The truth is, if you can get past the whole “I look horrible in a bathing suit” feeling—and can bring yourself to unplug from your iPhone for long enough—the beach is a perfect place to mingle. People at the beach are already relaxed and in pleasure-seeking mode. (Not to mention everyone is semi-clothed.)
And so, inspired by my friend Elizabeth (and with a nod to Gidget) here are some of Miss Mingle’s “hottest” tips, for those who want to lend Cupid a helping hand next summer:
Location, location: Choose a beach where there are likely to be other single people. Also, place your towels and chairs in a crowded section of the beach—near the surf line—rather than in a more secluded spot. This is like positioning yourself near the food table at a party, where the action is, rather than against an out-of-the-way wall.
Hunt the Stray: People who are by themselves are easier to approach than a group (especially straight men; something dreadful happens to straight men when they are male-bonding). And if you should notice that great guy before you have committed to a spot, try to arrange your towel or chair so that he is between you and the ocean. That way you can not only check him out thoroughly, but also you can pass him on your way to and from frequent dips. After a while you will seem like old friends; your neighborly smile can extend to comments like “The water is so cold!” and “It’s heaven in there.”
Eavesdropping: This the most common beach pick-up technique, also known as the “Fade-in”: Listen carefully to what’s being said by two or more strangers, and—at an appropriate moment—make a pertinent remark, as if you had been there all along. Often it is the lone man who will insinuate himself into women’s conversation; so girls, if you think he’s listening, be sure to allow him an opening.
The Art of Observation: This is the perfect tactic if you are alone and so is she. Making a non-personal comment is safe and unobtrusive. Dogs, kids, things in the sky and things in the water make perfect subjects for casual conversation. “Excuse me, but does that look like a shark out there?” is always certain to get her attention.
Surf or Turf?: When asked whether they are more likely to strike up a conversation with a stranger in the water or out, most women will choose dry land and men water. Women say they feel they looked better on their towels or in their chairs, with their hair and suits dry. (I find this surprising, since I myself feel much more confident with the lower half of my body submerged. But hey, that’s just me.) I find water conversation preferable because the common activity of swimming creates a sense of camaraderie. After all, you’re in there together. More important, it is much easier to abort the conversation when you are in the water (you just ride a wave or quietly sink).
If you are feeling adventuresome (Remember, Gidget wasn’t above a few tricks, and she always got her man), try:
--The Exhibitionist: Build a large sand castle or a sand sculpture and see who comes to watch. Don’t worry if you attract the children; there are plenty of divorcees out there.
--Old-fashioned Girl: Ask him to help you with your beach umbrella or a bottle that won’t open.
--The Flatterer: Approach her with “Okay, I know I’ve seen you on TV.” Or tap him gently on the shoulder and say, “Excuse me, would you mind keeping half an eye on me while I am in the water? You look like a strong swimmer.”
--Risqué Business: Ask him or her to apply sunscreen to your back.
--The Accidental Tourist: If you should be lucky enough to be knocked by a boogie board into an attractive person’s waiting arms, or tumbled together in a crashing wave, quip: “We’ve simply got to stop meeting like this!” or “I think I just fell for you.” Or even, “In some countries we’d have to get married now.”
Okay I’ll see you out there next year. (I’ll be the one packing the extra Coppertone.)
9/13/12
The Third Rail
Like most single people, I socialize a lot with couples. Most of my
friends are in couples. Sometimes we go to the theater or a movie, but
often it’s just good conversation over dinner. What I have learned is
that the potential problem inherent in single-to-couple socializing is
not the uneven number of people, nor is it being the only single person
there; it’s being the single person in a threesome. Almost every single
person you talk to will tell you that being a fifth wheel (or better
yet, a seventh or ninth wheel) is infinitely better than being a third
wheel. Three is a tricky number.
The terms “fifth wheel” and “third wheel” come from the fact that four-wheeled carriages used to carry an extra wheel (or that two-wheeled carts might carry a third). Obviously the spare wheel was not necessary to make the conveyance go. Ergo, it connotes something that serves no useful purpose.
However, the truth is that being a third wheel is not as much about being unnecessary or unwanted as it is about causing instability. A shopping cart with only three wheels can be wonky or lopsided, just as threesomes in social life are potentially unwieldy. Three friends together is always more complicated than two or four. With three people, the psychological balance is always shifting—however slightly—between one pair and another.
Unfortunately, the older I get, the more I seem to be going out with only one couple at a time. These can make for lovely, intimate evenings, except when something like this happens:
Let’s say I am in the middle of dinner with Jennifer and Rick. We are talking about modern technology and its effect on the human brain. Everything is going along quite nicely, until Jennifer suddenly says, “Hey, listen. You can help Rick and me solve a dispute we are having.” (Right here is where, if there were alarms hooked up to our social lives, the flashing lights and bells would go off.)
Jennifer continues: “I feel our daughter should not have a cell phone until she is 14, but many of her friends have them now, at age 11, and Rick thinks she needs one, especially being in New York City. What do you think? Will you please tell Rick he’s out of his mind?” Uh-oh. Trouble. Trouble in the shape of a big, fat triangle.
Triangulation is the process whereby a person who has an issue with someone else uses a third person to validate her feelings. This is more commonly known as Getting Sucked Into a Fight. In extreme situations, triangulation can make you feel as if you are trapped in a scene from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
But it doesn’t always manifest as an actual argument; it can be more passive than that, such as when a husband flirts with you in front of his wife or a wife makes cutting remarks about her husband in front of you. Sometimes it’s the third wheel herself who is responsible for pushing the evening onto the third rail. She can inadvertently reveal a secret one person has told her to “put in the vault.” Or she can bring up sore subjects or show markedly more interest in one person’s anecdotes than the other’s.
But one thing is certain: When you are asked point blank to side with one person against the other, no good can come of it. At the first sign of this kind of triangulation, you should proceed with extreme caution. Change the subject or, if you can, leave the table to go to the restroom, feed the meter or make a call.
If you are not able to sidestep the landmine, pretend to mediate. Listen carefully to both sides, then claim you are unable to decide on the matter. Other triangulation diffusers? Try “Don’t ask me—I’m the proverbial disinterested third party” or “I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me.” Or even “Look they have marriage counselors for this!”
To the Jennifer/Rick debate above, I might smile and say, “I make enough bad decisions about my own life. Please don’t ask me to make bad decisions for yours.”
The terms “fifth wheel” and “third wheel” come from the fact that four-wheeled carriages used to carry an extra wheel (or that two-wheeled carts might carry a third). Obviously the spare wheel was not necessary to make the conveyance go. Ergo, it connotes something that serves no useful purpose.
However, the truth is that being a third wheel is not as much about being unnecessary or unwanted as it is about causing instability. A shopping cart with only three wheels can be wonky or lopsided, just as threesomes in social life are potentially unwieldy. Three friends together is always more complicated than two or four. With three people, the psychological balance is always shifting—however slightly—between one pair and another.
Unfortunately, the older I get, the more I seem to be going out with only one couple at a time. These can make for lovely, intimate evenings, except when something like this happens:
Let’s say I am in the middle of dinner with Jennifer and Rick. We are talking about modern technology and its effect on the human brain. Everything is going along quite nicely, until Jennifer suddenly says, “Hey, listen. You can help Rick and me solve a dispute we are having.” (Right here is where, if there were alarms hooked up to our social lives, the flashing lights and bells would go off.)
Jennifer continues: “I feel our daughter should not have a cell phone until she is 14, but many of her friends have them now, at age 11, and Rick thinks she needs one, especially being in New York City. What do you think? Will you please tell Rick he’s out of his mind?” Uh-oh. Trouble. Trouble in the shape of a big, fat triangle.
Triangulation is the process whereby a person who has an issue with someone else uses a third person to validate her feelings. This is more commonly known as Getting Sucked Into a Fight. In extreme situations, triangulation can make you feel as if you are trapped in a scene from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
But it doesn’t always manifest as an actual argument; it can be more passive than that, such as when a husband flirts with you in front of his wife or a wife makes cutting remarks about her husband in front of you. Sometimes it’s the third wheel herself who is responsible for pushing the evening onto the third rail. She can inadvertently reveal a secret one person has told her to “put in the vault.” Or she can bring up sore subjects or show markedly more interest in one person’s anecdotes than the other’s.
But one thing is certain: When you are asked point blank to side with one person against the other, no good can come of it. At the first sign of this kind of triangulation, you should proceed with extreme caution. Change the subject or, if you can, leave the table to go to the restroom, feed the meter or make a call.
If you are not able to sidestep the landmine, pretend to mediate. Listen carefully to both sides, then claim you are unable to decide on the matter. Other triangulation diffusers? Try “Don’t ask me—I’m the proverbial disinterested third party” or “I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me.” Or even “Look they have marriage counselors for this!”
To the Jennifer/Rick debate above, I might smile and say, “I make enough bad decisions about my own life. Please don’t ask me to make bad decisions for yours.”
7/22/12
Beware the Chair
I had already been out to dinner and a play that evening, so by the
time I got to the party, it was past 11 and I was tired. After greeting
the host, I wandered out to a small terrace. I spotted an inviting empty
chair and, without thinking, I sat down in it. It was one of those
super slouchy chairs that seem to envelop you. I’ll just sit for a few
minutes, I thought.
Almost instantly, I realized my mistake. The only other chair on the terrace was occupied by a blowsy woman who immediately began talking nonstop about her Lhasa apso puppies. Where she got them, where she walked them, what she fed them, how much she loved them. Even how she dressed them. All attempts at subject changing—or at a back-and-forth conversation—failed. With a sinking heart, I realized I had fallen right into the clutches of a human Venus flytrap. I was stuck. Now that I was already seated and the woman was talking to me so intently, it was going to be nearly impossible to get back up.
There are several good reasons for sitting down at a party where most people are standing up. You may simply be physically too tired to stand; you may be having trouble managing a plate of food while standing; or you and a friend may be eager to have a tête-à-tête without being interrupted. But be aware there is always a danger to sitting. Even if it’s next to someone you feel you’d love to talk to, once you are sitting down, you may lose your mingling momentum. You may find yourself thinking, “This is such a comfortable chair; maybe I’ll just observe from here for the rest of the night. What’s so great about talking to a lot of people I don’t know anyway?” Don’t give in to this feeling! You can sit when you get home.
Mainly, sitting is to be avoided because it’s extremely hard to get free of someone who is really talking at you and not to you. At most cocktail parties, it’s fairly easy to move away from someone you don’t want to talk to—and toward someone you do—without being rude. You simply say you need to get a drink or use the restroom or you just fade away into the general melee. But when you are sitting down, escape becomes much more problematic; you are committed. You have, in fact, made a statement of non-movement by the very act of sitting.
There are a couple techniques that I have found work pretty well in this situation. The first is Follow the Leader. Ask Ms. Flytrap if she would like to come inside with you to get a drink or something to eat. If she says no thank you, you’re scot-free; if she says yes, then once you have her on her feet and amidst a crowd of people, you can use any number of other cocktail party escape tactics to gently extricate yourself.
One of my most popular and controversial mingling maneuvers is something I call the Human Sacrifice, wherein you basically palm the person off on someone else. (This sounds cruel, but is an extremely common ploy.) This is easier if you are on your feet but it can also be done from a sitting down position, in the following way: Locate someone nearby and get his attention. (Wave him over if you must.) Lure him into the conversation by tossing a comments up at him—for example, you can ask him if he has any preconceptions about Lhasa apsos, as if you are playfully taking a poll.
The minute the new person even smiles at you or at the flytrap, get up, indicating your place, and say, “Would you care for a seat?” Or even, more aggressively, “Would you save my seat for a second?” This latter gambit is a bit wicked, because it’s almost impossible for the new person to refuse. But after all, all’s fair in love and mingling. (Of course, you won’t come back. You will be unavoidably waylaid.)
So what did I do to escape from being totally Lhasa apsoed? I employed the blunt but effective “note from my doctor” excuse. I interrupted the woman right in the middle of her recitation of possible names for her puppies with: “I’m so sorry, but this chair is terrible for my back, I realize. I’m going find some other place to sit inside. But it’s been so lovely meeting you.”
Almost instantly, I realized my mistake. The only other chair on the terrace was occupied by a blowsy woman who immediately began talking nonstop about her Lhasa apso puppies. Where she got them, where she walked them, what she fed them, how much she loved them. Even how she dressed them. All attempts at subject changing—or at a back-and-forth conversation—failed. With a sinking heart, I realized I had fallen right into the clutches of a human Venus flytrap. I was stuck. Now that I was already seated and the woman was talking to me so intently, it was going to be nearly impossible to get back up.
There are several good reasons for sitting down at a party where most people are standing up. You may simply be physically too tired to stand; you may be having trouble managing a plate of food while standing; or you and a friend may be eager to have a tête-à-tête without being interrupted. But be aware there is always a danger to sitting. Even if it’s next to someone you feel you’d love to talk to, once you are sitting down, you may lose your mingling momentum. You may find yourself thinking, “This is such a comfortable chair; maybe I’ll just observe from here for the rest of the night. What’s so great about talking to a lot of people I don’t know anyway?” Don’t give in to this feeling! You can sit when you get home.
Mainly, sitting is to be avoided because it’s extremely hard to get free of someone who is really talking at you and not to you. At most cocktail parties, it’s fairly easy to move away from someone you don’t want to talk to—and toward someone you do—without being rude. You simply say you need to get a drink or use the restroom or you just fade away into the general melee. But when you are sitting down, escape becomes much more problematic; you are committed. You have, in fact, made a statement of non-movement by the very act of sitting.
There are a couple techniques that I have found work pretty well in this situation. The first is Follow the Leader. Ask Ms. Flytrap if she would like to come inside with you to get a drink or something to eat. If she says no thank you, you’re scot-free; if she says yes, then once you have her on her feet and amidst a crowd of people, you can use any number of other cocktail party escape tactics to gently extricate yourself.
One of my most popular and controversial mingling maneuvers is something I call the Human Sacrifice, wherein you basically palm the person off on someone else. (This sounds cruel, but is an extremely common ploy.) This is easier if you are on your feet but it can also be done from a sitting down position, in the following way: Locate someone nearby and get his attention. (Wave him over if you must.) Lure him into the conversation by tossing a comments up at him—for example, you can ask him if he has any preconceptions about Lhasa apsos, as if you are playfully taking a poll.
The minute the new person even smiles at you or at the flytrap, get up, indicating your place, and say, “Would you care for a seat?” Or even, more aggressively, “Would you save my seat for a second?” This latter gambit is a bit wicked, because it’s almost impossible for the new person to refuse. But after all, all’s fair in love and mingling. (Of course, you won’t come back. You will be unavoidably waylaid.)
So what did I do to escape from being totally Lhasa apsoed? I employed the blunt but effective “note from my doctor” excuse. I interrupted the woman right in the middle of her recitation of possible names for her puppies with: “I’m so sorry, but this chair is terrible for my back, I realize. I’m going find some other place to sit inside. But it’s been so lovely meeting you.”
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