It is too soon to say whether the light-headedness is to be attributed to mild euphoria or to having had five test-tubes worth of blood withdrawn. But I want to talk about the little pleasure which is talking to a complete stranger. This has to be one of the most under-rated little joys of mundane life. Someone you have never met before. Someone you will never meet again. There cannot be a more pure interaction.
“Do not talk to strangers,” we’ve all been told. Thrice as many times if you belong to the female gender. I recall this one time when I was little- maybe five or six. A gentleman I met on the street close to our home had asked me who my parents were. We then proceeded to chat about my school, hobbies, friends.. everything under the sun. I came home so happy from the conversation and told my Mum all about it. And what a nice uncle I had just met. “Very nice,” my Mum had said, “now he will kidnap you tomorrow and you will stay with him.” “No no no… I don’t want to go with him,” I had started to cry. I had howled all evening, without any reassurance. Lesson learned. Maybe.
I digress.
Or perhaps I do not. The thing is we hardly talk to strangers. Lack of time. Lack of trust. But it really is very simple. Simpler than talking to people you know.
The gentleman I met this morning is new at the medical center. The first thing I said to him after “Hello” was, “I am ready to provide my urine sample.”
He looked genuinely perplexed and asked, “Why?”
“Because I am very well prepared. I have been drinking a ton of water,” I tell him, adding, “I always prepare well.”
You see, he doesn’t know me. I control the narrative here. For this interaction I am someone who is always prepared. He doesn’t need to know that this applies 100% to the little day to day things and exactly 0% to major life decisions where the propensity is to jump blind and trust the universe. I won’t be telling him about the universe today.
“That’s not part of the general check-up anymore,” he informs me. He then proceeds to inform me of all the ways in which the annual medical check-up has changed since last year (for one thing it won’t be annual anymore!) while I am mentally checking off all the ways my preparation is of no use.
Then I tell him, “Okay. I will still do this, this and this…”
“On your own money?”
“Yes.”
(If any of the readers at this point identify themselves as my husband, please stop reading. Actually couple of lines before, please. Also, it is too late to be holding your head in your hands.)
He goes to great lengths, pulling out my records over the last six years, explaining how the parameters and trends indicate no need to do these tests.
I look over the transcripts and go, “Oh, I will also do also that, that, and that please…”
In the narrative for this meeting, I am also someone who is thorough.
I don’t know by now if he’s annoyed or amused. Most likely neither.
We go on to talk about many of the tests, medical terminologies , joke about the employer (if any of the readers belong to the same employer, and really want to know the joke, please contact me separately), I ask him smart questions about my parameters which he acknowledges are good questions.
“Okay, we will measure your waist to hip ratio now,” he says at one point, and requests that I stand with my arms raised above my head. Taking that position, I resist the urge to do a little twirl, having already gleefully self- applauded at one of my parameters a minute ago. He makes the measurements, and checks meticulously against a detailed chart, which I peek into to find 2 broad headings: ‘Normal’ and ‘Obese’. He looks up half a minute later to say with a perfectly stoic expression, “You are…. not obese.” I cannot help bursting out laughing. It is one the mandated tests.
By the time he is drawing blood (which takes a long time because there is so much to be drawn for all the tests I have chosen and the blood pressure is rather low) we are talking about where we come from and our last few years of life.
I tell him it is ridiculous how they make a fuss about not understanding different dialects of the same language spoken 20 km apart. “Where I come from,” I say, “we have completely different languages with their own scripts and few common words from one state to another, and yet we somehow understand each other.” Remember, I am controlling the narrative here.
Also in this narrative, I am someone who is comfortable enough with the other person I’ve just met, to ridicule what is for him a cultural truism.
And then just like that we say thank you and have a nice day. And then we’re gone.
And I realize how nice it was not to be playing an assigned role. How refreshing to pick a role as you go. Strangers- the world is full of them.
Featured Image: pixabay.com
